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[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | The Aircraft lurched and hopped roughly as it set down on the runway at Jean Lesage international airport. Outside the late season blizzard howled and blustered in its last attempt to snatch the plane from the air. On board Col. Mcentire looked over the cargo bay stuffed with their expeditionary vehicles supplies, and lined with seats full of his best men.
Two runways had already been shut down not for the frigid conditions but to hold a refugee camp. Huge numbers of international travelers had been stranded here both American and otherwise. When the blackout had occurred a week ago all planes in US Airspace had been forced to redirect or land without guidance somewhere in the dark zone.
That was why they were here. To investigate the blackout. It had only been a week and the world had already been halfway to hell as it was. Now stranded US forces abroad had begun abandoning their posts to try and make their way home or submit to regional alliances like NATO for guidance. It was a field day for traditional rivals of the USA. Iran had launched an all out invasion of Saudi Arabia. The Chinese were attempting to re-annex Taiwan but had their hands full with reigning in North Korea's incursions into China and South Korea alike. Russia was throwing its weight around like a bear coming out of hibernation.
The Crown and Prime Minister's office had sanctioned an immediate exploratory effort. All the birds and boats that had approached the USA directly had also gone dark. There were rumors of refugees making it across the borders but nothing concrete. Nothing believable anyway. Thus Mcentire and his special team had been selected to try a land crossing themselves. It would be a daunting task to cross the Wall. the USA had completely militarized its borders but there were still some gaps on the northern side with Canada.
Finally the plane ground to a halt in a private hanger and the engines began winding down. "Move Out" he ordered and the troops wasted no time disembarking. there would be no wind up, the last briefing had been given right before landing. The orders had been to consider all moments after landing to be on the mission clock.
Within minutes the APCs and crates were down the ramp and loaded. A uniformed Major approached them from the Airport team and wordlessly handed him a clipboard. two signatures and they would tend the transport jet in their absence. Officially none of this was happening and none of Mcentire's team or assets existed here. Before anybody could turn any suspicious eyes they departed.
The streets were largely empty and not just because of the storm. Martial law had been declared so moving openly while heavily armed would only draw minimal attention. To this effect the very British vehicles and team bore the local Canadian markings. Nobody seemed to notice and the back gate off the tarmac let them pass without incident. There was a checkpoint at the st Lawrence river but their papers were valid.
As soon as they were out of the city they went off road. There was a known break in the border security some 50 miles away. In theory they could have attempted to use the roads and regular border crossing. Yet they did not know what to expect on the other side and reports indicated that no traffic pas passing there. To be sure some people had tried to enter. The Canadians certainly had, but like everybody else they went silent not long after entering.
The drive was two hours and the snow drifts didn't help but finally they reached the gully where the fence parted and crossed over into the unknown | Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "What do you mean, it's empty?"
I winced at the tone that Jaspers used as he rounded on the poor technician, rising up on his tiptoes to intimidate with every one of his sixty-four inches of height. A guy that short shouldn't be able to loom so well, but Jaspers managed it, bearing down on the bespectacled nerd.
"I mean, it's empty," the nerd repeated, one hand creeping up to adjust the glasses. I noticed that they now had a few specks of mist on them - Jaspers' spittle, most likely. "We sent in drones, did a sweep of everything, and we didn't see a single person."
"But how?" I interjected, stepping forward. I tried to keep my tone calmer, defuse some of the tension hanging in the air. "New York had what, a million people in it?"
"More," the tech agreed. He shrugged his shoulders, looking as confused as I felt. "But they're all gone. And the drones didn't pick up anything."
Jaspers wasn't having it. "So why the bloody hell are we going in there?"
The tech flicked his eyes over to me. "Shouldn't there be some sort of officer in charge, briefing you on this?"
I winced. "It's kind of tricky."
"Why?"
"Why?" Jaspers snarled back, clearly annoyed that we weren't looping him in on the conversation. "Because Texas Rick over there is on loan to us, and his commanders are currently MIA, off in the big black camp-out that all of the goddamn You Ess of Ayy decided to take! So he's floating here in organizational limbo, and since he's currently the leader of our squad, the rest of us are stuck here cooling our bloody heels along with him!"
Jaspers' summary of the situation, although colorful, wasn't actually inaccurate. My name was Richards, Brian Richards, but I was over here on a "loan" (inter-agency exchange program for sharing of strategies and training initiatives), in month four out of six.
And even though I was stationed in England, I was supposed to report to my superiors back home in Bragg - but no one there was returning my calls.
I didn't take it personally, at least. It seemed like my whole home country was having problems.
"Sorry about him," I said to the tech, trying to regain control of the situation after Jaspers' outburst. "But really, we need every bit of info that you can provide. There really weren't any people? Signs of them fleeing? Cars broken down, out of place, any sort of damage? Bodies?"
The tech shook his head. "Nothing that I could see, while the drones were up, at least."
Jaspers growled and turned away, probably headed off to go inform the rest of the team. I, however, paused for a minute on the tech's last words.
"What do you mean, while the drones were up?"
"They went down after an hour," he said, swallowing. Probably at the thought of covering the high price of a state-of-the-art surveillance drone from his meager salary, I guessed. "We haven't been able to connect to them again. That's why the government's got the quarantine up."
Well, that was different. The quarantine, I added inside my head, that we were currently involved with, sitting with our thumbs up our butts on a destroyer in a flotilla parked a dozen miles from shore. We had all our cameras pointed over at my homeland, and we weren't getting anything back.
Except, it seemed, that now they'd brought down our ally's drones.
Someone had.
I left the tech alone, stalked back over to where Jaspers sat with Sergei, another member of our team. The short, bushy bearded Brit looked up and scowled at me. I didn't take it personally; a scowl seemed to be Jaspers' only method of showing emotion.
"So?" he asked pointedly.
"So, nothing. No one knows what's going on. And we're in the dark; our drones are gone, no word on what brought them down."
"Words from the command?" Sergei asked, his accent clipping his words.
I shook my head. "Stand and report, await further instructions. Not that there will be any, not any time soon. You know as well as I do that England's the only one who can launch an investigation without risking a declaration of war, and they're going to hem and haw until they're all blue in the face without making a decision." I glanced over at Jaspers. "No offense."
He just held up his hands, as Sergei frowned. "Brian," he said, standing up and looking more closely at me. "What is matter? You have some problem, weighing on you. What is wrong?"
"Nothing," I said, looking away.
He stepped closer. "Come, now. Jaspers is blowhard, but you can tell the rest of us."
Ah, what the hell. "My wife," I said, wincing at how the word came out. "She was in Fort Hood, planning on flying out to see me in a few days."
"And you are worried," Sergei concluded.
I shot him a hot glare. "Yeah, no shit. God, why the hell can't I just hop on a boat and haul my ass over there, figure out what we're facing?"
For a minute, Sergei and Jaspers stood silently beside me. And then, suddenly, the Russian started.
"Why not?" he asked.
"What?"
He turned to look at me. "You have no commanding officer now, da?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "But I can't just duck off and go into a potentially dangerous zone-"
"Why not?" he insisted. "What if you were searching for orders? Commanding officer is on the mainland, so is where you go."
"What, and steal a boat?"
Sergei grinned, flashing strangely perfect teeth. "Corinne can."
That brought me up short. My unit, if the loose collection of soldiers could be called as such, held a grab bag of soldiers from other countries, all on "loan" to the Brits. Along with Jaspers, representing England, and Sergei from Russia, we also had a nimble, mustachioed French explosives expert, a Chinese sniper who'd only spoken perhaps a hundred words in the three months she'd been with us... and Corinne.
I considered telling the slender, blonde, supermodel-looking Swede that we needed to steal a boat. Commandeer, I corrected my thought. Would she go along with it?
Probably. Hell, they all would. Somehow, although I still wasn't quite sure how, I'd earned their trust and respect. And I knew that they were just as curious as I felt.
"We'll get court-martialed," I said, although my heart wasn't in the denial.
Sergei shrugged. "Mixed signals, crossed wires, whatever else you people say when chain of command falls apart," he replied easily. "It will work. What do you say?"
I glanced over at the Brit. "Jaspers?"
He pursed his lips, making his beard twitch. "Ach, why bloody not? I'm curious, now, dammit."
One last breath. One last second to consider all the rules I might be breaking.
Oh, what the hell. I thought of Alexis, possibly lost and scared, wishing that I was there to save her. She'd chosen the hard life of a soldier's wife, and I couldn't even be there to keep her safe.
"Go get Corinne," I told Sergei, and he grinned.
"Oh, finally," he said aloud as he dashed off. "This will be *fun.*" | Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | The whole world was holding it's breath, waiting on what my squad and I would find. Nothing had been heard from the United States in a week, today being the 7th day. No broadcasts, no radio signals, no internet posts, and not a single person has come from the famous country. It was almost as if the entire country had been shut off. Mexico and Canada were the first ones to realize it and reached out to the rest of the world, where it was finally decided that the British Special Forces was the most qualified to do a recon mission. No one knew what the chosen individuals sent on the mission would encounter, so they sent us. We are experts on running into the unexpected and still accomplishing the mission. Years of training and bonding has made us act as if we are one person, all different parts of the same body.
The plane hit some turbulence and I looked up from my tablet, habit making me hit the save button on the mission report. I looked at my watch and yelled out to my squad, "Ten minutes to jump!" I put my tablet in my cargo pocket and glanced around at my squad. Joel was sitting directly across from me doing another check of his gear, Eric was to his left and calmly cleaning his finger nails with his knife. Joshua was sitting to his right and catching my glance he stuck his tongue out and gave me a crazy grin making me smirk and roll my eyes. The smallest and final member of our squad was sitting to my right; he had his head back and eyes closed. I nudged him with my elbow and he looked over at me. "You ready for this Walker?" I asked.
"I was born ready for this Dylan," he replied "Please don't insult me."
I chuckled as we went through our normal conversation before every mission.
"I wouldn't dream of insulting someone as crazy as you."
Looking back at my watch, I stood up. "5 minutes, prepare for exit!" It hurt my throat to yell over the sound of the plane. Everyone stood up and adjusted their straps as we all shuffled toward the rear of the plane. No one spoke as the end of the plane opened up and we all watched the red light, waiting for it to turn green. The anticipation built up in me as it always did before jumping out of a plane. After almost a thousand jumps I would have thought it would go away by now. The green light turned on and everyone stepped forward at once as our training kicked in. It's hard to describe the way it feels in that first second after the jump. You're moving so fast horizontally just to suddenly be moving downward, pulled by gravity. I loved it. We all positioned our bodies so we were dive bombing toward the ground, going as fast as we could. As the skyscrapers of New York City rushed towards us I could tell something was wrong, even this far up. There are tendrils of smoke rising from every direction. Hearing the beep from my watch notifying me of the altitude, I leveled my body parallel to the earth slowing down slightly. I put my left hand on my parachute pull ring and stuck my right hand in front of me, palm open. I closed my fist, the signal for everyone to pull their chute, simultaneously pulling my own chute open. I steered my chute around the tall buildings, expertly guiding myself to land on the road in between the motionless cars. The moment my feet touched the ground I pushed the button on my chest that released my chute from my body and brought my weapon up. I scanned the area in front of me, confident in the knowledge that the rest of my squad was doing the same in the other directions behind me.
"What the..." I heard Joel mumble through the squad's radio headsets. I was thinking the same thing. New York looked like a scene from a low budget Apocalypse movie. Cars were all bunched up on the road like ants in a line, every single window was smashed and everything was deathly silent.
"Hey boss, you see these piles of ash everywhere?" Walker spoke to me through the radio. Now that he mentioned it I started noticing the little piles of ash everywhere. On the road, on the sidewalk, on the street.
"Yeah I see them. Everyone keep your eyes open and heads down. Spread out a little and see what you can find." I moved forward to look in one of the yellow Taxi cabs. Piles of ash in there too. I wonder what was burned and why.
"Uh. I think everyone should come here and see this." Eric's voice hesitantly came through my ear piece. I took a final glance around before turning around and jogging over to him. He was standing on the sidewalk outside a small bookstore next to a bike and dozens of the ash piles. Everyone was already there and Eric was waiting to speak until I arrived.
"Look at this bike and where the ash is. It's right next to the seat. Don't y'all get it?" He looked at each of us individually before shaking his head slowly. "This is them. These piles of ash are the Americans. They've been disintegrated."
Realization dawned on me and fear started to creep up from my stomach. I watched as Joshua moved forward and ran his boot through the pile kicking it around. He uncovered something that shined in the sun and Joel bent down to pick it up. He mumbled something and raised the object up for everyone to see. A simple gold ring, probably a wedding band. Joshua started to chuckle and it quickly escalated to a loud booming laugh. The laugh echoed around the city, in and around the empty buildings. The echoes kept going after he stopped and getting fainter and fainter.
"What could possibly be so damn funny about this, you sick bastard," demanded Walker, breaking the silence.
Joshua looked at us all, clearly shocked that none of us understood. "Don't anyone of you get it? We are all completely and totally screwed." | Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "What the bloody hell you mean the whole country's dark?"
Jackson stopped strapping on his gear and looked towards the cockpit of the transport copter. Apparently Hurst got some news regarding why their squad was just dispatched at 5 AM to Washington DC for a search and rescue mission. Jackson wasn't one to question or dwell on orders, that's why he's one of Britain's most elite soldiers, but something about this was very wrong. It made sense for his squad to be chosen, they were stationed on a naval vessel in the Atlantic. However, a surprise operation on American soil? Sounds like a good way to shit the bed with an ally.
Hurst took off the headset and exited the cockpit to address the rest of the squad.
"Alright boys, we got one shitstorm of a mission on our hands. Word from HQ is Uncle Sam is fucked two ways up his own ass. All forms of communication and any signs of electricity have ceased within the continental United States. No word on Alaska and Hawaii. The last official word they got was an emergency alert about three hours ago from a secure bunker below D.C.," Hurst paused to let the situation sink in as much as it could.
"The POTUS and about twelve other VIPs are believed to be in that bunker. Our job is to, first, successfully enter Washington DC airspace and try to establish radio contact. If that fails, we are to infiltrate the White House, where we believe the entrance to the bunker is located, and extract any VIPs that we discover."
Hurst paused again, and stared out at his squad of four elite soldiers. They looked unfazed by the news, which gave him to confidence to continue undeterred.
"Within the hour, we will have reached Chesapeake Bay and our mission begins. However, HQ has expressed something very important. They *do not* know what the fuck this is. It could be a coup, it could be terrorists, it could be motherfucking Martians for all we know. Regardless, this is a covert operation, so unless you see little green men shooting lasers, keep your fingers off the triggers. Gear up boys."
With that, Hurst nodded and returned to the cockpit. Jackson finished attaching his equipment and then looked around the transport. Ramirez, Cooper and Kershner were silent, staring down at the ground. They had family and friends in America. They didn't give a rat's ass about the American President when their brothers and sisters could be dying.
Jackson stared out the window at the dark waters of the Atlantic. A whole country gone silent. No military technology he knew of could pull something like that off. Maybe on a tiny state like Luxembourg, but the USA?
Jackson's thoughts were interrupted due to some turbulence. He looked up along with the rest of the squad. Hurst popped his head out from the copilot side of the cockpit.
"Just crossed over into American waters. Ramirez, make sure-"
His speech was cut short by another bout of turbulence. This time the whole transport rattled intensely for several seconds. Kershner lost his footing and fell forward, bracing for a fall with his arms extended. Before he could stop himself, the transport rocked violently to the left and he struck his temple on a seat. Kershner dropped to the floor of the aircraft, body limp.
Ramirez and Cooper moved to his aid while Jackson carefully worked my way up to the cockpit. He could see warning lights flashing from several points on the dashboard, while alarms began to fill the air.
Hurst had the headset back on. He was trying to make contact with HQ to see if they could get any readings. Cooper began shaking Kershner by the shoulders to no avail.
"Radio's dead!" Hurst shouted to the pilot.
The pilot looked over, his eyes wide with fear.
"The warning alarms are going crazy for just about everything, but the meters themselves say everything's fine. I honestly don't know what the-"
Another vicious round of turbulence struck the transport. Everyone held on tightly until it passed. Cooper strapped Kershner to the deck to prevent him from flailing around the bay. Jackson positioned himself in the doorway to the cockpit.
Then all the warning lights and alarms stopped. All the dials went to zero. The whirring of the copter blades was absent. For several seconds, there was pure silence as they glided through the air. Silence quickly gave way to screams and orders from Hurst as the transport began to drop.
Jackson looked out the front of transport. The Chesapeake Bay began to give way to the Potomac and its many tributaries. Washington DC. unmistakable with its landmarks, lay upon the horizon. But the world below then was so very still. No cars moved, no people on roofs or in their yards, no lights shone.
Jackson stood in the doorway and closed his eyes to avoid seeing their descent. He could feel the inertia of the transport falling to the Earth. Hurst was screaming indescribably, but sounded miles away.
For the last time, Jackson felt fear, then oddly, a sense of relief. He would die in the crash, this he knew. They all would. But for some reason, Jackson felt that dying quickly was a mercy compared to whatever awaited them in America. Whatever happened here was beyond human comprehension.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT," shouted Hurst.
Jackson relaxed his grip on the doorway and started to fall forward into the cockpit. There was a loud metal screech, a sound like the sky being torn asunder, and then, nothing.
| Within the clouds there was no noise, only the constant whir of the chopper blades pulsing above the men and I. I shifted my legs so that they crossed each other and looked out the sliding door. Water hissed as the blades passed through the damp air. It was eerie. Usually, my men where being the assholes they were and giving each other shit; but not today.
Today, the were solemn and silent. Earlier, we had tried to make some jokes, but no dice. Here we sat in the unnatural quiet that comes with flying in the clouds.
"3 minutes 'till touch down"
I sucked air in, inflating my chest and exhaled slowly. I moved about rhythmically. One gloved hand gripped at my rifle loosely and the other thumbed gently at the holster for my pistol. We didn't know what to expect. What was going on? my team and I had only been briefed that it had gone completely dark here. No posts, no calls, hell the President hadn't even contacted us. the U.N, naturally was concerned. More so because the U.S provided most of our oil rather than actually being concerned for her citizens.
"Descending. Hook up and get out."
My stomach dropped as the bird dipped down. It wasn't just clouds, the fog was everywhere. I almost didn't see the marker for drop off. I landed hard, the impact going up through my ankles.
Six other thumps followed me. "Hey, Fox!" I turned my head and peered at my masked team member and nodded.
"Do you hear that?"
I closed my eyes and frowned. I focused on nothing. There was a noise floating through the air. It was low and growing. A cold wind suddenly started ripping past us, taking the mist with it as it went. I watched, captivated. It furled and unfurled. Twined and twisted through the air. My team and I watched until it was all gone.
Shark was the first to scream.
"Holy shit!"
Below us it was all red. Crimson with gore. The sound was clear now. It cut through the air now that the mist was gone. Moaning.
I looked out and stared in horror. There were thousands of mutilated people shuffling in the streets covered in guts. Some were even, I retched, eating eachother.
America had become the ground zero for a zombie Apocalypse.
Behind us, the chopper grew louder. They must have seen what we did and they were coming back to pick us up.... thank God.... Well, if there even is a God anymore. | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "What do you mean, it's empty?"
I winced at the tone that Jaspers used as he rounded on the poor technician, rising up on his tiptoes to intimidate with every one of his sixty-four inches of height. A guy that short shouldn't be able to loom so well, but Jaspers managed it, bearing down on the bespectacled nerd.
"I mean, it's empty," the nerd repeated, one hand creeping up to adjust the glasses. I noticed that they now had a few specks of mist on them - Jaspers' spittle, most likely. "We sent in drones, did a sweep of everything, and we didn't see a single person."
"But how?" I interjected, stepping forward. I tried to keep my tone calmer, defuse some of the tension hanging in the air. "New York had what, a million people in it?"
"More," the tech agreed. He shrugged his shoulders, looking as confused as I felt. "But they're all gone. And the drones didn't pick up anything."
Jaspers wasn't having it. "So why the bloody hell are we going in there?"
The tech flicked his eyes over to me. "Shouldn't there be some sort of officer in charge, briefing you on this?"
I winced. "It's kind of tricky."
"Why?"
"Why?" Jaspers snarled back, clearly annoyed that we weren't looping him in on the conversation. "Because Texas Rick over there is on loan to us, and his commanders are currently MIA, off in the big black camp-out that all of the goddamn You Ess of Ayy decided to take! So he's floating here in organizational limbo, and since he's currently the leader of our squad, the rest of us are stuck here cooling our bloody heels along with him!"
Jaspers' summary of the situation, although colorful, wasn't actually inaccurate. My name was Richards, Brian Richards, but I was over here on a "loan" (inter-agency exchange program for sharing of strategies and training initiatives), in month four out of six.
And even though I was stationed in England, I was supposed to report to my superiors back home in Bragg - but no one there was returning my calls.
I didn't take it personally, at least. It seemed like my whole home country was having problems.
"Sorry about him," I said to the tech, trying to regain control of the situation after Jaspers' outburst. "But really, we need every bit of info that you can provide. There really weren't any people? Signs of them fleeing? Cars broken down, out of place, any sort of damage? Bodies?"
The tech shook his head. "Nothing that I could see, while the drones were up, at least."
Jaspers growled and turned away, probably headed off to go inform the rest of the team. I, however, paused for a minute on the tech's last words.
"What do you mean, while the drones were up?"
"They went down after an hour," he said, swallowing. Probably at the thought of covering the high price of a state-of-the-art surveillance drone from his meager salary, I guessed. "We haven't been able to connect to them again. That's why the government's got the quarantine up."
Well, that was different. The quarantine, I added inside my head, that we were currently involved with, sitting with our thumbs up our butts on a destroyer in a flotilla parked a dozen miles from shore. We had all our cameras pointed over at my homeland, and we weren't getting anything back.
Except, it seemed, that now they'd brought down our ally's drones.
Someone had.
I left the tech alone, stalked back over to where Jaspers sat with Sergei, another member of our team. The short, bushy bearded Brit looked up and scowled at me. I didn't take it personally; a scowl seemed to be Jaspers' only method of showing emotion.
"So?" he asked pointedly.
"So, nothing. No one knows what's going on. And we're in the dark; our drones are gone, no word on what brought them down."
"Words from the command?" Sergei asked, his accent clipping his words.
I shook my head. "Stand and report, await further instructions. Not that there will be any, not any time soon. You know as well as I do that England's the only one who can launch an investigation without risking a declaration of war, and they're going to hem and haw until they're all blue in the face without making a decision." I glanced over at Jaspers. "No offense."
He just held up his hands, as Sergei frowned. "Brian," he said, standing up and looking more closely at me. "What is matter? You have some problem, weighing on you. What is wrong?"
"Nothing," I said, looking away.
He stepped closer. "Come, now. Jaspers is blowhard, but you can tell the rest of us."
Ah, what the hell. "My wife," I said, wincing at how the word came out. "She was in Fort Hood, planning on flying out to see me in a few days."
"And you are worried," Sergei concluded.
I shot him a hot glare. "Yeah, no shit. God, why the hell can't I just hop on a boat and haul my ass over there, figure out what we're facing?"
For a minute, Sergei and Jaspers stood silently beside me. And then, suddenly, the Russian started.
"Why not?" he asked.
"What?"
He turned to look at me. "You have no commanding officer now, da?"
"Well, no," I admitted. "But I can't just duck off and go into a potentially dangerous zone-"
"Why not?" he insisted. "What if you were searching for orders? Commanding officer is on the mainland, so is where you go."
"What, and steal a boat?"
Sergei grinned, flashing strangely perfect teeth. "Corinne can."
That brought me up short. My unit, if the loose collection of soldiers could be called as such, held a grab bag of soldiers from other countries, all on "loan" to the Brits. Along with Jaspers, representing England, and Sergei from Russia, we also had a nimble, mustachioed French explosives expert, a Chinese sniper who'd only spoken perhaps a hundred words in the three months she'd been with us... and Corinne.
I considered telling the slender, blonde, supermodel-looking Swede that we needed to steal a boat. Commandeer, I corrected my thought. Would she go along with it?
Probably. Hell, they all would. Somehow, although I still wasn't quite sure how, I'd earned their trust and respect. And I knew that they were just as curious as I felt.
"We'll get court-martialed," I said, although my heart wasn't in the denial.
Sergei shrugged. "Mixed signals, crossed wires, whatever else you people say when chain of command falls apart," he replied easily. "It will work. What do you say?"
I glanced over at the Brit. "Jaspers?"
He pursed his lips, making his beard twitch. "Ach, why bloody not? I'm curious, now, dammit."
One last breath. One last second to consider all the rules I might be breaking.
Oh, what the hell. I thought of Alexis, possibly lost and scared, wishing that I was there to save her. She'd chosen the hard life of a soldier's wife, and I couldn't even be there to keep her safe.
"Go get Corinne," I told Sergei, and he grinned.
"Oh, finally," he said aloud as he dashed off. "This will be *fun.*" | The Aircraft lurched and hopped roughly as it set down on the runway at Jean Lesage international airport. Outside the late season blizzard howled and blustered in its last attempt to snatch the plane from the air. On board Col. Mcentire looked over the cargo bay stuffed with their expeditionary vehicles supplies, and lined with seats full of his best men.
Two runways had already been shut down not for the frigid conditions but to hold a refugee camp. Huge numbers of international travelers had been stranded here both American and otherwise. When the blackout had occurred a week ago all planes in US Airspace had been forced to redirect or land without guidance somewhere in the dark zone.
That was why they were here. To investigate the blackout. It had only been a week and the world had already been halfway to hell as it was. Now stranded US forces abroad had begun abandoning their posts to try and make their way home or submit to regional alliances like NATO for guidance. It was a field day for traditional rivals of the USA. Iran had launched an all out invasion of Saudi Arabia. The Chinese were attempting to re-annex Taiwan but had their hands full with reigning in North Korea's incursions into China and South Korea alike. Russia was throwing its weight around like a bear coming out of hibernation.
The Crown and Prime Minister's office had sanctioned an immediate exploratory effort. All the birds and boats that had approached the USA directly had also gone dark. There were rumors of refugees making it across the borders but nothing concrete. Nothing believable anyway. Thus Mcentire and his special team had been selected to try a land crossing themselves. It would be a daunting task to cross the Wall. the USA had completely militarized its borders but there were still some gaps on the northern side with Canada.
Finally the plane ground to a halt in a private hanger and the engines began winding down. "Move Out" he ordered and the troops wasted no time disembarking. there would be no wind up, the last briefing had been given right before landing. The orders had been to consider all moments after landing to be on the mission clock.
Within minutes the APCs and crates were down the ramp and loaded. A uniformed Major approached them from the Airport team and wordlessly handed him a clipboard. two signatures and they would tend the transport jet in their absence. Officially none of this was happening and none of Mcentire's team or assets existed here. Before anybody could turn any suspicious eyes they departed.
The streets were largely empty and not just because of the storm. Martial law had been declared so moving openly while heavily armed would only draw minimal attention. To this effect the very British vehicles and team bore the local Canadian markings. Nobody seemed to notice and the back gate off the tarmac let them pass without incident. There was a checkpoint at the st Lawrence river but their papers were valid.
As soon as they were out of the city they went off road. There was a known break in the border security some 50 miles away. In theory they could have attempted to use the roads and regular border crossing. Yet they did not know what to expect on the other side and reports indicated that no traffic pas passing there. To be sure some people had tried to enter. The Canadians certainly had, but like everybody else they went silent not long after entering.
The drive was two hours and the snow drifts didn't help but finally they reached the gully where the fence parted and crossed over into the unknown | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | The whole world was holding it's breath, waiting on what my squad and I would find. Nothing had been heard from the United States in a week, today being the 7th day. No broadcasts, no radio signals, no internet posts, and not a single person has come from the famous country. It was almost as if the entire country had been shut off. Mexico and Canada were the first ones to realize it and reached out to the rest of the world, where it was finally decided that the British Special Forces was the most qualified to do a recon mission. No one knew what the chosen individuals sent on the mission would encounter, so they sent us. We are experts on running into the unexpected and still accomplishing the mission. Years of training and bonding has made us act as if we are one person, all different parts of the same body.
The plane hit some turbulence and I looked up from my tablet, habit making me hit the save button on the mission report. I looked at my watch and yelled out to my squad, "Ten minutes to jump!" I put my tablet in my cargo pocket and glanced around at my squad. Joel was sitting directly across from me doing another check of his gear, Eric was to his left and calmly cleaning his finger nails with his knife. Joshua was sitting to his right and catching my glance he stuck his tongue out and gave me a crazy grin making me smirk and roll my eyes. The smallest and final member of our squad was sitting to my right; he had his head back and eyes closed. I nudged him with my elbow and he looked over at me. "You ready for this Walker?" I asked.
"I was born ready for this Dylan," he replied "Please don't insult me."
I chuckled as we went through our normal conversation before every mission.
"I wouldn't dream of insulting someone as crazy as you."
Looking back at my watch, I stood up. "5 minutes, prepare for exit!" It hurt my throat to yell over the sound of the plane. Everyone stood up and adjusted their straps as we all shuffled toward the rear of the plane. No one spoke as the end of the plane opened up and we all watched the red light, waiting for it to turn green. The anticipation built up in me as it always did before jumping out of a plane. After almost a thousand jumps I would have thought it would go away by now. The green light turned on and everyone stepped forward at once as our training kicked in. It's hard to describe the way it feels in that first second after the jump. You're moving so fast horizontally just to suddenly be moving downward, pulled by gravity. I loved it. We all positioned our bodies so we were dive bombing toward the ground, going as fast as we could. As the skyscrapers of New York City rushed towards us I could tell something was wrong, even this far up. There are tendrils of smoke rising from every direction. Hearing the beep from my watch notifying me of the altitude, I leveled my body parallel to the earth slowing down slightly. I put my left hand on my parachute pull ring and stuck my right hand in front of me, palm open. I closed my fist, the signal for everyone to pull their chute, simultaneously pulling my own chute open. I steered my chute around the tall buildings, expertly guiding myself to land on the road in between the motionless cars. The moment my feet touched the ground I pushed the button on my chest that released my chute from my body and brought my weapon up. I scanned the area in front of me, confident in the knowledge that the rest of my squad was doing the same in the other directions behind me.
"What the..." I heard Joel mumble through the squad's radio headsets. I was thinking the same thing. New York looked like a scene from a low budget Apocalypse movie. Cars were all bunched up on the road like ants in a line, every single window was smashed and everything was deathly silent.
"Hey boss, you see these piles of ash everywhere?" Walker spoke to me through the radio. Now that he mentioned it I started noticing the little piles of ash everywhere. On the road, on the sidewalk, on the street.
"Yeah I see them. Everyone keep your eyes open and heads down. Spread out a little and see what you can find." I moved forward to look in one of the yellow Taxi cabs. Piles of ash in there too. I wonder what was burned and why.
"Uh. I think everyone should come here and see this." Eric's voice hesitantly came through my ear piece. I took a final glance around before turning around and jogging over to him. He was standing on the sidewalk outside a small bookstore next to a bike and dozens of the ash piles. Everyone was already there and Eric was waiting to speak until I arrived.
"Look at this bike and where the ash is. It's right next to the seat. Don't y'all get it?" He looked at each of us individually before shaking his head slowly. "This is them. These piles of ash are the Americans. They've been disintegrated."
Realization dawned on me and fear started to creep up from my stomach. I watched as Joshua moved forward and ran his boot through the pile kicking it around. He uncovered something that shined in the sun and Joel bent down to pick it up. He mumbled something and raised the object up for everyone to see. A simple gold ring, probably a wedding band. Joshua started to chuckle and it quickly escalated to a loud booming laugh. The laugh echoed around the city, in and around the empty buildings. The echoes kept going after he stopped and getting fainter and fainter.
"What could possibly be so damn funny about this, you sick bastard," demanded Walker, breaking the silence.
Joshua looked at us all, clearly shocked that none of us understood. "Don't anyone of you get it? We are all completely and totally screwed." | The Aircraft lurched and hopped roughly as it set down on the runway at Jean Lesage international airport. Outside the late season blizzard howled and blustered in its last attempt to snatch the plane from the air. On board Col. Mcentire looked over the cargo bay stuffed with their expeditionary vehicles supplies, and lined with seats full of his best men.
Two runways had already been shut down not for the frigid conditions but to hold a refugee camp. Huge numbers of international travelers had been stranded here both American and otherwise. When the blackout had occurred a week ago all planes in US Airspace had been forced to redirect or land without guidance somewhere in the dark zone.
That was why they were here. To investigate the blackout. It had only been a week and the world had already been halfway to hell as it was. Now stranded US forces abroad had begun abandoning their posts to try and make their way home or submit to regional alliances like NATO for guidance. It was a field day for traditional rivals of the USA. Iran had launched an all out invasion of Saudi Arabia. The Chinese were attempting to re-annex Taiwan but had their hands full with reigning in North Korea's incursions into China and South Korea alike. Russia was throwing its weight around like a bear coming out of hibernation.
The Crown and Prime Minister's office had sanctioned an immediate exploratory effort. All the birds and boats that had approached the USA directly had also gone dark. There were rumors of refugees making it across the borders but nothing concrete. Nothing believable anyway. Thus Mcentire and his special team had been selected to try a land crossing themselves. It would be a daunting task to cross the Wall. the USA had completely militarized its borders but there were still some gaps on the northern side with Canada.
Finally the plane ground to a halt in a private hanger and the engines began winding down. "Move Out" he ordered and the troops wasted no time disembarking. there would be no wind up, the last briefing had been given right before landing. The orders had been to consider all moments after landing to be on the mission clock.
Within minutes the APCs and crates were down the ramp and loaded. A uniformed Major approached them from the Airport team and wordlessly handed him a clipboard. two signatures and they would tend the transport jet in their absence. Officially none of this was happening and none of Mcentire's team or assets existed here. Before anybody could turn any suspicious eyes they departed.
The streets were largely empty and not just because of the storm. Martial law had been declared so moving openly while heavily armed would only draw minimal attention. To this effect the very British vehicles and team bore the local Canadian markings. Nobody seemed to notice and the back gate off the tarmac let them pass without incident. There was a checkpoint at the st Lawrence river but their papers were valid.
As soon as they were out of the city they went off road. There was a known break in the border security some 50 miles away. In theory they could have attempted to use the roads and regular border crossing. Yet they did not know what to expect on the other side and reports indicated that no traffic pas passing there. To be sure some people had tried to enter. The Canadians certainly had, but like everybody else they went silent not long after entering.
The drive was two hours and the snow drifts didn't help but finally they reached the gully where the fence parted and crossed over into the unknown | |
[WP] The United States has suddenly gone dark. No noise or activity out of there for a week, not even a Reddit post. You are part of an SAS squad sent to investigate. | "What the bloody hell you mean the whole country's dark?"
Jackson stopped strapping on his gear and looked towards the cockpit of the transport copter. Apparently Hurst got some news regarding why their squad was just dispatched at 5 AM to Washington DC for a search and rescue mission. Jackson wasn't one to question or dwell on orders, that's why he's one of Britain's most elite soldiers, but something about this was very wrong. It made sense for his squad to be chosen, they were stationed on a naval vessel in the Atlantic. However, a surprise operation on American soil? Sounds like a good way to shit the bed with an ally.
Hurst took off the headset and exited the cockpit to address the rest of the squad.
"Alright boys, we got one shitstorm of a mission on our hands. Word from HQ is Uncle Sam is fucked two ways up his own ass. All forms of communication and any signs of electricity have ceased within the continental United States. No word on Alaska and Hawaii. The last official word they got was an emergency alert about three hours ago from a secure bunker below D.C.," Hurst paused to let the situation sink in as much as it could.
"The POTUS and about twelve other VIPs are believed to be in that bunker. Our job is to, first, successfully enter Washington DC airspace and try to establish radio contact. If that fails, we are to infiltrate the White House, where we believe the entrance to the bunker is located, and extract any VIPs that we discover."
Hurst paused again, and stared out at his squad of four elite soldiers. They looked unfazed by the news, which gave him to confidence to continue undeterred.
"Within the hour, we will have reached Chesapeake Bay and our mission begins. However, HQ has expressed something very important. They *do not* know what the fuck this is. It could be a coup, it could be terrorists, it could be motherfucking Martians for all we know. Regardless, this is a covert operation, so unless you see little green men shooting lasers, keep your fingers off the triggers. Gear up boys."
With that, Hurst nodded and returned to the cockpit. Jackson finished attaching his equipment and then looked around the transport. Ramirez, Cooper and Kershner were silent, staring down at the ground. They had family and friends in America. They didn't give a rat's ass about the American President when their brothers and sisters could be dying.
Jackson stared out the window at the dark waters of the Atlantic. A whole country gone silent. No military technology he knew of could pull something like that off. Maybe on a tiny state like Luxembourg, but the USA?
Jackson's thoughts were interrupted due to some turbulence. He looked up along with the rest of the squad. Hurst popped his head out from the copilot side of the cockpit.
"Just crossed over into American waters. Ramirez, make sure-"
His speech was cut short by another bout of turbulence. This time the whole transport rattled intensely for several seconds. Kershner lost his footing and fell forward, bracing for a fall with his arms extended. Before he could stop himself, the transport rocked violently to the left and he struck his temple on a seat. Kershner dropped to the floor of the aircraft, body limp.
Ramirez and Cooper moved to his aid while Jackson carefully worked my way up to the cockpit. He could see warning lights flashing from several points on the dashboard, while alarms began to fill the air.
Hurst had the headset back on. He was trying to make contact with HQ to see if they could get any readings. Cooper began shaking Kershner by the shoulders to no avail.
"Radio's dead!" Hurst shouted to the pilot.
The pilot looked over, his eyes wide with fear.
"The warning alarms are going crazy for just about everything, but the meters themselves say everything's fine. I honestly don't know what the-"
Another vicious round of turbulence struck the transport. Everyone held on tightly until it passed. Cooper strapped Kershner to the deck to prevent him from flailing around the bay. Jackson positioned himself in the doorway to the cockpit.
Then all the warning lights and alarms stopped. All the dials went to zero. The whirring of the copter blades was absent. For several seconds, there was pure silence as they glided through the air. Silence quickly gave way to screams and orders from Hurst as the transport began to drop.
Jackson looked out the front of transport. The Chesapeake Bay began to give way to the Potomac and its many tributaries. Washington DC. unmistakable with its landmarks, lay upon the horizon. But the world below then was so very still. No cars moved, no people on roofs or in their yards, no lights shone.
Jackson stood in the doorway and closed his eyes to avoid seeing their descent. He could feel the inertia of the transport falling to the Earth. Hurst was screaming indescribably, but sounded miles away.
For the last time, Jackson felt fear, then oddly, a sense of relief. He would die in the crash, this he knew. They all would. But for some reason, Jackson felt that dying quickly was a mercy compared to whatever awaited them in America. Whatever happened here was beyond human comprehension.
"BRACE FOR IMPACT," shouted Hurst.
Jackson relaxed his grip on the doorway and started to fall forward into the cockpit. There was a loud metal screech, a sound like the sky being torn asunder, and then, nothing.
| The Aircraft lurched and hopped roughly as it set down on the runway at Jean Lesage international airport. Outside the late season blizzard howled and blustered in its last attempt to snatch the plane from the air. On board Col. Mcentire looked over the cargo bay stuffed with their expeditionary vehicles supplies, and lined with seats full of his best men.
Two runways had already been shut down not for the frigid conditions but to hold a refugee camp. Huge numbers of international travelers had been stranded here both American and otherwise. When the blackout had occurred a week ago all planes in US Airspace had been forced to redirect or land without guidance somewhere in the dark zone.
That was why they were here. To investigate the blackout. It had only been a week and the world had already been halfway to hell as it was. Now stranded US forces abroad had begun abandoning their posts to try and make their way home or submit to regional alliances like NATO for guidance. It was a field day for traditional rivals of the USA. Iran had launched an all out invasion of Saudi Arabia. The Chinese were attempting to re-annex Taiwan but had their hands full with reigning in North Korea's incursions into China and South Korea alike. Russia was throwing its weight around like a bear coming out of hibernation.
The Crown and Prime Minister's office had sanctioned an immediate exploratory effort. All the birds and boats that had approached the USA directly had also gone dark. There were rumors of refugees making it across the borders but nothing concrete. Nothing believable anyway. Thus Mcentire and his special team had been selected to try a land crossing themselves. It would be a daunting task to cross the Wall. the USA had completely militarized its borders but there were still some gaps on the northern side with Canada.
Finally the plane ground to a halt in a private hanger and the engines began winding down. "Move Out" he ordered and the troops wasted no time disembarking. there would be no wind up, the last briefing had been given right before landing. The orders had been to consider all moments after landing to be on the mission clock.
Within minutes the APCs and crates were down the ramp and loaded. A uniformed Major approached them from the Airport team and wordlessly handed him a clipboard. two signatures and they would tend the transport jet in their absence. Officially none of this was happening and none of Mcentire's team or assets existed here. Before anybody could turn any suspicious eyes they departed.
The streets were largely empty and not just because of the storm. Martial law had been declared so moving openly while heavily armed would only draw minimal attention. To this effect the very British vehicles and team bore the local Canadian markings. Nobody seemed to notice and the back gate off the tarmac let them pass without incident. There was a checkpoint at the st Lawrence river but their papers were valid.
As soon as they were out of the city they went off road. There was a known break in the border security some 50 miles away. In theory they could have attempted to use the roads and regular border crossing. Yet they did not know what to expect on the other side and reports indicated that no traffic pas passing there. To be sure some people had tried to enter. The Canadians certainly had, but like everybody else they went silent not long after entering.
The drive was two hours and the snow drifts didn't help but finally they reached the gully where the fence parted and crossed over into the unknown | |
[WP] You are a POW at a German camp. The General in charge of the camp, one of Hitler's right hand men, likes to challenge men in the camp to duels at whatever the prisoner is best at to prove german superiority. If you beat him you are let go, if you lose you die. Today is your day to duel him. | As I sat on my bunk, thoughts rushed through my head:
*What if I can't beat him?*
*There's literally nothing I'm good at!*
*Why can I hear myself thinking?*
But as I sat there and pondered, an idea came to the forefront of my mind. It was devious, cunning...everything deserving of an evil laugh. I began in earnest, but almost immediately a guard poked his head in and yelled "NEIN! Zat is our job! 10 BEATINGS FOR EVERYONE!"
*Dammit.*
Well anyway, back to the story.
The duel was scheduled for 9:00 that evening, and I had to prepare. I worked myself down to the bone all day, harder than I'd ever worked before. Now, you may be wondering, "Wouldn't working so hard be a disadvantage?" Maybe, but I had a plan. It was devious, cunning...*wait better stop myself there.*
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of hard work, bad food, and screaming Germans. 9:00 rolled around, and the whole camp was summoned to the main courtyard. The general stepped out from a block of soldiers, and beckoned me out of the crowd. As I stepped forward, the general laughed and boomed out "Vell then, ze mighty challenger approaches! What is your trial? I shall best you at it with ease!" I smirked and called out "I challenge you...to do nothing."
*cricket cricket*
"Wait...vat?"
"You heard me. You might as well call it a lazy-off, if that would help."
The general stood stock still, in abject confusion. He straightened, shook himself, and met my gaze. "Very well. I accept your challenge." I clapped my hands and gleefully exclaimed "Alrighty then! Let's get started. Lie down, first one to move loses." We slammed to the floor, and the competition began. For two days and three nights the battle raged, with absolutely no sound coming from either competitor. At the beginning of the third day, the general threw himself up and out the door, screaming "ZIS IS MADNESS!" all the way to the capital. All the prisoners burst out laughing, and the soldiers opened the gates and kicked me out.
I closed the diary with a satisfied look on my face, and turned to the history students. "And that's how I turned the Germans into workaholics."
**Feedback and criticism is appreciated.** | "Hell!"
The German guards scrambled to salute as the officer walked into the ring surrounded by guards. He was a tall man, broad, with rippling muscles. The only thing he wore was a pair of black pants, darker then the sky above.
I stared at the sight in front of me and gulped. The man looked like an ox. How the fuck was I supposed to beat him?
"Well Jew, you have a shot at freedom. Best not waste it." The officer yelled across the ring as he crackled his knuckles.
His voice shook me out of my thoughts. I knew what had to be done. Slowly reaching into my pocket I felt the shard of glass that was there.
"bewachens, do not interfere. Let us begin." The officer said, beginning his walk towards me.
As he approached, I started to sprint towards him catching him off guard. His eyes showed a hint of surprise before refocusing and balling his hands up in a fist. He pulled his hand back, but before he could throw his punch I sunk the shard of glass in his neck.
"BWHAG"
Blood sputtered out as his eyes glassed over. I heard an eruption of noise around me as Guards yelled and started to rush around.
"You've done it now girl, your going to die."
"No, lets have some fun, I haven't had a girl in months."
As I felt myself being dragged across the ground, i managed to yell out my final words.
"Anne! Take care of yourself!" | |
[WP] You are a POW at a German camp. The General in charge of the camp, one of Hitler's right hand men, likes to challenge men in the camp to duels at whatever the prisoner is best at to prove german superiority. If you beat him you are let go, if you lose you die. Today is your day to duel him. | My heart was pounding, the moment was drawing closer. I knew it would soon be over - but in freedom or defeat? I was still unsure.
A week prior to this duel, out of pity (or perhaps confidence?) the general in charge of my imprisonment let me choose what I'd be dueling with. Unbeknownst to him I was not a novice when it came to duels, in fact, I'd consider myself nothing less than a master. However, I had no idea what kind of traps to expect from him, and this uncertainty was perhaps the most terrifying part of this whole ordeal.
As I sat, legs chained to the chair, the general entered the room with with a subtle but undeniable smirk spread across his face.
*Calm down* I told myself, *by all accounts I should have the advantage here. My first duel was over a decade ago, and here I stand still undefeated!.. sit. I guess I'm sitting. Come on, get a grip!* I swallowed and peered straight into his cruel eyes.
"Let's do this"
"Exzellent," he replied, "as a final act of mercy I shall allow you ze first move." His condescending stare was really beginning to piss me off.
"Very well, I summon Flame Swordsman in attack mode!"
He flashed his tobacco stained teeth at me, "I use Pot of Greed!"
*Oh fuck me...*
| "Hell!"
The German guards scrambled to salute as the officer walked into the ring surrounded by guards. He was a tall man, broad, with rippling muscles. The only thing he wore was a pair of black pants, darker then the sky above.
I stared at the sight in front of me and gulped. The man looked like an ox. How the fuck was I supposed to beat him?
"Well Jew, you have a shot at freedom. Best not waste it." The officer yelled across the ring as he crackled his knuckles.
His voice shook me out of my thoughts. I knew what had to be done. Slowly reaching into my pocket I felt the shard of glass that was there.
"bewachens, do not interfere. Let us begin." The officer said, beginning his walk towards me.
As he approached, I started to sprint towards him catching him off guard. His eyes showed a hint of surprise before refocusing and balling his hands up in a fist. He pulled his hand back, but before he could throw his punch I sunk the shard of glass in his neck.
"BWHAG"
Blood sputtered out as his eyes glassed over. I heard an eruption of noise around me as Guards yelled and started to rush around.
"You've done it now girl, your going to die."
"No, lets have some fun, I haven't had a girl in months."
As I felt myself being dragged across the ground, i managed to yell out my final words.
"Anne! Take care of yourself!" | |
[WP] You are a POW at a German camp. The General in charge of the camp, one of Hitler's right hand men, likes to challenge men in the camp to duels at whatever the prisoner is best at to prove german superiority. If you beat him you are let go, if you lose you die. Today is your day to duel him. | As I sat on my bunk, thoughts rushed through my head:
*What if I can't beat him?*
*There's literally nothing I'm good at!*
*Why can I hear myself thinking?*
But as I sat there and pondered, an idea came to the forefront of my mind. It was devious, cunning...everything deserving of an evil laugh. I began in earnest, but almost immediately a guard poked his head in and yelled "NEIN! Zat is our job! 10 BEATINGS FOR EVERYONE!"
*Dammit.*
Well anyway, back to the story.
The duel was scheduled for 9:00 that evening, and I had to prepare. I worked myself down to the bone all day, harder than I'd ever worked before. Now, you may be wondering, "Wouldn't working so hard be a disadvantage?" Maybe, but I had a plan. It was devious, cunning...*wait better stop myself there.*
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of hard work, bad food, and screaming Germans. 9:00 rolled around, and the whole camp was summoned to the main courtyard. The general stepped out from a block of soldiers, and beckoned me out of the crowd. As I stepped forward, the general laughed and boomed out "Vell then, ze mighty challenger approaches! What is your trial? I shall best you at it with ease!" I smirked and called out "I challenge you...to do nothing."
*cricket cricket*
"Wait...vat?"
"You heard me. You might as well call it a lazy-off, if that would help."
The general stood stock still, in abject confusion. He straightened, shook himself, and met my gaze. "Very well. I accept your challenge." I clapped my hands and gleefully exclaimed "Alrighty then! Let's get started. Lie down, first one to move loses." We slammed to the floor, and the competition began. For two days and three nights the battle raged, with absolutely no sound coming from either competitor. At the beginning of the third day, the general threw himself up and out the door, screaming "ZIS IS MADNESS!" all the way to the capital. All the prisoners burst out laughing, and the soldiers opened the gates and kicked me out.
I closed the diary with a satisfied look on my face, and turned to the history students. "And that's how I turned the Germans into workaholics."
**Feedback and criticism is appreciated.** | His voice is hoarse, and spoke broken English through a thick German accent.
"VERE IS ZE ONE ZEY CALL WOZNIAK?"
I step forward.
"AHHH ARE YOU WOZNIAK?"
"Yes sir."
*THWAP* The Commandant they call Reichsin smacks me across the face with his gloves.
"AND WHAT RANK ARE YOU WOZNIAK?"
"Private first class sir."
*THWAP* "YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS *HERR* REICHSIN OR YOU WILL BE EXECUTED!"
"Now vill you join me for some tea?"
Minutes pass before I answer, but I was not fast enough. "
ERGREIFE IHN!" Two muscular and shirtless guards grab me and use large knives to cut the back of my shirt off. "YOU VILL COUNT IN THE ARYAN LANGAUGE OR WE WILL START OVER!" The first blow hit my back from the but of a Mauser. "One!" I cry, he grabs my throat and pulls me up to look at him. "NEIN!" He pulls his officers saber out and quickly slashes from my ear to my cheek, the blood pools in my mouth, I spit it out. "TRY AGAIN!" One of the watching POWS mouths to me *eins*. "EINS!" I exlaim as I am struck again this time in the back of the neck, everything starts to fade, I fall forward on my face, I hear "And ze said you was a fighter" Flashback to Brooklyn 1924, I see myself in the ring, but this wasn't ordinary boxing, this was a Brooklyn Rumble as we called it, my opponent charged towards me and I ducked and uppercut him in the jaw, he is enrged like a bull and quickly breaks a beer bottle and jams it in my side, however he narrowly miss and I charge his waist and throw him into the brick wall, a brick falls loose, and I use it to bludgeon him. Remembering this inspires me. I wake up and notice something in my pocket, a nail. I jump up with renewed strength and headbutt the nearest guard, I jam the nail into Herr Reichsins jugular and a look of surprise on his face catches my eye, followed by a smile, I watch him go down. I watch him. He is peaceful now, thats when all hell breaks loose I look down. A bayonet is in my chest, I look up, a tower guard opens fire with his MG42, 3 of my closest friend go down as he then unloads into the crowd, the guard behind me is hit 9 times. Those 9 bullets hit him, through me. I died that day, as did the rest of them all. | |
[WP] You are a POW at a German camp. The General in charge of the camp, one of Hitler's right hand men, likes to challenge men in the camp to duels at whatever the prisoner is best at to prove german superiority. If you beat him you are let go, if you lose you die. Today is your day to duel him. | My heart was pounding, the moment was drawing closer. I knew it would soon be over - but in freedom or defeat? I was still unsure.
A week prior to this duel, out of pity (or perhaps confidence?) the general in charge of my imprisonment let me choose what I'd be dueling with. Unbeknownst to him I was not a novice when it came to duels, in fact, I'd consider myself nothing less than a master. However, I had no idea what kind of traps to expect from him, and this uncertainty was perhaps the most terrifying part of this whole ordeal.
As I sat, legs chained to the chair, the general entered the room with with a subtle but undeniable smirk spread across his face.
*Calm down* I told myself, *by all accounts I should have the advantage here. My first duel was over a decade ago, and here I stand still undefeated!.. sit. I guess I'm sitting. Come on, get a grip!* I swallowed and peered straight into his cruel eyes.
"Let's do this"
"Exzellent," he replied, "as a final act of mercy I shall allow you ze first move." His condescending stare was really beginning to piss me off.
"Very well, I summon Flame Swordsman in attack mode!"
He flashed his tobacco stained teeth at me, "I use Pot of Greed!"
*Oh fuck me...*
| His voice is hoarse, and spoke broken English through a thick German accent.
"VERE IS ZE ONE ZEY CALL WOZNIAK?"
I step forward.
"AHHH ARE YOU WOZNIAK?"
"Yes sir."
*THWAP* The Commandant they call Reichsin smacks me across the face with his gloves.
"AND WHAT RANK ARE YOU WOZNIAK?"
"Private first class sir."
*THWAP* "YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS *HERR* REICHSIN OR YOU WILL BE EXECUTED!"
"Now vill you join me for some tea?"
Minutes pass before I answer, but I was not fast enough. "
ERGREIFE IHN!" Two muscular and shirtless guards grab me and use large knives to cut the back of my shirt off. "YOU VILL COUNT IN THE ARYAN LANGAUGE OR WE WILL START OVER!" The first blow hit my back from the but of a Mauser. "One!" I cry, he grabs my throat and pulls me up to look at him. "NEIN!" He pulls his officers saber out and quickly slashes from my ear to my cheek, the blood pools in my mouth, I spit it out. "TRY AGAIN!" One of the watching POWS mouths to me *eins*. "EINS!" I exlaim as I am struck again this time in the back of the neck, everything starts to fade, I fall forward on my face, I hear "And ze said you was a fighter" Flashback to Brooklyn 1924, I see myself in the ring, but this wasn't ordinary boxing, this was a Brooklyn Rumble as we called it, my opponent charged towards me and I ducked and uppercut him in the jaw, he is enrged like a bull and quickly breaks a beer bottle and jams it in my side, however he narrowly miss and I charge his waist and throw him into the brick wall, a brick falls loose, and I use it to bludgeon him. Remembering this inspires me. I wake up and notice something in my pocket, a nail. I jump up with renewed strength and headbutt the nearest guard, I jam the nail into Herr Reichsins jugular and a look of surprise on his face catches my eye, followed by a smile, I watch him go down. I watch him. He is peaceful now, thats when all hell breaks loose I look down. A bayonet is in my chest, I look up, a tower guard opens fire with his MG42, 3 of my closest friend go down as he then unloads into the crowd, the guard behind me is hit 9 times. Those 9 bullets hit him, through me. I died that day, as did the rest of them all. | |
[WP] You are a POW at a German camp. The General in charge of the camp, one of Hitler's right hand men, likes to challenge men in the camp to duels at whatever the prisoner is best at to prove german superiority. If you beat him you are let go, if you lose you die. Today is your day to duel him. | As I sat on my bunk, thoughts rushed through my head:
*What if I can't beat him?*
*There's literally nothing I'm good at!*
*Why can I hear myself thinking?*
But as I sat there and pondered, an idea came to the forefront of my mind. It was devious, cunning...everything deserving of an evil laugh. I began in earnest, but almost immediately a guard poked his head in and yelled "NEIN! Zat is our job! 10 BEATINGS FOR EVERYONE!"
*Dammit.*
Well anyway, back to the story.
The duel was scheduled for 9:00 that evening, and I had to prepare. I worked myself down to the bone all day, harder than I'd ever worked before. Now, you may be wondering, "Wouldn't working so hard be a disadvantage?" Maybe, but I had a plan. It was devious, cunning...*wait better stop myself there.*
The rest of the day passed in a flurry of hard work, bad food, and screaming Germans. 9:00 rolled around, and the whole camp was summoned to the main courtyard. The general stepped out from a block of soldiers, and beckoned me out of the crowd. As I stepped forward, the general laughed and boomed out "Vell then, ze mighty challenger approaches! What is your trial? I shall best you at it with ease!" I smirked and called out "I challenge you...to do nothing."
*cricket cricket*
"Wait...vat?"
"You heard me. You might as well call it a lazy-off, if that would help."
The general stood stock still, in abject confusion. He straightened, shook himself, and met my gaze. "Very well. I accept your challenge." I clapped my hands and gleefully exclaimed "Alrighty then! Let's get started. Lie down, first one to move loses." We slammed to the floor, and the competition began. For two days and three nights the battle raged, with absolutely no sound coming from either competitor. At the beginning of the third day, the general threw himself up and out the door, screaming "ZIS IS MADNESS!" all the way to the capital. All the prisoners burst out laughing, and the soldiers opened the gates and kicked me out.
I closed the diary with a satisfied look on my face, and turned to the history students. "And that's how I turned the Germans into workaholics."
**Feedback and criticism is appreciated.** | Hell is a place where sinners suffer and repent. Here, then, is a place worse than Hell. You are tortured for nothing. You die for nothing. The worst is that you live for something, but that thing slips a little through your fingers every time you close your eyes. Every stony step wrenches a little more away from you. Even the beatings fade away, if the slabs we carry are heavy enough.
This is the life of one who lives- as little as this is life- in Mauthausen. Like rats, they scurry. Like shadows, they wilt. Like mandrakes, they scream. Will you remember the screams like I do, I wonder? I used to think that it took a special kind of person to rape and shoot a girl, then have a smoke afterwards. I know now that it only takes an average person to do that.
You call these people sub-human, Herr Standartenführer. Certainly some have been reduced to animals, though not of their own accord. Even starving Aryans will eat each other, yes? But tell me, what is the measure of a human? Kant, your beloved Kant, thought it was to accede to duty, against one's base desires. I think him wrong. By those paltry standards, there are still more humans dying here than alive.
Blood and iron, so your greatest Minister wrote. I am no good with those things. I was born in a house of books, conscripted into the Great Patriotic War, and sent to the front-lines with a rifle and five bullets. I killed no man, but I watched better men that I die in front of me. You must know the feeling. Look at me now- a sunken sack of skin and teeth. This hair was blond, these eyes bright and blue. They called my ancestors Varyangi. You must share the irony with me, for this is too much even for my hungry mouth.
But I know words and feelings, and I know my fellow man from both sides now. You have leather-bound vellum and inks from India. I weave frays into strands into rags, and write with soot, blood, and loathing. Do you feel this same loathing towards your sub-humans, I wonder? Then we will be looking at each other through the mirror of a midnight lake.
Who is the one of us drowning? Even now, Mother Russia steams and stamps. She is slow to rouse, but quick to anger. The Red tide will wash over you, and you will cling to your ragged crags of "purity" and "heritage", and you will be swept away by the crash of thunder-water. You will scurry like rats. You will be cut down like shadows before the sun. You will scream like Ruth, you will scream like Edith, you will scream like Lea.
With the triumph of your superior technology and the triumph of your superior will, let us see if history remembers you. When you are overtaken by your sins, Herr Standartenführer, take care not to burn your papers along with the names of those you have shot and hanged. Shoot me and hang me, if you want. My corpse is at your mercy. But my words do not need my flesh to endure.
-~-
I did my best to make this piece as historically accurate as possible. More at /r/whythecynic . Mostly old writing prompts, but hey! | |
[WP] You are a POW at a German camp. The General in charge of the camp, one of Hitler's right hand men, likes to challenge men in the camp to duels at whatever the prisoner is best at to prove german superiority. If you beat him you are let go, if you lose you die. Today is your day to duel him. | My heart was pounding, the moment was drawing closer. I knew it would soon be over - but in freedom or defeat? I was still unsure.
A week prior to this duel, out of pity (or perhaps confidence?) the general in charge of my imprisonment let me choose what I'd be dueling with. Unbeknownst to him I was not a novice when it came to duels, in fact, I'd consider myself nothing less than a master. However, I had no idea what kind of traps to expect from him, and this uncertainty was perhaps the most terrifying part of this whole ordeal.
As I sat, legs chained to the chair, the general entered the room with with a subtle but undeniable smirk spread across his face.
*Calm down* I told myself, *by all accounts I should have the advantage here. My first duel was over a decade ago, and here I stand still undefeated!.. sit. I guess I'm sitting. Come on, get a grip!* I swallowed and peered straight into his cruel eyes.
"Let's do this"
"Exzellent," he replied, "as a final act of mercy I shall allow you ze first move." His condescending stare was really beginning to piss me off.
"Very well, I summon Flame Swordsman in attack mode!"
He flashed his tobacco stained teeth at me, "I use Pot of Greed!"
*Oh fuck me...*
| Hell is a place where sinners suffer and repent. Here, then, is a place worse than Hell. You are tortured for nothing. You die for nothing. The worst is that you live for something, but that thing slips a little through your fingers every time you close your eyes. Every stony step wrenches a little more away from you. Even the beatings fade away, if the slabs we carry are heavy enough.
This is the life of one who lives- as little as this is life- in Mauthausen. Like rats, they scurry. Like shadows, they wilt. Like mandrakes, they scream. Will you remember the screams like I do, I wonder? I used to think that it took a special kind of person to rape and shoot a girl, then have a smoke afterwards. I know now that it only takes an average person to do that.
You call these people sub-human, Herr Standartenführer. Certainly some have been reduced to animals, though not of their own accord. Even starving Aryans will eat each other, yes? But tell me, what is the measure of a human? Kant, your beloved Kant, thought it was to accede to duty, against one's base desires. I think him wrong. By those paltry standards, there are still more humans dying here than alive.
Blood and iron, so your greatest Minister wrote. I am no good with those things. I was born in a house of books, conscripted into the Great Patriotic War, and sent to the front-lines with a rifle and five bullets. I killed no man, but I watched better men that I die in front of me. You must know the feeling. Look at me now- a sunken sack of skin and teeth. This hair was blond, these eyes bright and blue. They called my ancestors Varyangi. You must share the irony with me, for this is too much even for my hungry mouth.
But I know words and feelings, and I know my fellow man from both sides now. You have leather-bound vellum and inks from India. I weave frays into strands into rags, and write with soot, blood, and loathing. Do you feel this same loathing towards your sub-humans, I wonder? Then we will be looking at each other through the mirror of a midnight lake.
Who is the one of us drowning? Even now, Mother Russia steams and stamps. She is slow to rouse, but quick to anger. The Red tide will wash over you, and you will cling to your ragged crags of "purity" and "heritage", and you will be swept away by the crash of thunder-water. You will scurry like rats. You will be cut down like shadows before the sun. You will scream like Ruth, you will scream like Edith, you will scream like Lea.
With the triumph of your superior technology and the triumph of your superior will, let us see if history remembers you. When you are overtaken by your sins, Herr Standartenführer, take care not to burn your papers along with the names of those you have shot and hanged. Shoot me and hang me, if you want. My corpse is at your mercy. But my words do not need my flesh to endure.
-~-
I did my best to make this piece as historically accurate as possible. More at /r/whythecynic . Mostly old writing prompts, but hey! | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | The hand was warm...Comfortable... It moved a finger up and down my index finger. It felt natural...I closed my eyes in the hospital bed and enjoyed this final goodbye, from my nervous system... But it didn't seem to end, it just kept going.
There was a cool breeze against my knuckles, and it pulsated gently as though it were swinging back and forth gently... That's what it was! The other hand was swinging back and forth with mine as though we were walking together...It felt wonderful.
I opened my eyes... I recognized the room around me. The same sterile beds, and blinking equipment... My fiance dozing in the corner. The sensation continued in my left hand... I closed my eyes and concentrated more on it. The movement had stopped... It twisted awkwardly and then a new sensation! It rubbed over something! It was course cloth, then... Yes! A Belt!
I opened my eyes again...Still here. I look down at my right hand. Still there, I look at my bandaged stump...
Whoa! SOFT! Sweater? I closed my eyes again, it was definitely a sweater! The...The small of a back?
My eyes flashed open. Fiance was still sleeping...So sweet and supportive, but exhausted...
Muscles? There was a broad back and shoulders under the sweater I could feel them! My hand dug in slightly...I had no control, but what it was doing was enjoyable. Pressure...kneading the sweater with my fingers... Or rather someone else's fingers? My heart began to race.
I opened my eyes again. The sensations in my lost hand were now harder to ignore...
The back of a head... the head moved strangely...Am I kissing someone? I think I can feel my wrist and arm getting warmer...
Opening my eyes, I nervously look around. This feels amazing, but yet... It can't be real...Maybe I should just...
The hand releases and is grasped and the walking continues.
With the excitement over, I try to wake my fiance. He smiles and stirs slightly. I try and concentrate on the monitors around me, and then the TV... It's time for my arm to be quiet... Is the morphine drip still on?
The hand leaves mine... I feel soft cloth under my hands...Then a familiar metal device...Yeah! It's a seatbelt... CLICK! Ha! That has a definite feel! I've never done that left handed, though.
The TV is just boring crap... The usual news, scrambled movie channels, and maybe some cartoons. Fiance is up and we talk. I don't tell him about my odd fantom pains. It's too weird. We just sit in silence...Blissful silence. He strokes my left arm...
SEATBELT! Releasing it has a definite feel too! My hand feels strange...Energetic, shaking...It makes me giddy and scared. Ah, the jeans again...Yep, belt...Kissing...So much faster this time.
"FACE! I'M TOUCHING A FACE!" I suddenly shout, forgetting where I am.
"Are you okay?" Fiance asks sleepily but concerned.
"Only a dream, sorry"
"I'm glad....", he drifts back to sleep.
Face...Neck...sweater... wait, no sweater... Chest, muscles... a heartbeat! Oh god, stay over that heart for just a second... I felt safe... something familiar... Okay... moving again... S..stomach...still moving.. Belt... Working the buckle...
Shit!
I open my eyes... I quickly look around the room for a distraction... I spot a glass of ice water and dribble some on my arm... It all goes numb.
Phew... It was getting to be a bit much. I'm not sure why it bothered me, but this could get awful intrusive, and I don't even know this man, let alone... Well, at least it can be shut off.
With any luck, it will fade away.
It didn't... But, it became part of me. The love making became eerily enjoyable, and the more I concentrated on the sensations I could make out subtle differences in heat, and almost light...I began to draw the face of this caring young lover based on touching his face... Then my own face, or rather the strange face I never had... They looked vaguely familiar. Warm, tender smiles... I never told my fiance, but I was experiencing a whole other life, or rather my had was...and I was somehow connected. They were so very much in love...and then the girl! THEY HAD A BABY GIRL! She was so wonderful to stroke and hold and care for... I drew a picture of her too, eventually. I gave her my eyes... She looked uncannily like me!
Life continued, we got married, and had a child of our own. But the feelings, the hand-life also continued.
Then there came the day... My husband was off on a business meeting for the week. I was used to it and didn't mind spending time with the "Hand Family" as I called them.
But something was wrong. Early in the morning "John Hand's" face felt wrong. Cold clammy... Shaking hand, trembling, oh god, Jane Hand's wet face...Phone Dialing...
"Oh, god no!" I yelled to nobody.
I shook cradling my arm...
Stroking cold face, spasm, damp, clumsy, everything broken... I reached up and touched my own face with my right hand to ground myself.
Doorknob, frantic waving... Strange hand... holding cold John hand...
Jane face... Jane face...
Every moment was etched into my memory...Every sensation right up to the cool polished wood finish of a casket...
I pulled myself away briefly... I grabbed my drawing pad and a pencil and concentrated with my entire being... Answers...I needed answers, and there was almost certainly going to be one!
Cold...THIS IS IT! slowly, slowly now... Fingers made their way across an engraving in stone... A-L-L-E-N...
Weird... That's
F-A-I-R-M-
I snap the pencil in my fingers...
No.
This...This is...
Heh!
I run to my desk stumbling realizing that I hadn't eaten in 3 days... But... YES! The pictures... They were close...
They were more than close...
OH GOD!
I close my eyes, I need just a little more...
Nothing... Nothing... No John Hand, no Jane Hand... Just nothing...
I wiped my face off and grabbed my pencil stub and labeled the drawings: Dad, Mom.
| I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I learned from an episode of the The Office that the back left seat, directly behind the driver, is statistically the safest seat to be sitting in in the event of a car crash. I don't know whether that's true or not, but it was the first thing I thought of when they told me I was the only person who managed to survive after being pulled out the wreckage.
'Relatively OK, compared to what you could've lost' they told me. They must've forgotten who didn't make it out that car with me.
Phantom limbs are a funny thing. I'd reach out for a glass of water in the middle of the night, half asleep, and feel my muscles tense and fingers pull inward to clasp around the glass to find a stump beating against the darkness to reach the bedside table. I'd cry, at first, until I eventually learned to sleep on the opposite side of the bed - where she'd slap out with her left hand against the alarm clock shouting us awake, and I'd throw my right over her waist and pull her in for 10 more minutes.
None of that now.
Her funeral was hard. The way people looked at me made it worse. Aggressive sympathy, eyes darting from my face to the empty space at my right. Standing on the wrong side of her mother when she went to hold my hand.
A few hours after, when I skipped the reception and made the drive home in the early dark nights (against the doctors wishes, but I drive much slower these days), I shuffled through the front door and fell against the bed we shared. My side, for tonight.
My left arm dangled off the side, sandwhiched inbetween the bedside and the mattress - with the cool wood on the backs of my hairs and my forearm pressed against the old mattress we got discount.
My right was - would've been - stretched right against her. It happened in my sleep;
"Punch me next time." I joked, and she did.
I thought about how cold it felt, how I could never pull my arm over her, or anyone again, then began to weep at the fact I thought there'd be an 'anyone', when I felt her hand reach out and stroke my phantom limb, lift it up and pull it under her bed shirt to her stomach.
"You're cold." She said.
"I miss you."
But that was all she needed to say, and when the alarm screamed in the morning I shuffled over and saw a meek stub beating at its lights in the dark. | I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I think the first time I walked in a room with my stumpy disarray was worse than losing it. Really the look on my mother's face was enough to make me feel like a real piece of shit. Agonizing. Having pity thrown your way with every glance, and rapid dart of eyes; and all of them hoping that you didn't notice. And the awful, "oh it is sad. Could you imagine?" Is there something wrong with me? Maybe so, maybe not. I don't know really. That isn't what bothers me at night.
Remembering the night I sat and drank wine on the edge of the world with the love of my life is what kills me. A lit up world twinkling below, and the sounds of brass and smell of fresh bread finding its way out of the kitchen below and into my gracious nostrils. Rome, what an amazing place! Oh so full of love and light! So authentic, so filthy and lovely and putrid and brilliant. So romantic. Sitting aside my dear Martha, with her seductive black dress and soft skin. My eyes have never set upon a beauty farer than thee. Oh my Martha. What a shame.
Now I drink cheap beer out of tall cans and ash cigarettes on the porch. My skin is grey and my mouth always dry. The arm I still have is withering away, what a cruel trick. This world is entirely a cruel trick. I am old and confused. I can't understand anymore what I thought I knew. What is joy if it can be ripped away so easily. It is only a suffering I feel now.
That trip was so fantastic I feel I never truly left. I can feel the salty air wisp across my cheeks. I can hear the laughter, oh the blissful laughter! still from my love and the instantaneous smile creeps along my face. The feeling of running after her after she splashed the foam in my face. My unbuttoned shirt and brown hair blowing fiercely in the coastal wind. She screamed and kissed me when I caught her; and we both fell into the sea drowning in our youth. It is a lovely feeling. I wish it had never ended.
My bed feels too comfortable tonight. My face feels too old. I feel I won't wake up again. I rather hope I don't. I died all those years ago. I died on that plane with that beautiful woman. I can still hear the turbines blow. I can still hear the captain come overhead and tell us how sorry he is. I can still remember telling my dear Martha, "it will be okay dear. We weren't meant to die today." I didn't know if that was true, but you'd say anything to keep the ones you love blissfully ignorant. I wish I was ignorant. I can still remember the pounding of my heart as it tried to wrench itself from my chest and soar to safety. "Martha dear hold onto me and never let go," I told her. She held on for as long as she could. The crash was horrific, and one of the seats ripped through cutting off the arm she held onto so dearly. I haven't been able to feel her since. She was ripped away and torn from me. It has been agony.
But I lay here now, and I feel that it is going to end. Looking down at what was my arm, I can sometimes feel the tips of my fingers. The doctors said that would happen. I can feel them right now, and I can feel age slipping away. But what is this? The grip on my arm has just tightened. "Martha? Is that you my Martha?" I say, and tears fall from my eyes. "Oh Martha I missed you so much." I can finally rest. | I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | He had been talking her to online for months now, but they had only exchanged exactly three pictures. And none of his had included his arm.
It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. And the phantom limb was prickling painfully now, almost in admonishment.
It was just so easy. When she had only sent a picture of her face, he thought it made sense to send one of his. Her next was a photo of her feet at the bottom of a lounger facing the shore of her favourite beach. When he had sent one back of his feet in the same position, but facing a storm drain - the closest he had to a large body of water where he lived- she said he was 'funny'. And then she said he was 'cute'. His heart skipped a beat when she wrote that. And he could feel it fluttering just about fast now.
They had talked online for months now. About their favourite movies, pizza toppings and characters from Parks and Recreation. About all their dreams, darkest secrets. But they didn't talk about his missing right arm.
It was so stupid. So stupid. He knew she was minutes away from arriving and cringed thinking of her surprised stare when she realised. Would it be followed by pity? Anger? Would she let him explain? Or would she swallow her feelings, have a polite dinner and never speak to him again? He didn't know which option was the most painful.
He had finally worked up the courage to tell her he would be in her town, and ask if she would have dinner with him so they could meet 'face to face', she sent back one final picture of her face smushed up against a glass screen holding a sign which said 'yes'. He had laughed, sighed, and made the booking. Which he sent to her pressed up against glass to continue the joke, but too cowardly to even show his face this time.
And now he was waiting. To meet the woman he -may- be in love with already. Knowing he might have already wrecked it before it properly begun.
He was so distracted by his thoughts he didn't immediately notice the woman standing in from of him. He saw the edge of a skirt, and stood up fast. Her face, looked just like the pictures. Better even. She had started to smile, and watched her eyes crinkle at the corners with obvious joy.
That's when he felt it. A hand gripping his own tightly. It was electric. He saw her face fall and eyes drop. This was it. She had realised.
But then her mouth opened into a soft O, and a look of surprise spread across her face.
That's when he realised. The hand she was holding was his right one. This missing one. He looked down, and he knew at that moment that she was feeling exactly the same thing.
With her missing right hand.
Their eyes met, wonder intermingled with the most perfect happiness he had ever felt. Later they would laugh about how scared they had been before the dinner, how they were even more of a perfect match then they had realised.
And they kept holding hands for the rest of the night.
And then, for the rest of their lives. | I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Dave slouched down in his seat, rolling his eyes at the people around him and groaning near audibly as they went about their days, oblivious and happily so. He muttered an obscenity under his breath. Such blatant disregard for others feelings didn't go unnoticed, the lady a few rows down shuffled her papers and made a tch-ing noise in the back of her throat but didn't dare actually speak up. The bus trip to and from his meeting was as much a hell as the meeting itself.
There they'd tried to include him a few times at first but that hadn't gone so well. He struggled to pretend to care when all he /really/ wanted to do was walk out.
As a woman hustled her children aboard, hurriedly searching for seats in which to deposit her little ones, Dave pulled out his phone and began to scroll Reddit. It was his go to move at home as well, constructing an unbreakable wall between himself and others through his phone, an impenetrable force field society deemed it rude to cross through, and burying himself in a virtual world of others whom were ignorant to his reality. No one tried to strike up a conversation with someone who was so obviously holding up a billboard screaming DO NOT APPROACH. He wished he had his headphones. He focused his blue eyes on the screen, mindlessly scrolling. There are no eyes to see in a text based world, no pity unless he chose to search it out, no clucking mothers or fussing doctors, online he could just be Schmosby4Lyf and no one gave a shit. Well, not unless he made some particularly fucked up statement about something but he was more of an upvoter than a commentor.
It hadn't been his choice to attend the meetings and the hard plastic chairs weren't all that comfortable. Those were reasons enough to get off at the wrong stop and walk away, to skip out and hole up in some diner somewhere until the appointed time was over.. if not for that whole /monitored/ situation. With each successive week the droning on and on had transformed itself into the murmuring whomp of Charlie Brown's parents.. /or was it that Math teacher from the Wonder Years?/ Dave shook himself gently and realised he was on the 14th page and had no idea what he had scrolled through.
It wasn't that he /didn't/ care, per se. It was more that it was the same bunch of self indulgent assholes recounting their mistakes like some type of glory day they pretended to hate but still longed for, every. single. week. The ones that hid the vodka in the back of the toilet cistern, the ones that had the glassy eyed look and the stench of the bar still on them.. Dave wasn't an alcoholic. He drank because what the fuck else could he do?
That moment he'd woken up after the accident, the one which left him with a nice medal and his sleeve folded up so nicely all pinned to his bicep in his mother's attempt to normalise this shit.. that moment had been a crystal clear realisation that he would never be useful for anything again. Ever. Despite the reassurances and the promises. None of them knew what it was like to lose a limb. None.
The woman with the children struggled to keep them under control, trying to bribe them with sweet things to keep them peaceful, warning of their father finding out when they were home. Her tone going from gentle requests to firm pleas.
It wasn't just the meetings though. It was the glances from under lowered lashes, the comments of old friends sympathising with his loss yet unable to look him the eye - those were the artifacts of his shitty choices. His fiancee never showing up at the hospital after they sent him home, never sending flowers, not even bothering to call, text or make excuses.. just never being there again - was that any less than he deserved? He didn't even remember the last time anyone had hugged him in the last year. And always that same fucking sentence that made him want to cock his arm and strike a jaw /Thanks for your service/.
The Military though, they thought him lucky. Landmines blew up tanks. People died. He had been lucky, he'd only lost his arm. Just a fucking arm.
Really. Fucking. Lucky.
Pricks.
They had said that they could put him on light duties when he returned but the reality of it was that a man without an arm wasn't.. well, he just wasn't. Not to mention having to give up his place and move home with his bloody parents because he couldn't even put his own fucking pants on anymore. Life was shitty and who was going to tell him otherwise without looking like an asshole?
He caught his reflection in the window and blinked in surprise, a stranger looking back at him. A really angry stranger.
His unshaven jawline had become covered in five o'clock shadow, heavy stubble and now an unkempt beard which he paid zero attention too. Much like the rest of him really. It was only the luck of genetics that he didn't have a fat gut like that Buddha statue his parents had in their garden surrounded by weeds. The stains on his shirt wouldn't have passed a lifetime ago either...
Jostled further from his sulking reverie by something bumping into his arm he startled, glancing down to see a little kid of about 4, with the darkest brown eyes Dave had ever seen blinking up at him, one finger firmly buried up to its first knuckle in a nasal cavity. He glanced about looking for the mother and saw her occupied with the other rugrat. This one seemed to have vomited copious amounts of some blue coloured unspecified grossness down its shirt.
Physically repressing a shudder Dave turned to his right, gluing his eyes firmly on his window as the kid sat in silent companionship beside him. /Thank fuck its not that other one./
It was a matter of seconds before David was caught up in his own shit once again, burying himself in memories and unrealised potentiality.
"You are like me, my mum says so."
The voice startled him from his reverie and he glanced down to the boy beside him. Those eyes were piercing, the way they were near staring right into his soul and Dave leaned back as far as the window behind him would allow.
"Eh?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice skeptical and distanced.
A flapping motion at the child's right side drew Dave's attention, the arm of the kid's plaid shirt flopping about, and it was another moment before its emptiness was noticed. Dave took in the kids appearance with eyes that were willing too see and nodded his head.
"I guess so."
The kid nodded at Dave's tone and turned back to the front of the bus, his voice full of surety.
"I'm almost five. My arm fell off before I was born, my mum says, but I can still do my shoes up." He kicked up his feet upon which were Velcro straps. "See?"
Dave grunted, overcome with a feeling of immense shithead-dom and nodded his head in return. A 30 year old whining while this little kid hasn't even had a chance? He'd played ball, kissed girls and ridden a motorbike - this little guy.. would he ever?
Feeling a heavy stone on his chest that tightened his throat and dragged him back down into melancholy, David felt like he was starting to drown. The lights around him began brightening and then fading rapidly until he had the sensation of falling down a well, his mind seeming to dim in way he'd never experienced.
He felt it first as a warmth spreading over where his palm had been once, that whole phantom limb thing had bugged him at first though the doc had said it was normal enough and it even ached from time to time. It became a tightening then, a once familiar sensation that drew his dull eyes to the one beside him, as if someone was..
"My name is Pete. I'm going to be a LionTamer - then I can tell everyone that a lion ate my arm, thats what my Dad says." Pete's voice got more enthused as he spoke on about his plans. Dave was suddenly drowned in sunshine, his chest lightening and his thoughts clearing as if a fog had lifted. Perspective returned.
"Yeah mate, I reckon you are." He spoke incredulously.
Dave squeezed the phantom hand holding his own and with a sparkle in those dark brown eyes, Pete squeezed back. | I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I lost the arm in a car accident. My boyfriend was driving. I remember being in a haze while my doctor spoke to me. They found me with my arm lodged in the crumpled car door. It was mangled, my hand in a direction that hands are generally not supposed are to go. He didn’t talk about my fingers, but I remember looking at my elbow, clad in bandages thinking that it probably wasn’t worth asking about.
“You may feel a phantom limb every now and then.” He said.
It’s a strange feeling you know, you read about it on Reddit or hear a story on the radio of some veteran who can’t sleep at night because he feels an itch that can never be scratched. It never happened to me though, I suppose I was a bit lucky in that regard. After a week in the hospital they thought I was safe to go home. Mum came to collect me, everyone agreed that it was best if I stayed at home for a little while. Until I settled down.
If you’ve ever felt trauma, you’ll know the feeling. My mind kept skipping back like a song on repeat. Phillip and I were going to see a movie, we rented a small place in the country, so it was a bit of drive to town. But I didn’t mind it too much. We went the wrong way, Phillip was monologuing while he drove. He worked late and listened to podcasts to pass the time and always repeated what he heard on it, I caught him out on it once, he quoted and entire section word for word. He was listening to the History of Rome, the life of Marcus Aurelius. We were supposed to turn left at the crossroads but he was so focused on what he was saying that he drove straight through.
“Turn Left!” I shouted.
Then we got hit. A Camper Van, some nice Dutch family who were on vacation and didn’t know the area very well. They went straight through us, I screamed and grabbed Philip’s hand.
I was thinking about this as I walked to my old secondary school. It was a few months and the councilors weren’t helping. Mum had the bright idea that the next best thing would be to have a talk with some teenagers, an insight into being a cripple I guess.
I told mam I’d walk, it wasn’t far and I was sick of staying inside and pretending to watch movies my while attention rebounded to the car crash over and over again. I was thinking about it when I crossed the road. I didn’t see the bus.
But something did. My doctor said I would a feel phantom limb, but I assumed it would be mine. I felt something grab my missing hand and yank me back. It was strong, my body lurched back and I tripped and my ass slammed on the path as a bright flash of yellow crossed my vision.
The driver belted his horn at me but I didn’t notice it, I was staring at the smooth skin at my elbow and the claw shaped bruise that blossomed around it.
| I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Molly often laughed at my stump.
My sister scolded her -- *stop that, don't laugh, that's not nice* -- but I secretly loved it. I was so sick of the averted gazes, hushed whispers, and nauseatingly polite small-talk.
Last time I saw her, she gave me this gem.
"Mommy needs two hands to eat. How do you eat?"
"I trained my dog to feed me," I joked.
"Nooooo," she said, shaking her head. Her brown curls flopped around her face. "Nooooo. That's silly."
I tried to convince her for several minutes, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Rocky can't even feed himself. We have to give him his food." She curled her hand around my left pinky finger, giggling. It was a habit of hers, as her hands were almost too small to hold normally.
"Well, my dog is much smarter than Rocky."
"He's so much littler. He can't be smarter."
All too soon, it was time for Molly's nap. As I walked out the door, I glanced back. She was begrudgingly giving up her crayons, pouting at her mother, repeating "but I'm not sleepy." I laughed and continued to the car.
It was only two days later that I got the call. Fall. Blood. Unresponsive. I could only pick out a few words between my sister's hysterical sobs, but it was enough. My heart pounded, my vision swam. I hung up the phone and sat down, as the world tipped and twirled in front of me.
I felt something brush my right arm. Tingles shot up the phantom limb, different from the painful pins-and-needles I normally felt.
And then a tiny hand curled around my pinky. | I've been missing out on so much now. I grew up being that girl. I played piano, I painted. I ran carefree whenever I could because the opportunities were few and far between.
When Mom and Dad died, my little sister and I were swiftly put into foster care. We were so young. Still in elementary school. Our foster parents weren't as loving as our parents were. In fact, you could argue that they were there to be paid to discipline us.
And discipline us, they did. They raised us strictly in the church. They certainly weren't "spare the rod" kind of people.
There was one time when I was in fourth grade or so. One of the boys in my class would show up without any food, so I would share the hot lunch that the school gave me. My foster parents found out and reminded me that "food is not to be shared with faggots or gaybies" by starving me for the rest of the week. I was too young to understand then that their response was to the fact that the boy had two fathers. He was loved very much, but just had a habit of forgetting the sack lunch his dad had made for him.
It isn't hard to understand the sinking, life-threateningly anxious feelings I had when I developed my first real crush. I was 12 or so at the time. She looked at me and the world stopped spinning, my stomach twisted into knots, and then the world came crashing back down on me.
Of course, I did end up telling my sister, a few years later when we were in high school. She understood the importance of hiding it from them, knowing that there would be hell to pay right there in their house before God, Himself, could think about hating me. Fortunately for me, she didn't take very well to our foster parents' religious teachings either, opting for what our parents told us when we were very young: "If there is a God who loves us humans, they would love us regardless of who we were made to be. That's what a parent or God is for."
Unfortunately for me, she always managed to speak without thinking. Her words had always been unfiltered thoughts spilling out. Like at graduation. I had managed to earn my diploma after years of crippling depression. I had chosen not to date until I had graduated and left "home" at 17, so as not to rock the boat. But between being gay, losing most of my family, and not being able to let myself grow like normal teenagers, I felt tied down. So when I had the paper in my hand, and my foster parents nearby scanning the crowd for a way to exit, of course my sister had to say, "Aren't you glad you can finally go find Princess Charming?"
The fosters were in earshot, and livid. As we were piling into the car, foster dad promised me the beating of a lifetime to "straighten me out." Foster mom made it about her. "After opening my happy home to you, you repay me with delusions and sin!?"
The trip didn't last long, though. We didn't make it home that night. I woke up in the hospital a week later, with my little sister holding my left hand, and my right arm below my elbow gone.
She said it was an accident. That foster dad was yelling at me so much, taking his eyes off the road to look at me in the rear view window that he didn't see it when he ended up in the oncoming lane. Yelling so much that he didn't hear the truck's horn until it was too late. He yanked the steering wheel counter clockwise, spinning the car. Foster mom took most of the hit, but my arm took a bit of damage, too. I was lucky that there was a witness who was an emt. While I had lost a lot of blood, she stopped the bleeding that would have killed me. Foster mom wasn't so lucky. Foster dad and little sister got scrapes and bruises, but were otherwise alright. Well, aside from foster dad blaming me and my gayness for the accident and kicking me and my sister out.
The doctor went over a few things with me. Talked about phantom limb pain, side effects of blood loss. Talked about the possibility of getting a prosthetic arm. What he didn't talk about was reteaching me to write or paint, or the unlikeliness of me getting back to the piano bench.
Except, one day, about a week after I woke up, it felt like someone was holding my hand. Not my left hand, I knew my sister was holding it. But my right hand. It felt like that first crush. The world stopped spinning for me. My stomach churned, butterflies fluttering. My face flushed hot. Someone held my hand. My sister noticed.
"What's wrong with you? Are you thinking about something I shouldn't be here for? You look like you've got a crush on someone. Like a really serious, star-crossed lovers kind of crush."
"Shut up! No, it just feels like someone is holding my hand, but my hand isn't there anymore, so I'm not sure what the feeling is." | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I learned from an episode of the The Office that the back left seat, directly behind the driver, is statistically the safest seat to be sitting in in the event of a car crash. I don't know whether that's true or not, but it was the first thing I thought of when they told me I was the only person who managed to survive after being pulled out the wreckage.
'Relatively OK, compared to what you could've lost' they told me. They must've forgotten who didn't make it out that car with me.
Phantom limbs are a funny thing. I'd reach out for a glass of water in the middle of the night, half asleep, and feel my muscles tense and fingers pull inward to clasp around the glass to find a stump beating against the darkness to reach the bedside table. I'd cry, at first, until I eventually learned to sleep on the opposite side of the bed - where she'd slap out with her left hand against the alarm clock shouting us awake, and I'd throw my right over her waist and pull her in for 10 more minutes.
None of that now.
Her funeral was hard. The way people looked at me made it worse. Aggressive sympathy, eyes darting from my face to the empty space at my right. Standing on the wrong side of her mother when she went to hold my hand.
A few hours after, when I skipped the reception and made the drive home in the early dark nights (against the doctors wishes, but I drive much slower these days), I shuffled through the front door and fell against the bed we shared. My side, for tonight.
My left arm dangled off the side, sandwhiched inbetween the bedside and the mattress - with the cool wood on the backs of my hairs and my forearm pressed against the old mattress we got discount.
My right was - would've been - stretched right against her. It happened in my sleep;
"Punch me next time." I joked, and she did.
I thought about how cold it felt, how I could never pull my arm over her, or anyone again, then began to weep at the fact I thought there'd be an 'anyone', when I felt her hand reach out and stroke my phantom limb, lift it up and pull it under her bed shirt to her stomach.
"You're cold." She said.
"I miss you."
But that was all she needed to say, and when the alarm screamed in the morning I shuffled over and saw a meek stub beating at its lights in the dark. | Five miles from the border, I came across the first settlement I had seen in days. Not more than a shanty town, a mere collection of makeshift huts, this could not be my destination.
The tugging on my hand said otherwise.
Not my real hand, I mean. I looked down at my elbow, a pale rounded stub, and tried to imagine where my hand would be, how my fingers were interlocked with the other, where I was being led, gently, persistently.
I'd learned quickly not to share too much. Most people were sympathetic, telling me that this was just a phase while my body adjusted to a missing arm. Others, others were not so kind.
I ignored them. My time in the service may have been traumatic, but I knew that there was nothing wrong with my mind. So what if no one believed me, if they slowly started excluding me? There really was someone on the other end.
I was sure of it.
The locals went out of their way to avoid me, casting their eyes to the ground even as I tried to meet theirs. I could speak the local dialect, but no one could give me the directions I sought.
Crossing through the heart of the settlement, the tugging on my missing hand grew stronger. I took a left at a junction, then backtracked when my unseen companion corrected me.
There was an abandoned Ford beyond the clearing, gently rusting in the dry soil. Children ran in circles around it, leaping off the bonnet, ducking behind it as they tried to catch each other. Their shrieks of laughter rang through the air.
One child, barely eight, kept trying to join in, but she was not welcome. She ran as fast as the rest, climbed as nimbly, yelled as loud, but there was a respectful distance between her and the rest. Mere feet in reality, certainly a gulf for her.
Tiring of her efforts, the others huddled, then yelled out the name of a new game to play. The children quickly linked arms, forming a loop around the Ford, singing songs as they skipped and danced.
She could not be part of the circle. For that, she would have needed her left arm.
At the end of my hand, my missing hand, I felt the fingers, for the last time, slowly let go.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I think the first time I walked in a room with my stumpy disarray was worse than losing it. Really the look on my mother's face was enough to make me feel like a real piece of shit. Agonizing. Having pity thrown your way with every glance, and rapid dart of eyes; and all of them hoping that you didn't notice. And the awful, "oh it is sad. Could you imagine?" Is there something wrong with me? Maybe so, maybe not. I don't know really. That isn't what bothers me at night.
Remembering the night I sat and drank wine on the edge of the world with the love of my life is what kills me. A lit up world twinkling below, and the sounds of brass and smell of fresh bread finding its way out of the kitchen below and into my gracious nostrils. Rome, what an amazing place! Oh so full of love and light! So authentic, so filthy and lovely and putrid and brilliant. So romantic. Sitting aside my dear Martha, with her seductive black dress and soft skin. My eyes have never set upon a beauty farer than thee. Oh my Martha. What a shame.
Now I drink cheap beer out of tall cans and ash cigarettes on the porch. My skin is grey and my mouth always dry. The arm I still have is withering away, what a cruel trick. This world is entirely a cruel trick. I am old and confused. I can't understand anymore what I thought I knew. What is joy if it can be ripped away so easily. It is only a suffering I feel now.
That trip was so fantastic I feel I never truly left. I can feel the salty air wisp across my cheeks. I can hear the laughter, oh the blissful laughter! still from my love and the instantaneous smile creeps along my face. The feeling of running after her after she splashed the foam in my face. My unbuttoned shirt and brown hair blowing fiercely in the coastal wind. She screamed and kissed me when I caught her; and we both fell into the sea drowning in our youth. It is a lovely feeling. I wish it had never ended.
My bed feels too comfortable tonight. My face feels too old. I feel I won't wake up again. I rather hope I don't. I died all those years ago. I died on that plane with that beautiful woman. I can still hear the turbines blow. I can still hear the captain come overhead and tell us how sorry he is. I can still remember telling my dear Martha, "it will be okay dear. We weren't meant to die today." I didn't know if that was true, but you'd say anything to keep the ones you love blissfully ignorant. I wish I was ignorant. I can still remember the pounding of my heart as it tried to wrench itself from my chest and soar to safety. "Martha dear hold onto me and never let go," I told her. She held on for as long as she could. The crash was horrific, and one of the seats ripped through cutting off the arm she held onto so dearly. I haven't been able to feel her since. She was ripped away and torn from me. It has been agony.
But I lay here now, and I feel that it is going to end. Looking down at what was my arm, I can sometimes feel the tips of my fingers. The doctors said that would happen. I can feel them right now, and I can feel age slipping away. But what is this? The grip on my arm has just tightened. "Martha? Is that you my Martha?" I say, and tears fall from my eyes. "Oh Martha I missed you so much." I can finally rest. | Five miles from the border, I came across the first settlement I had seen in days. Not more than a shanty town, a mere collection of makeshift huts, this could not be my destination.
The tugging on my hand said otherwise.
Not my real hand, I mean. I looked down at my elbow, a pale rounded stub, and tried to imagine where my hand would be, how my fingers were interlocked with the other, where I was being led, gently, persistently.
I'd learned quickly not to share too much. Most people were sympathetic, telling me that this was just a phase while my body adjusted to a missing arm. Others, others were not so kind.
I ignored them. My time in the service may have been traumatic, but I knew that there was nothing wrong with my mind. So what if no one believed me, if they slowly started excluding me? There really was someone on the other end.
I was sure of it.
The locals went out of their way to avoid me, casting their eyes to the ground even as I tried to meet theirs. I could speak the local dialect, but no one could give me the directions I sought.
Crossing through the heart of the settlement, the tugging on my missing hand grew stronger. I took a left at a junction, then backtracked when my unseen companion corrected me.
There was an abandoned Ford beyond the clearing, gently rusting in the dry soil. Children ran in circles around it, leaping off the bonnet, ducking behind it as they tried to catch each other. Their shrieks of laughter rang through the air.
One child, barely eight, kept trying to join in, but she was not welcome. She ran as fast as the rest, climbed as nimbly, yelled as loud, but there was a respectful distance between her and the rest. Mere feet in reality, certainly a gulf for her.
Tiring of her efforts, the others huddled, then yelled out the name of a new game to play. The children quickly linked arms, forming a loop around the Ford, singing songs as they skipped and danced.
She could not be part of the circle. For that, she would have needed her left arm.
At the end of my hand, my missing hand, I felt the fingers, for the last time, slowly let go.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I learned from an episode of the The Office that the back left seat, directly behind the driver, is statistically the safest seat to be sitting in in the event of a car crash. I don't know whether that's true or not, but it was the first thing I thought of when they told me I was the only person who managed to survive after being pulled out the wreckage.
'Relatively OK, compared to what you could've lost' they told me. They must've forgotten who didn't make it out that car with me.
Phantom limbs are a funny thing. I'd reach out for a glass of water in the middle of the night, half asleep, and feel my muscles tense and fingers pull inward to clasp around the glass to find a stump beating against the darkness to reach the bedside table. I'd cry, at first, until I eventually learned to sleep on the opposite side of the bed - where she'd slap out with her left hand against the alarm clock shouting us awake, and I'd throw my right over her waist and pull her in for 10 more minutes.
None of that now.
Her funeral was hard. The way people looked at me made it worse. Aggressive sympathy, eyes darting from my face to the empty space at my right. Standing on the wrong side of her mother when she went to hold my hand.
A few hours after, when I skipped the reception and made the drive home in the early dark nights (against the doctors wishes, but I drive much slower these days), I shuffled through the front door and fell against the bed we shared. My side, for tonight.
My left arm dangled off the side, sandwhiched inbetween the bedside and the mattress - with the cool wood on the backs of my hairs and my forearm pressed against the old mattress we got discount.
My right was - would've been - stretched right against her. It happened in my sleep;
"Punch me next time." I joked, and she did.
I thought about how cold it felt, how I could never pull my arm over her, or anyone again, then began to weep at the fact I thought there'd be an 'anyone', when I felt her hand reach out and stroke my phantom limb, lift it up and pull it under her bed shirt to her stomach.
"You're cold." She said.
"I miss you."
But that was all she needed to say, and when the alarm screamed in the morning I shuffled over and saw a meek stub beating at its lights in the dark. | The hand was warm...Comfortable... It moved a finger up and down my index finger. It felt natural...I closed my eyes in the hospital bed and enjoyed this final goodbye, from my nervous system... But it didn't seem to end, it just kept going.
There was a cool breeze against my knuckles, and it pulsated gently as though it were swinging back and forth gently... That's what it was! The other hand was swinging back and forth with mine as though we were walking together...It felt wonderful.
I opened my eyes... I recognized the room around me. The same sterile beds, and blinking equipment... My fiance dozing in the corner. The sensation continued in my left hand... I closed my eyes and concentrated more on it. The movement had stopped... It twisted awkwardly and then a new sensation! It rubbed over something! It was course cloth, then... Yes! A Belt!
I opened my eyes again...Still here. I look down at my right hand. Still there, I look at my bandaged stump...
Whoa! SOFT! Sweater? I closed my eyes again, it was definitely a sweater! The...The small of a back?
My eyes flashed open. Fiance was still sleeping...So sweet and supportive, but exhausted...
Muscles? There was a broad back and shoulders under the sweater I could feel them! My hand dug in slightly...I had no control, but what it was doing was enjoyable. Pressure...kneading the sweater with my fingers... Or rather someone else's fingers? My heart began to race.
I opened my eyes again. The sensations in my lost hand were now harder to ignore...
The back of a head... the head moved strangely...Am I kissing someone? I think I can feel my wrist and arm getting warmer...
Opening my eyes, I nervously look around. This feels amazing, but yet... It can't be real...Maybe I should just...
The hand releases and is grasped and the walking continues.
With the excitement over, I try to wake my fiance. He smiles and stirs slightly. I try and concentrate on the monitors around me, and then the TV... It's time for my arm to be quiet... Is the morphine drip still on?
The hand leaves mine... I feel soft cloth under my hands...Then a familiar metal device...Yeah! It's a seatbelt... CLICK! Ha! That has a definite feel! I've never done that left handed, though.
The TV is just boring crap... The usual news, scrambled movie channels, and maybe some cartoons. Fiance is up and we talk. I don't tell him about my odd fantom pains. It's too weird. We just sit in silence...Blissful silence. He strokes my left arm...
SEATBELT! Releasing it has a definite feel too! My hand feels strange...Energetic, shaking...It makes me giddy and scared. Ah, the jeans again...Yep, belt...Kissing...So much faster this time.
"FACE! I'M TOUCHING A FACE!" I suddenly shout, forgetting where I am.
"Are you okay?" Fiance asks sleepily but concerned.
"Only a dream, sorry"
"I'm glad....", he drifts back to sleep.
Face...Neck...sweater... wait, no sweater... Chest, muscles... a heartbeat! Oh god, stay over that heart for just a second... I felt safe... something familiar... Okay... moving again... S..stomach...still moving.. Belt... Working the buckle...
Shit!
I open my eyes... I quickly look around the room for a distraction... I spot a glass of ice water and dribble some on my arm... It all goes numb.
Phew... It was getting to be a bit much. I'm not sure why it bothered me, but this could get awful intrusive, and I don't even know this man, let alone... Well, at least it can be shut off.
With any luck, it will fade away.
It didn't... But, it became part of me. The love making became eerily enjoyable, and the more I concentrated on the sensations I could make out subtle differences in heat, and almost light...I began to draw the face of this caring young lover based on touching his face... Then my own face, or rather the strange face I never had... They looked vaguely familiar. Warm, tender smiles... I never told my fiance, but I was experiencing a whole other life, or rather my had was...and I was somehow connected. They were so very much in love...and then the girl! THEY HAD A BABY GIRL! She was so wonderful to stroke and hold and care for... I drew a picture of her too, eventually. I gave her my eyes... She looked uncannily like me!
Life continued, we got married, and had a child of our own. But the feelings, the hand-life also continued.
Then there came the day... My husband was off on a business meeting for the week. I was used to it and didn't mind spending time with the "Hand Family" as I called them.
But something was wrong. Early in the morning "John Hand's" face felt wrong. Cold clammy... Shaking hand, trembling, oh god, Jane Hand's wet face...Phone Dialing...
"Oh, god no!" I yelled to nobody.
I shook cradling my arm...
Stroking cold face, spasm, damp, clumsy, everything broken... I reached up and touched my own face with my right hand to ground myself.
Doorknob, frantic waving... Strange hand... holding cold John hand...
Jane face... Jane face...
Every moment was etched into my memory...Every sensation right up to the cool polished wood finish of a casket...
I pulled myself away briefly... I grabbed my drawing pad and a pencil and concentrated with my entire being... Answers...I needed answers, and there was almost certainly going to be one!
Cold...THIS IS IT! slowly, slowly now... Fingers made their way across an engraving in stone... A-L-L-E-N...
Weird... That's
F-A-I-R-M-
I snap the pencil in my fingers...
No.
This...This is...
Heh!
I run to my desk stumbling realizing that I hadn't eaten in 3 days... But... YES! The pictures... They were close...
They were more than close...
OH GOD!
I close my eyes, I need just a little more...
Nothing... Nothing... No John Hand, no Jane Hand... Just nothing...
I wiped my face off and grabbed my pencil stub and labeled the drawings: Dad, Mom.
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I think the first time I walked in a room with my stumpy disarray was worse than losing it. Really the look on my mother's face was enough to make me feel like a real piece of shit. Agonizing. Having pity thrown your way with every glance, and rapid dart of eyes; and all of them hoping that you didn't notice. And the awful, "oh it is sad. Could you imagine?" Is there something wrong with me? Maybe so, maybe not. I don't know really. That isn't what bothers me at night.
Remembering the night I sat and drank wine on the edge of the world with the love of my life is what kills me. A lit up world twinkling below, and the sounds of brass and smell of fresh bread finding its way out of the kitchen below and into my gracious nostrils. Rome, what an amazing place! Oh so full of love and light! So authentic, so filthy and lovely and putrid and brilliant. So romantic. Sitting aside my dear Martha, with her seductive black dress and soft skin. My eyes have never set upon a beauty farer than thee. Oh my Martha. What a shame.
Now I drink cheap beer out of tall cans and ash cigarettes on the porch. My skin is grey and my mouth always dry. The arm I still have is withering away, what a cruel trick. This world is entirely a cruel trick. I am old and confused. I can't understand anymore what I thought I knew. What is joy if it can be ripped away so easily. It is only a suffering I feel now.
That trip was so fantastic I feel I never truly left. I can feel the salty air wisp across my cheeks. I can hear the laughter, oh the blissful laughter! still from my love and the instantaneous smile creeps along my face. The feeling of running after her after she splashed the foam in my face. My unbuttoned shirt and brown hair blowing fiercely in the coastal wind. She screamed and kissed me when I caught her; and we both fell into the sea drowning in our youth. It is a lovely feeling. I wish it had never ended.
My bed feels too comfortable tonight. My face feels too old. I feel I won't wake up again. I rather hope I don't. I died all those years ago. I died on that plane with that beautiful woman. I can still hear the turbines blow. I can still hear the captain come overhead and tell us how sorry he is. I can still remember telling my dear Martha, "it will be okay dear. We weren't meant to die today." I didn't know if that was true, but you'd say anything to keep the ones you love blissfully ignorant. I wish I was ignorant. I can still remember the pounding of my heart as it tried to wrench itself from my chest and soar to safety. "Martha dear hold onto me and never let go," I told her. She held on for as long as she could. The crash was horrific, and one of the seats ripped through cutting off the arm she held onto so dearly. I haven't been able to feel her since. She was ripped away and torn from me. It has been agony.
But I lay here now, and I feel that it is going to end. Looking down at what was my arm, I can sometimes feel the tips of my fingers. The doctors said that would happen. I can feel them right now, and I can feel age slipping away. But what is this? The grip on my arm has just tightened. "Martha? Is that you my Martha?" I say, and tears fall from my eyes. "Oh Martha I missed you so much." I can finally rest. | The hand was warm...Comfortable... It moved a finger up and down my index finger. It felt natural...I closed my eyes in the hospital bed and enjoyed this final goodbye, from my nervous system... But it didn't seem to end, it just kept going.
There was a cool breeze against my knuckles, and it pulsated gently as though it were swinging back and forth gently... That's what it was! The other hand was swinging back and forth with mine as though we were walking together...It felt wonderful.
I opened my eyes... I recognized the room around me. The same sterile beds, and blinking equipment... My fiance dozing in the corner. The sensation continued in my left hand... I closed my eyes and concentrated more on it. The movement had stopped... It twisted awkwardly and then a new sensation! It rubbed over something! It was course cloth, then... Yes! A Belt!
I opened my eyes again...Still here. I look down at my right hand. Still there, I look at my bandaged stump...
Whoa! SOFT! Sweater? I closed my eyes again, it was definitely a sweater! The...The small of a back?
My eyes flashed open. Fiance was still sleeping...So sweet and supportive, but exhausted...
Muscles? There was a broad back and shoulders under the sweater I could feel them! My hand dug in slightly...I had no control, but what it was doing was enjoyable. Pressure...kneading the sweater with my fingers... Or rather someone else's fingers? My heart began to race.
I opened my eyes again. The sensations in my lost hand were now harder to ignore...
The back of a head... the head moved strangely...Am I kissing someone? I think I can feel my wrist and arm getting warmer...
Opening my eyes, I nervously look around. This feels amazing, but yet... It can't be real...Maybe I should just...
The hand releases and is grasped and the walking continues.
With the excitement over, I try to wake my fiance. He smiles and stirs slightly. I try and concentrate on the monitors around me, and then the TV... It's time for my arm to be quiet... Is the morphine drip still on?
The hand leaves mine... I feel soft cloth under my hands...Then a familiar metal device...Yeah! It's a seatbelt... CLICK! Ha! That has a definite feel! I've never done that left handed, though.
The TV is just boring crap... The usual news, scrambled movie channels, and maybe some cartoons. Fiance is up and we talk. I don't tell him about my odd fantom pains. It's too weird. We just sit in silence...Blissful silence. He strokes my left arm...
SEATBELT! Releasing it has a definite feel too! My hand feels strange...Energetic, shaking...It makes me giddy and scared. Ah, the jeans again...Yep, belt...Kissing...So much faster this time.
"FACE! I'M TOUCHING A FACE!" I suddenly shout, forgetting where I am.
"Are you okay?" Fiance asks sleepily but concerned.
"Only a dream, sorry"
"I'm glad....", he drifts back to sleep.
Face...Neck...sweater... wait, no sweater... Chest, muscles... a heartbeat! Oh god, stay over that heart for just a second... I felt safe... something familiar... Okay... moving again... S..stomach...still moving.. Belt... Working the buckle...
Shit!
I open my eyes... I quickly look around the room for a distraction... I spot a glass of ice water and dribble some on my arm... It all goes numb.
Phew... It was getting to be a bit much. I'm not sure why it bothered me, but this could get awful intrusive, and I don't even know this man, let alone... Well, at least it can be shut off.
With any luck, it will fade away.
It didn't... But, it became part of me. The love making became eerily enjoyable, and the more I concentrated on the sensations I could make out subtle differences in heat, and almost light...I began to draw the face of this caring young lover based on touching his face... Then my own face, or rather the strange face I never had... They looked vaguely familiar. Warm, tender smiles... I never told my fiance, but I was experiencing a whole other life, or rather my had was...and I was somehow connected. They were so very much in love...and then the girl! THEY HAD A BABY GIRL! She was so wonderful to stroke and hold and care for... I drew a picture of her too, eventually. I gave her my eyes... She looked uncannily like me!
Life continued, we got married, and had a child of our own. But the feelings, the hand-life also continued.
Then there came the day... My husband was off on a business meeting for the week. I was used to it and didn't mind spending time with the "Hand Family" as I called them.
But something was wrong. Early in the morning "John Hand's" face felt wrong. Cold clammy... Shaking hand, trembling, oh god, Jane Hand's wet face...Phone Dialing...
"Oh, god no!" I yelled to nobody.
I shook cradling my arm...
Stroking cold face, spasm, damp, clumsy, everything broken... I reached up and touched my own face with my right hand to ground myself.
Doorknob, frantic waving... Strange hand... holding cold John hand...
Jane face... Jane face...
Every moment was etched into my memory...Every sensation right up to the cool polished wood finish of a casket...
I pulled myself away briefly... I grabbed my drawing pad and a pencil and concentrated with my entire being... Answers...I needed answers, and there was almost certainly going to be one!
Cold...THIS IS IT! slowly, slowly now... Fingers made their way across an engraving in stone... A-L-L-E-N...
Weird... That's
F-A-I-R-M-
I snap the pencil in my fingers...
No.
This...This is...
Heh!
I run to my desk stumbling realizing that I hadn't eaten in 3 days... But... YES! The pictures... They were close...
They were more than close...
OH GOD!
I close my eyes, I need just a little more...
Nothing... Nothing... No John Hand, no Jane Hand... Just nothing...
I wiped my face off and grabbed my pencil stub and labeled the drawings: Dad, Mom.
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | He had been talking her to online for months now, but they had only exchanged exactly three pictures. And none of his had included his arm.
It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. And the phantom limb was prickling painfully now, almost in admonishment.
It was just so easy. When she had only sent a picture of her face, he thought it made sense to send one of his. Her next was a photo of her feet at the bottom of a lounger facing the shore of her favourite beach. When he had sent one back of his feet in the same position, but facing a storm drain - the closest he had to a large body of water where he lived- she said he was 'funny'. And then she said he was 'cute'. His heart skipped a beat when she wrote that. And he could feel it fluttering just about fast now.
They had talked online for months now. About their favourite movies, pizza toppings and characters from Parks and Recreation. About all their dreams, darkest secrets. But they didn't talk about his missing right arm.
It was so stupid. So stupid. He knew she was minutes away from arriving and cringed thinking of her surprised stare when she realised. Would it be followed by pity? Anger? Would she let him explain? Or would she swallow her feelings, have a polite dinner and never speak to him again? He didn't know which option was the most painful.
He had finally worked up the courage to tell her he would be in her town, and ask if she would have dinner with him so they could meet 'face to face', she sent back one final picture of her face smushed up against a glass screen holding a sign which said 'yes'. He had laughed, sighed, and made the booking. Which he sent to her pressed up against glass to continue the joke, but too cowardly to even show his face this time.
And now he was waiting. To meet the woman he -may- be in love with already. Knowing he might have already wrecked it before it properly begun.
He was so distracted by his thoughts he didn't immediately notice the woman standing in from of him. He saw the edge of a skirt, and stood up fast. Her face, looked just like the pictures. Better even. She had started to smile, and watched her eyes crinkle at the corners with obvious joy.
That's when he felt it. A hand gripping his own tightly. It was electric. He saw her face fall and eyes drop. This was it. She had realised.
But then her mouth opened into a soft O, and a look of surprise spread across her face.
That's when he realised. The hand she was holding was his right one. This missing one. He looked down, and he knew at that moment that she was feeling exactly the same thing.
With her missing right hand.
Their eyes met, wonder intermingled with the most perfect happiness he had ever felt. Later they would laugh about how scared they had been before the dinner, how they were even more of a perfect match then they had realised.
And they kept holding hands for the rest of the night.
And then, for the rest of their lives. | The hand was warm...Comfortable... It moved a finger up and down my index finger. It felt natural...I closed my eyes in the hospital bed and enjoyed this final goodbye, from my nervous system... But it didn't seem to end, it just kept going.
There was a cool breeze against my knuckles, and it pulsated gently as though it were swinging back and forth gently... That's what it was! The other hand was swinging back and forth with mine as though we were walking together...It felt wonderful.
I opened my eyes... I recognized the room around me. The same sterile beds, and blinking equipment... My fiance dozing in the corner. The sensation continued in my left hand... I closed my eyes and concentrated more on it. The movement had stopped... It twisted awkwardly and then a new sensation! It rubbed over something! It was course cloth, then... Yes! A Belt!
I opened my eyes again...Still here. I look down at my right hand. Still there, I look at my bandaged stump...
Whoa! SOFT! Sweater? I closed my eyes again, it was definitely a sweater! The...The small of a back?
My eyes flashed open. Fiance was still sleeping...So sweet and supportive, but exhausted...
Muscles? There was a broad back and shoulders under the sweater I could feel them! My hand dug in slightly...I had no control, but what it was doing was enjoyable. Pressure...kneading the sweater with my fingers... Or rather someone else's fingers? My heart began to race.
I opened my eyes again. The sensations in my lost hand were now harder to ignore...
The back of a head... the head moved strangely...Am I kissing someone? I think I can feel my wrist and arm getting warmer...
Opening my eyes, I nervously look around. This feels amazing, but yet... It can't be real...Maybe I should just...
The hand releases and is grasped and the walking continues.
With the excitement over, I try to wake my fiance. He smiles and stirs slightly. I try and concentrate on the monitors around me, and then the TV... It's time for my arm to be quiet... Is the morphine drip still on?
The hand leaves mine... I feel soft cloth under my hands...Then a familiar metal device...Yeah! It's a seatbelt... CLICK! Ha! That has a definite feel! I've never done that left handed, though.
The TV is just boring crap... The usual news, scrambled movie channels, and maybe some cartoons. Fiance is up and we talk. I don't tell him about my odd fantom pains. It's too weird. We just sit in silence...Blissful silence. He strokes my left arm...
SEATBELT! Releasing it has a definite feel too! My hand feels strange...Energetic, shaking...It makes me giddy and scared. Ah, the jeans again...Yep, belt...Kissing...So much faster this time.
"FACE! I'M TOUCHING A FACE!" I suddenly shout, forgetting where I am.
"Are you okay?" Fiance asks sleepily but concerned.
"Only a dream, sorry"
"I'm glad....", he drifts back to sleep.
Face...Neck...sweater... wait, no sweater... Chest, muscles... a heartbeat! Oh god, stay over that heart for just a second... I felt safe... something familiar... Okay... moving again... S..stomach...still moving.. Belt... Working the buckle...
Shit!
I open my eyes... I quickly look around the room for a distraction... I spot a glass of ice water and dribble some on my arm... It all goes numb.
Phew... It was getting to be a bit much. I'm not sure why it bothered me, but this could get awful intrusive, and I don't even know this man, let alone... Well, at least it can be shut off.
With any luck, it will fade away.
It didn't... But, it became part of me. The love making became eerily enjoyable, and the more I concentrated on the sensations I could make out subtle differences in heat, and almost light...I began to draw the face of this caring young lover based on touching his face... Then my own face, or rather the strange face I never had... They looked vaguely familiar. Warm, tender smiles... I never told my fiance, but I was experiencing a whole other life, or rather my had was...and I was somehow connected. They were so very much in love...and then the girl! THEY HAD A BABY GIRL! She was so wonderful to stroke and hold and care for... I drew a picture of her too, eventually. I gave her my eyes... She looked uncannily like me!
Life continued, we got married, and had a child of our own. But the feelings, the hand-life also continued.
Then there came the day... My husband was off on a business meeting for the week. I was used to it and didn't mind spending time with the "Hand Family" as I called them.
But something was wrong. Early in the morning "John Hand's" face felt wrong. Cold clammy... Shaking hand, trembling, oh god, Jane Hand's wet face...Phone Dialing...
"Oh, god no!" I yelled to nobody.
I shook cradling my arm...
Stroking cold face, spasm, damp, clumsy, everything broken... I reached up and touched my own face with my right hand to ground myself.
Doorknob, frantic waving... Strange hand... holding cold John hand...
Jane face... Jane face...
Every moment was etched into my memory...Every sensation right up to the cool polished wood finish of a casket...
I pulled myself away briefly... I grabbed my drawing pad and a pencil and concentrated with my entire being... Answers...I needed answers, and there was almost certainly going to be one!
Cold...THIS IS IT! slowly, slowly now... Fingers made their way across an engraving in stone... A-L-L-E-N...
Weird... That's
F-A-I-R-M-
I snap the pencil in my fingers...
No.
This...This is...
Heh!
I run to my desk stumbling realizing that I hadn't eaten in 3 days... But... YES! The pictures... They were close...
They were more than close...
OH GOD!
I close my eyes, I need just a little more...
Nothing... Nothing... No John Hand, no Jane Hand... Just nothing...
I wiped my face off and grabbed my pencil stub and labeled the drawings: Dad, Mom.
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Dave slouched down in his seat, rolling his eyes at the people around him and groaning near audibly as they went about their days, oblivious and happily so. He muttered an obscenity under his breath. Such blatant disregard for others feelings didn't go unnoticed, the lady a few rows down shuffled her papers and made a tch-ing noise in the back of her throat but didn't dare actually speak up. The bus trip to and from his meeting was as much a hell as the meeting itself.
There they'd tried to include him a few times at first but that hadn't gone so well. He struggled to pretend to care when all he /really/ wanted to do was walk out.
As a woman hustled her children aboard, hurriedly searching for seats in which to deposit her little ones, Dave pulled out his phone and began to scroll Reddit. It was his go to move at home as well, constructing an unbreakable wall between himself and others through his phone, an impenetrable force field society deemed it rude to cross through, and burying himself in a virtual world of others whom were ignorant to his reality. No one tried to strike up a conversation with someone who was so obviously holding up a billboard screaming DO NOT APPROACH. He wished he had his headphones. He focused his blue eyes on the screen, mindlessly scrolling. There are no eyes to see in a text based world, no pity unless he chose to search it out, no clucking mothers or fussing doctors, online he could just be Schmosby4Lyf and no one gave a shit. Well, not unless he made some particularly fucked up statement about something but he was more of an upvoter than a commentor.
It hadn't been his choice to attend the meetings and the hard plastic chairs weren't all that comfortable. Those were reasons enough to get off at the wrong stop and walk away, to skip out and hole up in some diner somewhere until the appointed time was over.. if not for that whole /monitored/ situation. With each successive week the droning on and on had transformed itself into the murmuring whomp of Charlie Brown's parents.. /or was it that Math teacher from the Wonder Years?/ Dave shook himself gently and realised he was on the 14th page and had no idea what he had scrolled through.
It wasn't that he /didn't/ care, per se. It was more that it was the same bunch of self indulgent assholes recounting their mistakes like some type of glory day they pretended to hate but still longed for, every. single. week. The ones that hid the vodka in the back of the toilet cistern, the ones that had the glassy eyed look and the stench of the bar still on them.. Dave wasn't an alcoholic. He drank because what the fuck else could he do?
That moment he'd woken up after the accident, the one which left him with a nice medal and his sleeve folded up so nicely all pinned to his bicep in his mother's attempt to normalise this shit.. that moment had been a crystal clear realisation that he would never be useful for anything again. Ever. Despite the reassurances and the promises. None of them knew what it was like to lose a limb. None.
The woman with the children struggled to keep them under control, trying to bribe them with sweet things to keep them peaceful, warning of their father finding out when they were home. Her tone going from gentle requests to firm pleas.
It wasn't just the meetings though. It was the glances from under lowered lashes, the comments of old friends sympathising with his loss yet unable to look him the eye - those were the artifacts of his shitty choices. His fiancee never showing up at the hospital after they sent him home, never sending flowers, not even bothering to call, text or make excuses.. just never being there again - was that any less than he deserved? He didn't even remember the last time anyone had hugged him in the last year. And always that same fucking sentence that made him want to cock his arm and strike a jaw /Thanks for your service/.
The Military though, they thought him lucky. Landmines blew up tanks. People died. He had been lucky, he'd only lost his arm. Just a fucking arm.
Really. Fucking. Lucky.
Pricks.
They had said that they could put him on light duties when he returned but the reality of it was that a man without an arm wasn't.. well, he just wasn't. Not to mention having to give up his place and move home with his bloody parents because he couldn't even put his own fucking pants on anymore. Life was shitty and who was going to tell him otherwise without looking like an asshole?
He caught his reflection in the window and blinked in surprise, a stranger looking back at him. A really angry stranger.
His unshaven jawline had become covered in five o'clock shadow, heavy stubble and now an unkempt beard which he paid zero attention too. Much like the rest of him really. It was only the luck of genetics that he didn't have a fat gut like that Buddha statue his parents had in their garden surrounded by weeds. The stains on his shirt wouldn't have passed a lifetime ago either...
Jostled further from his sulking reverie by something bumping into his arm he startled, glancing down to see a little kid of about 4, with the darkest brown eyes Dave had ever seen blinking up at him, one finger firmly buried up to its first knuckle in a nasal cavity. He glanced about looking for the mother and saw her occupied with the other rugrat. This one seemed to have vomited copious amounts of some blue coloured unspecified grossness down its shirt.
Physically repressing a shudder Dave turned to his right, gluing his eyes firmly on his window as the kid sat in silent companionship beside him. /Thank fuck its not that other one./
It was a matter of seconds before David was caught up in his own shit once again, burying himself in memories and unrealised potentiality.
"You are like me, my mum says so."
The voice startled him from his reverie and he glanced down to the boy beside him. Those eyes were piercing, the way they were near staring right into his soul and Dave leaned back as far as the window behind him would allow.
"Eh?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice skeptical and distanced.
A flapping motion at the child's right side drew Dave's attention, the arm of the kid's plaid shirt flopping about, and it was another moment before its emptiness was noticed. Dave took in the kids appearance with eyes that were willing too see and nodded his head.
"I guess so."
The kid nodded at Dave's tone and turned back to the front of the bus, his voice full of surety.
"I'm almost five. My arm fell off before I was born, my mum says, but I can still do my shoes up." He kicked up his feet upon which were Velcro straps. "See?"
Dave grunted, overcome with a feeling of immense shithead-dom and nodded his head in return. A 30 year old whining while this little kid hasn't even had a chance? He'd played ball, kissed girls and ridden a motorbike - this little guy.. would he ever?
Feeling a heavy stone on his chest that tightened his throat and dragged him back down into melancholy, David felt like he was starting to drown. The lights around him began brightening and then fading rapidly until he had the sensation of falling down a well, his mind seeming to dim in way he'd never experienced.
He felt it first as a warmth spreading over where his palm had been once, that whole phantom limb thing had bugged him at first though the doc had said it was normal enough and it even ached from time to time. It became a tightening then, a once familiar sensation that drew his dull eyes to the one beside him, as if someone was..
"My name is Pete. I'm going to be a LionTamer - then I can tell everyone that a lion ate my arm, thats what my Dad says." Pete's voice got more enthused as he spoke on about his plans. Dave was suddenly drowned in sunshine, his chest lightening and his thoughts clearing as if a fog had lifted. Perspective returned.
"Yeah mate, I reckon you are." He spoke incredulously.
Dave squeezed the phantom hand holding his own and with a sparkle in those dark brown eyes, Pete squeezed back. | The hand was warm...Comfortable... It moved a finger up and down my index finger. It felt natural...I closed my eyes in the hospital bed and enjoyed this final goodbye, from my nervous system... But it didn't seem to end, it just kept going.
There was a cool breeze against my knuckles, and it pulsated gently as though it were swinging back and forth gently... That's what it was! The other hand was swinging back and forth with mine as though we were walking together...It felt wonderful.
I opened my eyes... I recognized the room around me. The same sterile beds, and blinking equipment... My fiance dozing in the corner. The sensation continued in my left hand... I closed my eyes and concentrated more on it. The movement had stopped... It twisted awkwardly and then a new sensation! It rubbed over something! It was course cloth, then... Yes! A Belt!
I opened my eyes again...Still here. I look down at my right hand. Still there, I look at my bandaged stump...
Whoa! SOFT! Sweater? I closed my eyes again, it was definitely a sweater! The...The small of a back?
My eyes flashed open. Fiance was still sleeping...So sweet and supportive, but exhausted...
Muscles? There was a broad back and shoulders under the sweater I could feel them! My hand dug in slightly...I had no control, but what it was doing was enjoyable. Pressure...kneading the sweater with my fingers... Or rather someone else's fingers? My heart began to race.
I opened my eyes again. The sensations in my lost hand were now harder to ignore...
The back of a head... the head moved strangely...Am I kissing someone? I think I can feel my wrist and arm getting warmer...
Opening my eyes, I nervously look around. This feels amazing, but yet... It can't be real...Maybe I should just...
The hand releases and is grasped and the walking continues.
With the excitement over, I try to wake my fiance. He smiles and stirs slightly. I try and concentrate on the monitors around me, and then the TV... It's time for my arm to be quiet... Is the morphine drip still on?
The hand leaves mine... I feel soft cloth under my hands...Then a familiar metal device...Yeah! It's a seatbelt... CLICK! Ha! That has a definite feel! I've never done that left handed, though.
The TV is just boring crap... The usual news, scrambled movie channels, and maybe some cartoons. Fiance is up and we talk. I don't tell him about my odd fantom pains. It's too weird. We just sit in silence...Blissful silence. He strokes my left arm...
SEATBELT! Releasing it has a definite feel too! My hand feels strange...Energetic, shaking...It makes me giddy and scared. Ah, the jeans again...Yep, belt...Kissing...So much faster this time.
"FACE! I'M TOUCHING A FACE!" I suddenly shout, forgetting where I am.
"Are you okay?" Fiance asks sleepily but concerned.
"Only a dream, sorry"
"I'm glad....", he drifts back to sleep.
Face...Neck...sweater... wait, no sweater... Chest, muscles... a heartbeat! Oh god, stay over that heart for just a second... I felt safe... something familiar... Okay... moving again... S..stomach...still moving.. Belt... Working the buckle...
Shit!
I open my eyes... I quickly look around the room for a distraction... I spot a glass of ice water and dribble some on my arm... It all goes numb.
Phew... It was getting to be a bit much. I'm not sure why it bothered me, but this could get awful intrusive, and I don't even know this man, let alone... Well, at least it can be shut off.
With any luck, it will fade away.
It didn't... But, it became part of me. The love making became eerily enjoyable, and the more I concentrated on the sensations I could make out subtle differences in heat, and almost light...I began to draw the face of this caring young lover based on touching his face... Then my own face, or rather the strange face I never had... They looked vaguely familiar. Warm, tender smiles... I never told my fiance, but I was experiencing a whole other life, or rather my had was...and I was somehow connected. They were so very much in love...and then the girl! THEY HAD A BABY GIRL! She was so wonderful to stroke and hold and care for... I drew a picture of her too, eventually. I gave her my eyes... She looked uncannily like me!
Life continued, we got married, and had a child of our own. But the feelings, the hand-life also continued.
Then there came the day... My husband was off on a business meeting for the week. I was used to it and didn't mind spending time with the "Hand Family" as I called them.
But something was wrong. Early in the morning "John Hand's" face felt wrong. Cold clammy... Shaking hand, trembling, oh god, Jane Hand's wet face...Phone Dialing...
"Oh, god no!" I yelled to nobody.
I shook cradling my arm...
Stroking cold face, spasm, damp, clumsy, everything broken... I reached up and touched my own face with my right hand to ground myself.
Doorknob, frantic waving... Strange hand... holding cold John hand...
Jane face... Jane face...
Every moment was etched into my memory...Every sensation right up to the cool polished wood finish of a casket...
I pulled myself away briefly... I grabbed my drawing pad and a pencil and concentrated with my entire being... Answers...I needed answers, and there was almost certainly going to be one!
Cold...THIS IS IT! slowly, slowly now... Fingers made their way across an engraving in stone... A-L-L-E-N...
Weird... That's
F-A-I-R-M-
I snap the pencil in my fingers...
No.
This...This is...
Heh!
I run to my desk stumbling realizing that I hadn't eaten in 3 days... But... YES! The pictures... They were close...
They were more than close...
OH GOD!
I close my eyes, I need just a little more...
Nothing... Nothing... No John Hand, no Jane Hand... Just nothing...
I wiped my face off and grabbed my pencil stub and labeled the drawings: Dad, Mom.
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | I think the first time I walked in a room with my stumpy disarray was worse than losing it. Really the look on my mother's face was enough to make me feel like a real piece of shit. Agonizing. Having pity thrown your way with every glance, and rapid dart of eyes; and all of them hoping that you didn't notice. And the awful, "oh it is sad. Could you imagine?" Is there something wrong with me? Maybe so, maybe not. I don't know really. That isn't what bothers me at night.
Remembering the night I sat and drank wine on the edge of the world with the love of my life is what kills me. A lit up world twinkling below, and the sounds of brass and smell of fresh bread finding its way out of the kitchen below and into my gracious nostrils. Rome, what an amazing place! Oh so full of love and light! So authentic, so filthy and lovely and putrid and brilliant. So romantic. Sitting aside my dear Martha, with her seductive black dress and soft skin. My eyes have never set upon a beauty farer than thee. Oh my Martha. What a shame.
Now I drink cheap beer out of tall cans and ash cigarettes on the porch. My skin is grey and my mouth always dry. The arm I still have is withering away, what a cruel trick. This world is entirely a cruel trick. I am old and confused. I can't understand anymore what I thought I knew. What is joy if it can be ripped away so easily. It is only a suffering I feel now.
That trip was so fantastic I feel I never truly left. I can feel the salty air wisp across my cheeks. I can hear the laughter, oh the blissful laughter! still from my love and the instantaneous smile creeps along my face. The feeling of running after her after she splashed the foam in my face. My unbuttoned shirt and brown hair blowing fiercely in the coastal wind. She screamed and kissed me when I caught her; and we both fell into the sea drowning in our youth. It is a lovely feeling. I wish it had never ended.
My bed feels too comfortable tonight. My face feels too old. I feel I won't wake up again. I rather hope I don't. I died all those years ago. I died on that plane with that beautiful woman. I can still hear the turbines blow. I can still hear the captain come overhead and tell us how sorry he is. I can still remember telling my dear Martha, "it will be okay dear. We weren't meant to die today." I didn't know if that was true, but you'd say anything to keep the ones you love blissfully ignorant. I wish I was ignorant. I can still remember the pounding of my heart as it tried to wrench itself from my chest and soar to safety. "Martha dear hold onto me and never let go," I told her. She held on for as long as she could. The crash was horrific, and one of the seats ripped through cutting off the arm she held onto so dearly. I haven't been able to feel her since. She was ripped away and torn from me. It has been agony.
But I lay here now, and I feel that it is going to end. Looking down at what was my arm, I can sometimes feel the tips of my fingers. The doctors said that would happen. I can feel them right now, and I can feel age slipping away. But what is this? The grip on my arm has just tightened. "Martha? Is that you my Martha?" I say, and tears fall from my eyes. "Oh Martha I missed you so much." I can finally rest. | I learned from an episode of the The Office that the back left seat, directly behind the driver, is statistically the safest seat to be sitting in in the event of a car crash. I don't know whether that's true or not, but it was the first thing I thought of when they told me I was the only person who managed to survive after being pulled out the wreckage.
'Relatively OK, compared to what you could've lost' they told me. They must've forgotten who didn't make it out that car with me.
Phantom limbs are a funny thing. I'd reach out for a glass of water in the middle of the night, half asleep, and feel my muscles tense and fingers pull inward to clasp around the glass to find a stump beating against the darkness to reach the bedside table. I'd cry, at first, until I eventually learned to sleep on the opposite side of the bed - where she'd slap out with her left hand against the alarm clock shouting us awake, and I'd throw my right over her waist and pull her in for 10 more minutes.
None of that now.
Her funeral was hard. The way people looked at me made it worse. Aggressive sympathy, eyes darting from my face to the empty space at my right. Standing on the wrong side of her mother when she went to hold my hand.
A few hours after, when I skipped the reception and made the drive home in the early dark nights (against the doctors wishes, but I drive much slower these days), I shuffled through the front door and fell against the bed we shared. My side, for tonight.
My left arm dangled off the side, sandwhiched inbetween the bedside and the mattress - with the cool wood on the backs of my hairs and my forearm pressed against the old mattress we got discount.
My right was - would've been - stretched right against her. It happened in my sleep;
"Punch me next time." I joked, and she did.
I thought about how cold it felt, how I could never pull my arm over her, or anyone again, then began to weep at the fact I thought there'd be an 'anyone', when I felt her hand reach out and stroke my phantom limb, lift it up and pull it under her bed shirt to her stomach.
"You're cold." She said.
"I miss you."
But that was all she needed to say, and when the alarm screamed in the morning I shuffled over and saw a meek stub beating at its lights in the dark. | |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Molly often laughed at my stump.
My sister scolded her -- *stop that, don't laugh, that's not nice* -- but I secretly loved it. I was so sick of the averted gazes, hushed whispers, and nauseatingly polite small-talk.
Last time I saw her, she gave me this gem.
"Mommy needs two hands to eat. How do you eat?"
"I trained my dog to feed me," I joked.
"Nooooo," she said, shaking her head. Her brown curls flopped around her face. "Nooooo. That's silly."
I tried to convince her for several minutes, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Rocky can't even feed himself. We have to give him his food." She curled her hand around my left pinky finger, giggling. It was a habit of hers, as her hands were almost too small to hold normally.
"Well, my dog is much smarter than Rocky."
"He's so much littler. He can't be smarter."
All too soon, it was time for Molly's nap. As I walked out the door, I glanced back. She was begrudgingly giving up her crayons, pouting at her mother, repeating "but I'm not sleepy." I laughed and continued to the car.
It was only two days later that I got the call. Fall. Blood. Unresponsive. I could only pick out a few words between my sister's hysterical sobs, but it was enough. My heart pounded, my vision swam. I hung up the phone and sat down, as the world tipped and twirled in front of me.
I felt something brush my right arm. Tingles shot up the phantom limb, different from the painful pins-and-needles I normally felt.
And then a tiny hand curled around my pinky. | I lost the arm in a car accident. My boyfriend was driving. I remember being in a haze while my doctor spoke to me. They found me with my arm lodged in the crumpled car door. It was mangled, my hand in a direction that hands are generally not supposed are to go. He didn’t talk about my fingers, but I remember looking at my elbow, clad in bandages thinking that it probably wasn’t worth asking about.
“You may feel a phantom limb every now and then.” He said.
It’s a strange feeling you know, you read about it on Reddit or hear a story on the radio of some veteran who can’t sleep at night because he feels an itch that can never be scratched. It never happened to me though, I suppose I was a bit lucky in that regard. After a week in the hospital they thought I was safe to go home. Mum came to collect me, everyone agreed that it was best if I stayed at home for a little while. Until I settled down.
If you’ve ever felt trauma, you’ll know the feeling. My mind kept skipping back like a song on repeat. Phillip and I were going to see a movie, we rented a small place in the country, so it was a bit of drive to town. But I didn’t mind it too much. We went the wrong way, Phillip was monologuing while he drove. He worked late and listened to podcasts to pass the time and always repeated what he heard on it, I caught him out on it once, he quoted and entire section word for word. He was listening to the History of Rome, the life of Marcus Aurelius. We were supposed to turn left at the crossroads but he was so focused on what he was saying that he drove straight through.
“Turn Left!” I shouted.
Then we got hit. A Camper Van, some nice Dutch family who were on vacation and didn’t know the area very well. They went straight through us, I screamed and grabbed Philip’s hand.
I was thinking about this as I walked to my old secondary school. It was a few months and the councilors weren’t helping. Mum had the bright idea that the next best thing would be to have a talk with some teenagers, an insight into being a cripple I guess.
I told mam I’d walk, it wasn’t far and I was sick of staying inside and pretending to watch movies my while attention rebounded to the car crash over and over again. I was thinking about it when I crossed the road. I didn’t see the bus.
But something did. My doctor said I would a feel phantom limb, but I assumed it would be mine. I felt something grab my missing hand and yank me back. It was strong, my body lurched back and I tripped and my ass slammed on the path as a bright flash of yellow crossed my vision.
The driver belted his horn at me but I didn’t notice it, I was staring at the smooth skin at my elbow and the claw shaped bruise that blossomed around it.
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | "Andrew," she smiled and punched my shoulder playfully, "Pay attention to the road."
We were on the way back from the casino. Our state didn't allow gambling, so any foray like this one was an adventure. Fifty miles of driving there, and another fifty back. At the least. But it was a tradition in her family, to go to the casino at least once a month together, and I was more than obliged to go.
Yeah, I'd had a few to drink. It our first time out since our youngest had been born, and we wanted to have some fun. But I wasn't *that* far gone. No one had tried to stop me. I figured if it wasn't obvious to anyone else, I was probably fine to drive.
But here I was, giggling like a little school girl as my wife and I traded small, childish punches. She was laughing maniacally, trying to fend off my hand that was consistently trying to get in her face.
"Andreeeeew," she giggled, "Stop!"
"Make me," I smiled, "Go ahead Mrs. Linda Zinni, stop my whenever you want" I'd always loved saying her full name. It rubbed her the wrong way.
"Andrew," she suddenly became serious as my hand covered her face, "Seriously stop, the road."
"Say please," I slurred.
"Andrew the road!" She screamed while harshly throwing my arm aside.
I flicked my eyes back to the road, and saw that we had drifted into the oncoming lane. I grabbed the wheel, and jerked to the right just in time to miss an truck that was barreling down on us. The tires squealed, and our top heavy SUV rolled.
It was all a blur. Lights flashed in and out of view as Linda screamed, and I was thrown from side to side, the only thing stopping us from being ejected was our safety belts. Glass shattered, and metal shrieked as we rolled, and rolled, and rolled.
Eventually though we came to a stop, our car laying upside down in a ditch. We were just lucky it hadn't rained in a while at that point, or we might've been neck deep in water as well.
"Don't let me go." She had quietly sobbed as we dangled upside down, strapped into our seats by the safety belts. Her arm had reached out and gripped my dead, numb one that dangled there unmoving and unfeeling. It was cold, she mumbled, as her blood ran down her arm, and on to my arm to mingle with my own.
By the time someone found our car, and called for help, she was gone. I went home to our family, and had to tell my beautiful children that mommy was not coming home. Only the oldest really understood, the other two couldn't even begin to grasp what it truly meant for someone to be dead forever.
They knew my arm was gone though. My oldest didn't talk much to me, likely his grandparents had filled him in with the truth, and he blamed me just as much as I blamed myself.
How do I tell them? That I still think she's there somewhere. That when I feel the phantom pains, the cracking of bones that no longer exist, or the ripping of flesh that rotted in some medical waste pile long ago, I also feel her soft, bloody hands gripping at that flesh.
How could they begin to understand my faults? I need to be strong for them, even though I feel like the man who killed their mother is the last man in the world they want. They probably don't understand that I'm a broken man, in more ways than physical.
I hear her too, but I can't tell them that. Mom is gone, how can I even begin to confide in them that my mind is leaving me. I feel it slipping everyday. My grip on reality is loosening in a way so similar to the way her grip failed on my arm that night we dangled upside down in the ditch.
Every time the phantom pains come, I feel her grabbing my arm. But she just isn't holding on anymore, she is pulling me in. She wants me to join her. And everyday I find less and less reasons to say no.
No one talks at dinner anymore. The youngest two cry for mommy to tuck them in at night, and the oldest ignores all of us. More and more I sense that I am nothing but a tear in the fabric of our family, and that the only way to mend that rift is to complete the job that God failed in that night.
I see it in his eyes. He hurts whenever he sees me. I'm a constant reminder of what has happened. It will only be a year or two before the others look at me the way he does.
It would be better if I'm gone, is what she tells me when she tugs on my arm.
*You're the main source of their pain now,* she whispers, *Come to me, and leave them in peace.*
Those are the good nights. Other nights are worse.
*Take them with you,* she hisses like a snake as I cry, *Bring our family back together. Reunited them with their mother.*
I scream at her in my mind to leave, but she stays, and tugs on my arm. There is no way I can resist her, not for the rest of my life like this. I will join her, I know, the only question is when I will break.
Like my arms that night, my soul is cracked and broken. As she learned, some wounds cannot be recovered from. Some people were not meant to be left alone, some people were not meant to die, and some people were not meant to live.
She was the middle, I was the first and the last. Next time the alcohol touches my lips, I will ensure that I drown my soul in it. I will drink until my conscious self is dead, and the monster inside of me that got into the car that night comes out again. Then when I wake up, I will be with her. And if the monster that killed her decides that our family should be reunited in life after death, so be it. Once a killer, always a killer. Some men cannot be saved.
________________________________________________________________
Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff over at r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there and we would love the company. | I would recognise that hand anywhere, the shape of the callouses, the slender fingers, the tight grip. This was a hand formed by hard labour in the garden every weekend, until I came out with a drink, or she came in with a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers that you ever saw. They always lasted much longer than anything from a shop. She would kiss me on here cheek, I would promise to finish work before 9 and she would go into the kitchen and start dinner.
She wasn't a great cook, as I never had time to teach her, as I promised to a long time ago. But I would always eat every bite. At 9:15 i would stop and sit in front of the TV as she would pick out a film that I *had* to watch and I would promise to make it to the end this time. I never did. I would wake up at anytime between 1 and 2:30 on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow, and check on her as I when to bed. Reiterating a old promise from long ago.
"I will never let anything hurt you."
In the end I would break that promise, as I had broken so many before. But now, real or otherwise, I would die before letting go
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Molly often laughed at my stump.
My sister scolded her -- *stop that, don't laugh, that's not nice* -- but I secretly loved it. I was so sick of the averted gazes, hushed whispers, and nauseatingly polite small-talk.
Last time I saw her, she gave me this gem.
"Mommy needs two hands to eat. How do you eat?"
"I trained my dog to feed me," I joked.
"Nooooo," she said, shaking her head. Her brown curls flopped around her face. "Nooooo. That's silly."
I tried to convince her for several minutes, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Rocky can't even feed himself. We have to give him his food." She curled her hand around my left pinky finger, giggling. It was a habit of hers, as her hands were almost too small to hold normally.
"Well, my dog is much smarter than Rocky."
"He's so much littler. He can't be smarter."
All too soon, it was time for Molly's nap. As I walked out the door, I glanced back. She was begrudgingly giving up her crayons, pouting at her mother, repeating "but I'm not sleepy." I laughed and continued to the car.
It was only two days later that I got the call. Fall. Blood. Unresponsive. I could only pick out a few words between my sister's hysterical sobs, but it was enough. My heart pounded, my vision swam. I hung up the phone and sat down, as the world tipped and twirled in front of me.
I felt something brush my right arm. Tingles shot up the phantom limb, different from the painful pins-and-needles I normally felt.
And then a tiny hand curled around my pinky. | I would recognise that hand anywhere, the shape of the callouses, the slender fingers, the tight grip. This was a hand formed by hard labour in the garden every weekend, until I came out with a drink, or she came in with a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers that you ever saw. They always lasted much longer than anything from a shop. She would kiss me on here cheek, I would promise to finish work before 9 and she would go into the kitchen and start dinner.
She wasn't a great cook, as I never had time to teach her, as I promised to a long time ago. But I would always eat every bite. At 9:15 i would stop and sit in front of the TV as she would pick out a film that I *had* to watch and I would promise to make it to the end this time. I never did. I would wake up at anytime between 1 and 2:30 on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow, and check on her as I when to bed. Reiterating a old promise from long ago.
"I will never let anything hurt you."
In the end I would break that promise, as I had broken so many before. But now, real or otherwise, I would die before letting go
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | *The crackle of gunfire. Just a few steps more. Keep running. An explosion. Blood and fire. Screaming.*
I wake up screaming at the bottom of a pile of empty beer bottles. I'm covered in sweat, beer, and tears. I roll over onto my stomach and push myself up. I take deep breaths trying to calm myself down.
It's dark outside. The clock says 2:15. I think I only passed out a couple of hours ago. The TV is still on.
I head to the kitchen, and stumble along the way because I'm still drunk. I gulp water greedily from the tap, and grab a handful of stale chips. I think about going back to the bedroom, but decide against it. Last time I slept in there, I woke up trying to choke my wife. That was two months ago, but I was too scared of it happening again. I stumble back to the couch.
Leann had my medals framed when I came back, and hung them up above the TV. So now that I'm on the couch, they just hang there and mock me. I rub the stump that had been my right arm. I'd given my right arm to win those things, and when I had been signing up, that's what I would have said I'd gladly do. Now, I wish I could trade them back.
I shut my eyes again, trying to think happier thoughts.
*A pleasant day in a pasture. Herds of sheep gallivanting about, bleating happily. Then the bleating becomes screaming. Smoke. Fire. Ash. Pain.*
I snap my eyes back open. I go to the fridge and pull out a beer, and guzzle half of it down. No matter what I do, I can't stop feeling where my arm used to be. And reliving that moment.
I drink the rest of the beer, willing the cool drink to make me forget. I get another.
I watch infomercials. A man and woman banter about the discomfort of a migraine, and the latest remedy that can be yours for just three payments of $59.99. I wonder if either of these people have felt pain before. I feel familiar tugs at an arm that isn't there, along with the dull throb of pain.
The doctor said I would have pains like this. Phantom Limb Syndrome he said. Nobody knew what made your brain do it, but the brains of people who had limbs amputated still thought the arm or leg or whatever was still attached. And not being able to feel it properly translated to pain. Or some other feelings occasionally.
I feel more tugs on my missing hand. I finish my beer and get another, and try to ignore it.
I'm getting tired again. The beer has helped with the insomnia, but it hasn't made me forget. I'm afraid to close my eyes, because I know what's coming.
*A sandy street. Buildings packed in too tightly. A firefight. Civilians were supposed to evacuate the day before. Soft crying. "Musaeada," a soft voice says - "Help."*
I force my eyes back open. Not yet. I'm not ready. I get another beer. I chase it with some whiskey. The infomercials say migraines can be cured, it's all just a matter of reprogramming your brain. There's another tug at my hand.
*She can't be older than seven years old. Her clothes are filthy, and she looks like she hasn't eaten in days. The radio blares out the warning. Air strike called, move out.*
My heart is starting to pound. I can't keep fighting back. "Is there anything worse, Jerry, than that pounding feeling right in your temples?"
*I grab her hand. "Linadhhab" I say - "Let's go." We're hurrying across the street. Just a few more steps to cover. She tugs at my hand, and points the other direction. I pull her behind me.*
"You're right Sally. Migraines have boggled doctors for ages, but we can all agree there's nothing worse feeling."
*A clatter of metal on pavement. I turn. "Grenade!" I try to keep running. An explosion. Fire and blood. There's nothing pulling on my hand now. There's no hand now. There's no girl now.*
I wake up screaming. I need another beer.
*****
Read my other prompt responses by subscribing to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88). | I would recognise that hand anywhere, the shape of the callouses, the slender fingers, the tight grip. This was a hand formed by hard labour in the garden every weekend, until I came out with a drink, or she came in with a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers that you ever saw. They always lasted much longer than anything from a shop. She would kiss me on here cheek, I would promise to finish work before 9 and she would go into the kitchen and start dinner.
She wasn't a great cook, as I never had time to teach her, as I promised to a long time ago. But I would always eat every bite. At 9:15 i would stop and sit in front of the TV as she would pick out a film that I *had* to watch and I would promise to make it to the end this time. I never did. I would wake up at anytime between 1 and 2:30 on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow, and check on her as I when to bed. Reiterating a old promise from long ago.
"I will never let anything hurt you."
In the end I would break that promise, as I had broken so many before. But now, real or otherwise, I would die before letting go
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Roger was a lot of things, he was an office worker, he was clumsy, he was too picky about his bedsheets and he was an amputee.
People avoided Roger's eyes in stores, which was something he'd never understood. Sure, he caught on that nobody wanted to deal with the awkward of looking at a prosthetic, but his eyes weren't prosthetic. By avoiding Roger's eyes the passersby were only increasing the odds of getting caught staring at his plastic arm.
Even that was assuming that Roger was wearing his prosthetic that day, which was a 50/50 chance depending on how recently he'd damaged it. Roger had considered buying a spare arm, but he figured he'd fall on it and break his spare arm with his current arm and then he'd be out 1000 dollars instead of several hundred. Roger had just been reminded of the price of an arm when he placed the order last afternoon.
Which meant that Roger was out on a date without his arm. In fact, he was early for a date while missing an arm. The waiter had been nice enough, making sure that he was comfortable and giving extra attention to assure him that she wasn't discriminating against him.
So Roger sat at the table, alternating between reading the menu and drinking his water. Time ticked by as the waiter came back with a refill and Roger refused it. He was going to be leaving soon. He'd been on enough dates to know when someone had turned around at th-
"You Roger, mate?" a man asked as he slid up to the table. He didn't wait for Roger to respond before taking his seat. "Sorry I'm late, sholda known better than to hop in the car at this time of day."
Roger didn't respond, the man was Australian, accent and everything; That required a mental note to thank Taylor.
"Anyway," the man started, "I'm Marcus, Tay told ya about me, right?" Marcus held out his hand on the wrong side, and Roger shook it anyway.
"Yeah she-" the gears in Roger's head started turning as he caught the man shaking the nothing on Roger's right side. Wasn't that hilarious? But still, Roger could feel it. "What the hell?" he asked.
"What I thoug-" Marcus started. Roger jumped back of his chair, ripping his phantom hand away from Marcus. "Roger!" Marcus called out before getting up from the table- "Shit, you're Roger right? Look I didn't mean anything by it if you're not, I was just supposed to-" Marcus kept talking, but Roger stopped listening.
For a moment, half a glorious moment there, Roger had his arm back. He felt it in Marcus' powerful grip. He could feel a friendly handshake instead of the awkward left-handed one. It had been there. "My arm," Roger finally got out as he stared at the blank space where his limb was supposed to be.
"What about it mate?" Marcus turned back to Roger once he was done assuring the staff that everything was alright. "S'all good."
"How did you touch my arm?" Roger asked.
"With my hands," Marcus pointed out. "Look mate, if I crossed a boundary just let me know and I'll scoot on outta here. Didn't mean to cheese ya."
"Of course I'm fucking," Roger thought about the word for a moment, "cheesed, how the hell did you touch my arm?" he asked, "it's fucking missing."
"Hey Mate," Marucs said, "you feelin' okay?"
"I'm!" Roger realized he was making a scene, "I'm fine, how'd you touch my arm?"
"Well I grabbed it mate, not like I went for the left side or something."
"You should have gone for the left side," Roger waved his right elbow wildly in the air. "There's nothing here," Roger paused, "mate."
"Stop waving your arm around," Marcus said, "you're all turned aorund. Maybe I'll get ya a glass-a-water and we can chat about what happened there?"
"What?" he asked, "I'm missing my right arm."
"Nah mate, you're missin' your left," Marcus pointed out before putting his hand through Roger's intact left arm.
**Enjoy my attempt to write an Aussie accent? Want to bug me about contiuting this? Find me over on /r/JacksonWrites** | I would recognise that hand anywhere, the shape of the callouses, the slender fingers, the tight grip. This was a hand formed by hard labour in the garden every weekend, until I came out with a drink, or she came in with a bouquet of the most beautiful flowers that you ever saw. They always lasted much longer than anything from a shop. She would kiss me on here cheek, I would promise to finish work before 9 and she would go into the kitchen and start dinner.
She wasn't a great cook, as I never had time to teach her, as I promised to a long time ago. But I would always eat every bite. At 9:15 i would stop and sit in front of the TV as she would pick out a film that I *had* to watch and I would promise to make it to the end this time. I never did. I would wake up at anytime between 1 and 2:30 on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow, and check on her as I when to bed. Reiterating a old promise from long ago.
"I will never let anything hurt you."
In the end I would break that promise, as I had broken so many before. But now, real or otherwise, I would die before letting go
| |
[WP] You're an amputee at the elbow. Your doctor tells you that you might experience Phantom Limb every now and then. But you are not prepared for the moment when a hand tightly holds your missing limb. | Molly often laughed at my stump.
My sister scolded her -- *stop that, don't laugh, that's not nice* -- but I secretly loved it. I was so sick of the averted gazes, hushed whispers, and nauseatingly polite small-talk.
Last time I saw her, she gave me this gem.
"Mommy needs two hands to eat. How do you eat?"
"I trained my dog to feed me," I joked.
"Nooooo," she said, shaking her head. Her brown curls flopped around her face. "Nooooo. That's silly."
I tried to convince her for several minutes, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Rocky can't even feed himself. We have to give him his food." She curled her hand around my left pinky finger, giggling. It was a habit of hers, as her hands were almost too small to hold normally.
"Well, my dog is much smarter than Rocky."
"He's so much littler. He can't be smarter."
All too soon, it was time for Molly's nap. As I walked out the door, I glanced back. She was begrudgingly giving up her crayons, pouting at her mother, repeating "but I'm not sleepy." I laughed and continued to the car.
It was only two days later that I got the call. Fall. Blood. Unresponsive. I could only pick out a few words between my sister's hysterical sobs, but it was enough. My heart pounded, my vision swam. I hung up the phone and sat down, as the world tipped and twirled in front of me.
I felt something brush my right arm. Tingles shot up the phantom limb, different from the painful pins-and-needles I normally felt.
And then a tiny hand curled around my pinky. | "Andrew," she smiled and punched my shoulder playfully, "Pay attention to the road."
We were on the way back from the casino. Our state didn't allow gambling, so any foray like this one was an adventure. Fifty miles of driving there, and another fifty back. At the least. But it was a tradition in her family, to go to the casino at least once a month together, and I was more than obliged to go.
Yeah, I'd had a few to drink. It our first time out since our youngest had been born, and we wanted to have some fun. But I wasn't *that* far gone. No one had tried to stop me. I figured if it wasn't obvious to anyone else, I was probably fine to drive.
But here I was, giggling like a little school girl as my wife and I traded small, childish punches. She was laughing maniacally, trying to fend off my hand that was consistently trying to get in her face.
"Andreeeeew," she giggled, "Stop!"
"Make me," I smiled, "Go ahead Mrs. Linda Zinni, stop my whenever you want" I'd always loved saying her full name. It rubbed her the wrong way.
"Andrew," she suddenly became serious as my hand covered her face, "Seriously stop, the road."
"Say please," I slurred.
"Andrew the road!" She screamed while harshly throwing my arm aside.
I flicked my eyes back to the road, and saw that we had drifted into the oncoming lane. I grabbed the wheel, and jerked to the right just in time to miss an truck that was barreling down on us. The tires squealed, and our top heavy SUV rolled.
It was all a blur. Lights flashed in and out of view as Linda screamed, and I was thrown from side to side, the only thing stopping us from being ejected was our safety belts. Glass shattered, and metal shrieked as we rolled, and rolled, and rolled.
Eventually though we came to a stop, our car laying upside down in a ditch. We were just lucky it hadn't rained in a while at that point, or we might've been neck deep in water as well.
"Don't let me go." She had quietly sobbed as we dangled upside down, strapped into our seats by the safety belts. Her arm had reached out and gripped my dead, numb one that dangled there unmoving and unfeeling. It was cold, she mumbled, as her blood ran down her arm, and on to my arm to mingle with my own.
By the time someone found our car, and called for help, she was gone. I went home to our family, and had to tell my beautiful children that mommy was not coming home. Only the oldest really understood, the other two couldn't even begin to grasp what it truly meant for someone to be dead forever.
They knew my arm was gone though. My oldest didn't talk much to me, likely his grandparents had filled him in with the truth, and he blamed me just as much as I blamed myself.
How do I tell them? That I still think she's there somewhere. That when I feel the phantom pains, the cracking of bones that no longer exist, or the ripping of flesh that rotted in some medical waste pile long ago, I also feel her soft, bloody hands gripping at that flesh.
How could they begin to understand my faults? I need to be strong for them, even though I feel like the man who killed their mother is the last man in the world they want. They probably don't understand that I'm a broken man, in more ways than physical.
I hear her too, but I can't tell them that. Mom is gone, how can I even begin to confide in them that my mind is leaving me. I feel it slipping everyday. My grip on reality is loosening in a way so similar to the way her grip failed on my arm that night we dangled upside down in the ditch.
Every time the phantom pains come, I feel her grabbing my arm. But she just isn't holding on anymore, she is pulling me in. She wants me to join her. And everyday I find less and less reasons to say no.
No one talks at dinner anymore. The youngest two cry for mommy to tuck them in at night, and the oldest ignores all of us. More and more I sense that I am nothing but a tear in the fabric of our family, and that the only way to mend that rift is to complete the job that God failed in that night.
I see it in his eyes. He hurts whenever he sees me. I'm a constant reminder of what has happened. It will only be a year or two before the others look at me the way he does.
It would be better if I'm gone, is what she tells me when she tugs on my arm.
*You're the main source of their pain now,* she whispers, *Come to me, and leave them in peace.*
Those are the good nights. Other nights are worse.
*Take them with you,* she hisses like a snake as I cry, *Bring our family back together. Reunited them with their mother.*
I scream at her in my mind to leave, but she stays, and tugs on my arm. There is no way I can resist her, not for the rest of my life like this. I will join her, I know, the only question is when I will break.
Like my arms that night, my soul is cracked and broken. As she learned, some wounds cannot be recovered from. Some people were not meant to be left alone, some people were not meant to die, and some people were not meant to live.
She was the middle, I was the first and the last. Next time the alcohol touches my lips, I will ensure that I drown my soul in it. I will drink until my conscious self is dead, and the monster inside of me that got into the car that night comes out again. Then when I wake up, I will be with her. And if the monster that killed her decides that our family should be reunited in life after death, so be it. Once a killer, always a killer. Some men cannot be saved.
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Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff over at r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there and we would love the company. | |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | Penelope fidgets in her seat, adjusting the hem of the pink dress she'd picked up just a day previous. It's a pretty, sophisticated number, matching the dainty flower pushed into her bun. Daniel would say it looks 'airy fairy'. But this isn't about him. He wouldn't expect her, his meek and timid wife, to even think about an affair. She'll show him. Her post was replied to a few times but one reply caught her eye in particular; he liked all of her little quirks and said her passion for baking was truly adorable. She doesn't bake for Daniel anymore. Maybe she'll bake for this new guy, though. Maybe he'll like her pink dress that she fiercely worked out and dieted to fit in. Briefly, Penelope checks her lipstick in her compact mirror -
"P... Penelope?"
She freezes. Slowly, she looks up at the figure who has appeared at the table for two. Dressed in a badly ironed shirt and his hair a wild mess... Is her husband. They stare at each other in a state of both shock and awe. Daniel swallows and awkwardly seats himself - he never could get the hang of being tall, - before looking up at his wife. They haven't been out to dinner in two years. They haven't spent any time together, really, let alone dinner in a fancy restaurant. "You look ... Fantastic." He says, voice a hoarse whisper. His wife's mouth twitches and she looks down, smiling, before she flicks her gaze up and replies, "I should have ironed that shirt for you." Daniel chuckles, "I should have zipped up that dress."
"It took me ages," She adjusts the hem of her dress again before, exhaling, Penelope sits up straight and extends a hand to him. He wordlessly tangles his fingers with her's. "Maybe it's fate," He mutters, "Or maybe we're just useless at staying away from one another." The smile on his wife's face blooms, wider than he has seen in years, and for a moment she's the teenage girl he fell in love with years ago. Penelope leans forwards, giggling, "I can't believe it's you. You sounded so different."
"So did you."
"I guess so. Maybe we're just..."
"Bitter." Daniel smiles; crooked, impish, his hand tightening against her own. "A drink?" He asks.
Penelope looks at their hands entwined on the table. She smiles again, replying, "No. A whole bottle. No - two!" Daniel laughs aloud and flags a waiter, shaking his head, "This is ridiculous."
"Wait until you see what I have on under this dress. You don't know ridiculous." Maybe she'll bake tomorrow morning. Maybe, just maybe, they'll be alright. | Well, shit. Her mouth gaped open as she stared at the man in front of her. "Are you fucking kidding me? You?"
He meekly looked at the ground, not even daring to say a word, realization hitting him.
"How is it that no matter where I go, you're there? I try to get away, I try an affair and you end up showing up and ruining everything!" She threw her hands up in the air, a look of disgust on her face. He might be crying; she couldn't tell in the darkness of the park.
"I was so tired, Emily. I was so, so tired. You never tried anymore. I knew what you were trying to do behind my back and you never got the chance to, so I wanted to see what it was all about."
"So you decided to see what it was all about by having an affair, which ended up to be with your wife?" She rose an eyebrow, questioningly.
"Is there still a chance for us?" He asked, glancing up at her with sorrowful eyes. Emily's gaze softened.
"You know, online. I really, really liked talking to you."
"I know. I liked talking to you too. You were a fucking bitch most of the time to me, but online, you were as lovely as when we'd first met."
"Do you think there can still be a spark?"
"Maybe."
"I'll stop being a bitch if you start being yourself again."
"I'll start being myself again if you stop being a bitch. Well, actually, part of the bitch is what I fell in love with, so keep it."
"We're trying, right?"
"Yeah."
"So, we're on the same page?"
"Yes, Emily."
"I don't love you anymore, Dean."
"I know. I don't love you either."
"But I think that we still have a chance."
"Would I be still talking to you if either of us didn't think that?"
"No."
The meek man stepped up to the bitch and gently slid his hand into hers, squeezing tightly. She squeezed back and they began to walk home, ready to start fresh. Would they ever love each other again? Well, that was up to them and their choices. | |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | Silence reigned over this end of the restaurant. Neither one of them seemed able or willing to start any kind of conversation. They'd probably sat there for half an hour already. Bob just glared at the ceiling lazily. Sophie stared at other people. A couple across the room was having a wonderful evening. She missed that, the attraction, the mystique, the electricity of it all. Puppy love at it's finest.
"So we're not even going to talk about this?" Bob asked flatly. The sound of his unmistakable drone dragging her attention across the table to him. He didn't bother to look at her as he talked.
"What's there to talk about Bob?" She sighed, "That we hate each other?"
"I dunno'... You've only been eye-fucking those college kids over there for about 5 minutes straight now. You could at least give them some time alone." Bob considered.
"Yeah, I wish I could give you some time alone." Sophie harshly rasped.
"Well, *there's* the door." Bob waved, "Your legs ain't broke."
"Fair." Sophie admitted. She watched Bob focus on his Jack and Coke some more. He stirred the straw through the drink, watching the bubbles rise to the top.
"So we lied to each other again." Sophie guessed as she adjusted her posture.
"What else is new?" Bob considered.
"True. We never really did love each other you know?" Sophie inquired.
"No..." Bob paused, "It wasn't love. Not at all."
"Never? Not even a little?" Sophie reminded, "I remember a time you were wrapped around my finger, not so long ago."
"Don't lie to yourself." Bob responded, "We never really loved each other. If we did, we'd be at home right now. It was physical attraction. Sex, money, and shared interests."
"That what you saw in that whore Felicia?" Sophie interrupted bitterly.
"I dunno'," Bob replied, "How many times did I catch you fucking Rob-from-down-the-street; in our bed no less."
"I bought the bed sweety." Sophie noted.
"That's cute, you can actually pay for shit you care about." Bob said, "Really touches my heart."
"Fuck you." Sophie snarled.
"Fuck me?" Bob asked caustically.
"Yeah, fuck you." Sophie frowned, "It's not like I banged him on the washing machine. Although you certainly were giving her the ol' "Spin Cycle" when I came home last week."
"Oh, so we're going there?" Bob's voice rose.
"You bet your happy ass we are." Sophie said, "You got tired of me, so you had to find something new. That's what you always do. You buy stuff, get bored within three months, sell it, and start over. It's sad. You never can settle down."
"At least I *understand the concept.*" He said. "But I guess for you that's one thing that's actually *too hard*."
"*I'll drink to that*." Sophie noted.
A few awkward glances from the rest of the room gave them pause. They didn't look at each other for a while after that exchange.
"So what are we?" Sophie started quietly.
"Nothing." Bob spoke, "Nothing at all."
"Lovers? Acquaintances? Husband and wife?" Sophie jabbed flippantly.
"Friends." Bob answered. The words hung in the air for a moment.
"Friends?" Sophie wondered. She watched Bob take a swig, his brown eyes finally locking with hers. For the first time in a long time, she felt something stir.
"Friends with benefits." Bob realized, "We thought we loved each other. But we don't. Don't lie, don't *pull* that face. Just listen. We don't love each other. At all. If we did. We'd still care."
"I tried." Sophie said, "Did you?"
"We didn't try." Bob said, "Because if we actually tried, who knows, maybe we wouldn't have slept around, or taken each others money, and pride, and what was left of all this."
"So I'm moving out of the house come next Thursday." Sophie said, "Can you at least cooperate until then? I found a nice little studio apartment fit for a queen."
"Sure." Bob smirked, "You may as well keep the house. Because I won't be there either. My job called; Seattle wants me. The big timers liked what they saw."
"What, a boozy, cheating, divorcee like themselves?"
"Call it what you like." Bob said as he finished his drink, "We're finished." He put his change on the bar, stood and took two steps towards the door.
"You know I never loved you." Sophie chided from the table.
"Like I ever loved myself either." Bob sighed as he headed out the door. She watched him leave, the door chime ringing as he exited. It didn't seem real at first. He'd left his keys on the table. Apparently he didn't need them. Not for her. She took a swig of his drink he'd left behind. Bitter, just like him. And Sophie aware for the first time in a long time, concluded, unfortunately, that she was truly alone again. | "You're cheating on me?" he asked indignantly.
"No, I'm not. I'm cheating *with* you, apparently," she replied.
"It's not cheating if we don't do something."
"Fine." She pulled a set of handcuffs out of her purse, lashed one side to his wrist and the other to her own. "Now let's go do something."
His eyes widened, but he was silent as she led him out of the bar. | |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | After several days of chatting through the dating site they decided that it was time to finally meet. He asked her all the usual questions: where's your favorite restaurant, what kind of movies do you like, have you seen the latest art exhibit?
He had his reply within minutes. She wanted to meet at a room at the Holiday Inn and if he was really hungry they could order pizza. He thought to himself "what the hell, could it really be this easy?" After all, sex is all he really wanted. The pleasantries was just to find an angle so that he could "seal the deal." He wasn't looking to get divorced or anything. The seven year itch had been about to kill him and his wife had steadily become less and less enthusiastic when it came to their sex lives. He was looking for just a little "scratch" for his itch, but nothing more.
He responded when and where? Her reply was short and sweet, "7pm at room 214, pajamas optional." A grin slowly crept across his face. He was so excited he couldn't contain himself. It was the perfect setup. His wife said that she had picked up a 2nd and 3rd shift double at the hospital that night. Which meant he had the whole night to himself! No explaining or cover story needed, no one would ever be the wiser.
At 7pm sharp he was standing in front of the door of room 214. He knocked three times and the door sprang open. There she was. Her. His Wife. His blood ran cold in his veins. She was wearing the lingerie that he bought her last Valentines Day that she would never wear for him. Her eyes went from having a passionate fire in them to projecting an icy stare. "Come in," she said. "We have a lot to talk about." She stepped aside so that he could enter the room and closed and locked the door behind him.
Without saying a word she motioned him over to the bed. Following her lead he carefully set on the edge of the bed. She stepped in front of him, almost as to sit astraddle of him. As she gently cupped his head and leaned forward to kiss him, that is when he felt it. A sharp pain in his thigh. He looked down just in time to see her pull the syringe out of his leg.
In shock he looked at her, the drug rapidly taking effect. As his tongue became thick he uttered, "it was you, you're the one they've been looking for?" "Yes," she said. "Don't worry hon, you're different." "I made love to all the others first." The evil smile that he had never seen before and those terrible callous words were the last thing he heard before he was shuffled off this mortal coil.
| "You're cheating on me?" he asked indignantly.
"No, I'm not. I'm cheating *with* you, apparently," she replied.
"It's not cheating if we don't do something."
"Fine." She pulled a set of handcuffs out of her purse, lashed one side to his wrist and the other to her own. "Now let's go do something."
His eyes widened, but he was silent as she led him out of the bar. | |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | Penelope fidgets in her seat, adjusting the hem of the pink dress she'd picked up just a day previous. It's a pretty, sophisticated number, matching the dainty flower pushed into her bun. Daniel would say it looks 'airy fairy'. But this isn't about him. He wouldn't expect her, his meek and timid wife, to even think about an affair. She'll show him. Her post was replied to a few times but one reply caught her eye in particular; he liked all of her little quirks and said her passion for baking was truly adorable. She doesn't bake for Daniel anymore. Maybe she'll bake for this new guy, though. Maybe he'll like her pink dress that she fiercely worked out and dieted to fit in. Briefly, Penelope checks her lipstick in her compact mirror -
"P... Penelope?"
She freezes. Slowly, she looks up at the figure who has appeared at the table for two. Dressed in a badly ironed shirt and his hair a wild mess... Is her husband. They stare at each other in a state of both shock and awe. Daniel swallows and awkwardly seats himself - he never could get the hang of being tall, - before looking up at his wife. They haven't been out to dinner in two years. They haven't spent any time together, really, let alone dinner in a fancy restaurant. "You look ... Fantastic." He says, voice a hoarse whisper. His wife's mouth twitches and she looks down, smiling, before she flicks her gaze up and replies, "I should have ironed that shirt for you." Daniel chuckles, "I should have zipped up that dress."
"It took me ages," She adjusts the hem of her dress again before, exhaling, Penelope sits up straight and extends a hand to him. He wordlessly tangles his fingers with her's. "Maybe it's fate," He mutters, "Or maybe we're just useless at staying away from one another." The smile on his wife's face blooms, wider than he has seen in years, and for a moment she's the teenage girl he fell in love with years ago. Penelope leans forwards, giggling, "I can't believe it's you. You sounded so different."
"So did you."
"I guess so. Maybe we're just..."
"Bitter." Daniel smiles; crooked, impish, his hand tightening against her own. "A drink?" He asks.
Penelope looks at their hands entwined on the table. She smiles again, replying, "No. A whole bottle. No - two!" Daniel laughs aloud and flags a waiter, shaking his head, "This is ridiculous."
"Wait until you see what I have on under this dress. You don't know ridiculous." Maybe she'll bake tomorrow morning. Maybe, just maybe, they'll be alright. | "You're cheating on me?" he asked indignantly.
"No, I'm not. I'm cheating *with* you, apparently," she replied.
"It's not cheating if we don't do something."
"Fine." She pulled a set of handcuffs out of her purse, lashed one side to his wrist and the other to her own. "Now let's go do something."
His eyes widened, but he was silent as she led him out of the bar. | |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | The two wine glasses sat on the table, the red wine still swirling.
"So what now?" She asks.
He picks his glass back up, anxious for something to hold, to put between them.
"What. Now." She says again, less of a question, just an urgent whisper.
He sniffs the wine in his glass, a faint smile winking across his face. "This is the first Carmenere we drank together."
She pauses and cocks her head to the side. "Of course it is. This is the same place we came on our first date, too." She shakes her head. "And here I was thinking it was a sign, my mystery man, asking me to meet him here."
"A sign?"
"Yes...a sign of the start of something great, the way we once were..." she drifts off, staring at the glow of the headlights driving outside the curtained windows.
"So then this is it then," he states. "You've given up?"
"Haven't you?"
"Maybe once," he murmurs. "Maybe even twice, but giving up completely is never easy."
She scoffs. "Giving up on you was eas-"
"Don't you dare." His voice finally rises to above a casual murmur. Her eyebrows rise.
He sets the glass down, but keeps his fingers on the stem, caressing it like he did her hand on their wedding day.
"You will always be my love," he says, eyes growing dim. "But if you don't have a glimmer of anything left, then..." He picks his glass back up and takes a sip.
"Then we walk away." She finally takes a sip herself. Her face becomes wistful. "This is still a beautiful wine."
"It is," he agrees. "Velvety, but a hint of spice, slow to build, but long lasting."
She pauses as her glass touches her lips. The glass twitches as her hand trembles ever so slightly.
"It's not a simple wine, is it." This is a statement, not a question, so he doesn't answer. She finally takes the sip.
They drink in silence, taking the time to appreciate every sip. The moment becomes deeper, darker like the remnants of wine trickling down the sides of the glasses. When the glasses are empty, the bill comes and he pays without saying a word.
They walk to the front door. He helps her with her coat, hands brushing the ends of her hair. They leave the restaurant and walk to the curb. She turns to face him and he rests his lips on her forehead. As they pull apart, his hands slide down her arms to hold her hands.
He gestures down the road with one shoulder. "I'm that way."
"And I'm there." She nods the opposite direction. They both smile a faint smile, and give each other's hands a final squeeze before breaking apart.
They turn away from each other and walk away, neither turning to look back. The headlights of passing cars continue to sweep along the road, illuminating silhouettes of people, making their way back to where they began. | "You're cheating on me?" he asked indignantly.
"No, I'm not. I'm cheating *with* you, apparently," she replied.
"It's not cheating if we don't do something."
"Fine." She pulled a set of handcuffs out of her purse, lashed one side to his wrist and the other to her own. "Now let's go do something."
His eyes widened, but he was silent as she led him out of the bar. | |
[WP] A husband and wife have lost their passion for each other. Secretly, they both look to have an affair online, creating secret identities. They meet each other online, and really hit it off. After a few days of talking, they decide to meet in person for the first time. | Penelope fidgets in her seat, adjusting the hem of the pink dress she'd picked up just a day previous. It's a pretty, sophisticated number, matching the dainty flower pushed into her bun. Daniel would say it looks 'airy fairy'. But this isn't about him. He wouldn't expect her, his meek and timid wife, to even think about an affair. She'll show him. Her post was replied to a few times but one reply caught her eye in particular; he liked all of her little quirks and said her passion for baking was truly adorable. She doesn't bake for Daniel anymore. Maybe she'll bake for this new guy, though. Maybe he'll like her pink dress that she fiercely worked out and dieted to fit in. Briefly, Penelope checks her lipstick in her compact mirror -
"P... Penelope?"
She freezes. Slowly, she looks up at the figure who has appeared at the table for two. Dressed in a badly ironed shirt and his hair a wild mess... Is her husband. They stare at each other in a state of both shock and awe. Daniel swallows and awkwardly seats himself - he never could get the hang of being tall, - before looking up at his wife. They haven't been out to dinner in two years. They haven't spent any time together, really, let alone dinner in a fancy restaurant. "You look ... Fantastic." He says, voice a hoarse whisper. His wife's mouth twitches and she looks down, smiling, before she flicks her gaze up and replies, "I should have ironed that shirt for you." Daniel chuckles, "I should have zipped up that dress."
"It took me ages," She adjusts the hem of her dress again before, exhaling, Penelope sits up straight and extends a hand to him. He wordlessly tangles his fingers with her's. "Maybe it's fate," He mutters, "Or maybe we're just useless at staying away from one another." The smile on his wife's face blooms, wider than he has seen in years, and for a moment she's the teenage girl he fell in love with years ago. Penelope leans forwards, giggling, "I can't believe it's you. You sounded so different."
"So did you."
"I guess so. Maybe we're just..."
"Bitter." Daniel smiles; crooked, impish, his hand tightening against her own. "A drink?" He asks.
Penelope looks at their hands entwined on the table. She smiles again, replying, "No. A whole bottle. No - two!" Daniel laughs aloud and flags a waiter, shaking his head, "This is ridiculous."
"Wait until you see what I have on under this dress. You don't know ridiculous." Maybe she'll bake tomorrow morning. Maybe, just maybe, they'll be alright. | Silence reigned over this end of the restaurant. Neither one of them seemed able or willing to start any kind of conversation. They'd probably sat there for half an hour already. Bob just glared at the ceiling lazily. Sophie stared at other people. A couple across the room was having a wonderful evening. She missed that, the attraction, the mystique, the electricity of it all. Puppy love at it's finest.
"So we're not even going to talk about this?" Bob asked flatly. The sound of his unmistakable drone dragging her attention across the table to him. He didn't bother to look at her as he talked.
"What's there to talk about Bob?" She sighed, "That we hate each other?"
"I dunno'... You've only been eye-fucking those college kids over there for about 5 minutes straight now. You could at least give them some time alone." Bob considered.
"Yeah, I wish I could give you some time alone." Sophie harshly rasped.
"Well, *there's* the door." Bob waved, "Your legs ain't broke."
"Fair." Sophie admitted. She watched Bob focus on his Jack and Coke some more. He stirred the straw through the drink, watching the bubbles rise to the top.
"So we lied to each other again." Sophie guessed as she adjusted her posture.
"What else is new?" Bob considered.
"True. We never really did love each other you know?" Sophie inquired.
"No..." Bob paused, "It wasn't love. Not at all."
"Never? Not even a little?" Sophie reminded, "I remember a time you were wrapped around my finger, not so long ago."
"Don't lie to yourself." Bob responded, "We never really loved each other. If we did, we'd be at home right now. It was physical attraction. Sex, money, and shared interests."
"That what you saw in that whore Felicia?" Sophie interrupted bitterly.
"I dunno'," Bob replied, "How many times did I catch you fucking Rob-from-down-the-street; in our bed no less."
"I bought the bed sweety." Sophie noted.
"That's cute, you can actually pay for shit you care about." Bob said, "Really touches my heart."
"Fuck you." Sophie snarled.
"Fuck me?" Bob asked caustically.
"Yeah, fuck you." Sophie frowned, "It's not like I banged him on the washing machine. Although you certainly were giving her the ol' "Spin Cycle" when I came home last week."
"Oh, so we're going there?" Bob's voice rose.
"You bet your happy ass we are." Sophie said, "You got tired of me, so you had to find something new. That's what you always do. You buy stuff, get bored within three months, sell it, and start over. It's sad. You never can settle down."
"At least I *understand the concept.*" He said. "But I guess for you that's one thing that's actually *too hard*."
"*I'll drink to that*." Sophie noted.
A few awkward glances from the rest of the room gave them pause. They didn't look at each other for a while after that exchange.
"So what are we?" Sophie started quietly.
"Nothing." Bob spoke, "Nothing at all."
"Lovers? Acquaintances? Husband and wife?" Sophie jabbed flippantly.
"Friends." Bob answered. The words hung in the air for a moment.
"Friends?" Sophie wondered. She watched Bob take a swig, his brown eyes finally locking with hers. For the first time in a long time, she felt something stir.
"Friends with benefits." Bob realized, "We thought we loved each other. But we don't. Don't lie, don't *pull* that face. Just listen. We don't love each other. At all. If we did. We'd still care."
"I tried." Sophie said, "Did you?"
"We didn't try." Bob said, "Because if we actually tried, who knows, maybe we wouldn't have slept around, or taken each others money, and pride, and what was left of all this."
"So I'm moving out of the house come next Thursday." Sophie said, "Can you at least cooperate until then? I found a nice little studio apartment fit for a queen."
"Sure." Bob smirked, "You may as well keep the house. Because I won't be there either. My job called; Seattle wants me. The big timers liked what they saw."
"What, a boozy, cheating, divorcee like themselves?"
"Call it what you like." Bob said as he finished his drink, "We're finished." He put his change on the bar, stood and took two steps towards the door.
"You know I never loved you." Sophie chided from the table.
"Like I ever loved myself either." Bob sighed as he headed out the door. She watched him leave, the door chime ringing as he exited. It didn't seem real at first. He'd left his keys on the table. Apparently he didn't need them. Not for her. She took a swig of his drink he'd left behind. Bitter, just like him. And Sophie aware for the first time in a long time, concluded, unfortunately, that she was truly alone again. | |
[WP] Is the year 2090 and everyone carries an ear device that instantly translates any language. You married an amazing foreign woman & decide to learn her mother tongue as an act of love, then discover you didn't fall in love with her personality, but with the ear device get-along editing feature. | Sheila smiled at Dan from across the kitchen. She diced the carrots with machine-like precision, barely slowing to glance at her husband. Dan creased his eyebrows in her direction, expressing his exhaustion.
The Xorne's language had never been learned by another species in the galaxy. When Dan took out his ear, Sheila could scream at him in anger but all he would hear are lyrical arrangements.
Dan analyzed the sounds and broke them down mathematically. What humans interpret as a fourth note could be a whole phrase in Xorne. When they spoke rapidly, it sounded like a concert and could be heard like reading a novel. Massive amounts of information could be translated quickly.
The troubling aspect came down to one translation.
It's a familiar tone to humans. A high C sharp lasting an 1/8th of a second. Barely discernible within a long song, but always hit when talking about humans.
The same note hit when Sheila cooks.
Dan wondered if the reason humanity had yet to meet the other species was because the Xorne had eaten their other c sharps to extinction.
Sheila was adding spices to the stew, surrounding Dan in familiar aromas that had become the staple scents of their home. Could she really be fattening up Dan for 6 years?
Dan went back to the screen on the table. He tried to reach out, but his hands had started sweating and shaking.
The peace seemed to good. The Xorne wiped out war, hunger, disease, and racism nearly as soon as they showed up. They freely gave technology and advanced humanity.
For food. The rage built within Dan. He couldn't handle the guilt he felt within himself for falling into the trap.
Dan decided he would show whom who's food.
It didn't take long for Xorne Fleet to arrive. Sheila's blood covered Dan's hands. He sat slumped against the front door, acknowledging to the pale purple light of day the murder he'd committed.
Their songs came out hurried and loud, but too fast for Dan to understand without his ears. Apparently seeing the confusion in Dan's eyes, they inspected his ears and slid a new ear in.
"Why murder?" Asked the green Xorne.
"Why food?" Dan returned, making sure to hit the practiced high c note.
"You learn little." His ear told him.
"Why eat human?!" Dan carefully pronounced in Xorne.
Visibly flustered, the orange Xorne spoke very slowly, lWe guide fluffy, weak meat."
And Dan realized C sharp was sheep. They spoke in metaphors.
And Sheila was preparing sheep stew, again. His favorite. | There once were two people.
One named 顏毅(yan yi), from Taiwan and one named Бралька (Braylka), from Ukrane.
They met in Taiwan, Бралька was on vacation in Taiwan, and met 顏毅.
They met at a religious ceremony, they both were very religious, and shared the same goals in life.
They knew their own respective parents would approve of a marrige between them; of course their parents did, and the two got married shortly after.
After beeing married for a few years, and learning to see each-others' flaws, and work through them, something changed.
YanYi decided it was time to learn Ukranian, so that he could talk to Braylka naturally, many hipsters have started doing it, and YanYi knew there couldn't be anything wrong with speaking naturally.
"It's the way it was meant to be, right?" he thought.
So he starts learning Ukranian, one word at a time, one grammar point at a time.
Language learning hasn't been practiced in a very long time, so he's suprised how old some of the resources are. He starts saying some things to Braylka once and a while in Ukranian. She thinks it's adorable!
"Awe! It's so sweet he's been learning my language" she though.
When he starts to get fluent, he goes back to his old texts to her, and starts to read in the original language. She seems oddly aggressive.
"Maybe there was a mistranslation somewhere?" he thought to himself.
As he read more and more, and listened to the recordings of their late night Skype chats, he noticed she uses much more vulgar language than he remembers. She seems to be non-apreeciative of his help...
"Strange..." YanYi though. "I always thought Braylka was sweet, not so harsh!"
One day, he talks to Braykla in Ukranian and decides to bring up the point that he's been learning for quite some time, and when he read their texts and listened to their old chats, he noticed she seems harsher than he remembers. He thought it was sorta funny, he doesn't mind some sass.
"Hey.... Sweatheart... " Braylka started "I... I've been using a special translation feature to try and hide my problems. I... I... " she stuttered "I do love you, but I was so affraid of offending you because I have a really bad habit of using mean, and hurtful language. I don't mean to, it's just a habit I picked up from my Dad"
Braylka started crying.
"I love you! I do, I was just scared that you wouldn't understand, that you'd think I was mean..."
"I love you too Braylka.
We can work on this together; I'll help you through this"
Brraylka, and YanYi cried together, and fell asleep.
As time went on they began to work on Braylka's cursing problem, and Braylka even learnt some Chinese for YanYi.
As they grew closer, there was no need for translators.
They could now truly say:
"I love **you**",
"我愛**你**", and
"Я **тебе** люблю"
*criticism is welcome, I'm new to this, and on mobile so excuse the formatting*
*E: Spelling*
*E2: Spelling again* | |
[WP] Is the year 2090 and everyone carries an ear device that instantly translates any language. You married an amazing foreign woman & decide to learn her mother tongue as an act of love, then discover you didn't fall in love with her personality, but with the ear device get-along editing feature. | My wife was always so submissive and it always turned me on. She gave into my carnal needs and would never say no. I even tested a few things that I would never have thought to ask of a lover and still she allowed me. When I would feel guilty about the extent of our sexual adventures, she assured me that she wanted more. It got to the point that I couldn’t think of anything beyond what I have done. Because of this, it seemed as if she had become complacent with me. She began staying out late. She stopped having sex with me. Then the next thing I knew, I was brought into custody and here I am telling my side of the story.
“Sir, her perception piece recorded the entirety of your ‘marriage.’ You were with her for a mere three months and everyday she had told you she hated you but you’re telling us that she said she had to have you. She told you no more, and you’re telling us that she said she needed more. You say you couldn’t top yourself, but in the recording, it depicts you telling her to come up with her own ideas. She was so scared to come up with something she began seeking help. And after all of this, you’re saying the perception piece is responsible for you imprisoning this young lady for three months?”
I don’t know what to say. I moved here to be with her. We met online and we fell in love. We had a private VR marriage and she immediately quit working because I swore she didn’t need to. I think it’s rather convenient that the court only has her perception piece! Don’t you think it’s peculiar that the officers lost my piece? Don’t you think it’s rather strange that my wife began these allegations after my money transferred to her account?
“Are you really implying that our justice system, our technology companies, and even our citizens are all working to together to con you out of your money?!”
Yes, that’s exactly what I’m implying!
“If only you had your perception piece to prove it…” | The beginning was like a Jane Austin novel. There were glances, there was conversation glittering with promises that went beyond the lips. We were in love, and when we discussed marriage it was as clear as day.
They call it the seven year itch, or at least they used to. Now it's more like the seven month itch. His words have not changed but my reception of them has. They feel stale, rehearsed, re-hashed over hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of conversations we've never had.
In a last-ditch attempt to spice things up I turned my attention to his native language. I learned in secret, reading in the bathroom, listening on the train, and befriending the young intern who by some coincidence was a native speaker.
When I was confident I wasn't going to insult his mother I took the last step. I stood at our front door, sans I Over, and put my key in the lock.
I greeted him with his own words, fully expecting to hear the same back. Instead I reeled at a barely-concealed insult to my timekeeping. My thoughts of seduction flew swiftly from my mind, and I cobbled together a reply in his language detailing my less than glowing review of my husband's cooking skills.
Silence.
His head emerged from the living room with a puzzled expression, his fingers twiddling his device. I repeated my sentence, watching him carefully. He clicked the I Over off, and so began an exchange of words in language far coarser than I'd heard offered by the translator.
Readers, I never knew love could be like this. Passion of the body was described in clinical, empty terms in biology. Passion when the mind is stimulated is... quite different. | |
[WP] Is the year 2090 and everyone carries an ear device that instantly translates any language. You married an amazing foreign woman & decide to learn her mother tongue as an act of love, then discover you didn't fall in love with her personality, but with the ear device get-along editing feature. | Luis let out a long sigh as he tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. He shouted something from across the house—there was a pause, and then a soft, soothing voice: “where’s dinner, honey?”
“Coming right up!” I declared, opening the oven door as a wave of heat and rosemary enveloped me. With my oven gloved hands I removed the large pan from the oven. I removed a large knife from its drawer and began carving the chicken into smaller pieces.
Another yell assaulted me from the other room followed by “do you need some help?”
“No, I’m fine,” I responded before grabbing two plates and bringing them into the dining room. I delicately placed them on the placemats before heading back to the kitchen to grab our dinner.
It had been 8 years since I found out about the Cotton Candy upgrade to our translators. It started off as one of those features that’s automatically enabled on your device—one that made everyone sound nicer to each other. Around that time the update came out I was on my annual summer trip and met Luis, a handsome business executive. He was kind to me and we had so much in common—hiking and cooking and dancing. Without the translator, I would never have met the love of my life.
Shortly after we were married, something changed. I could tell by the way he said things to me—he spoke more shortly, spoke louder. But the translator spoke to me in that same soft, loving tone it always had. I honestly thought I was imagining things—how is it possible that his face could be saying one thing but his words were completely different? I thought back to the Cotton Candy update and figured it must be adjusting the tone and content of his words.
Nonetheless, I stayed. I learned Spanish over the years in the hopes that I could translate what Luis was *really* saying to me. Unfortunately with the translator, It was difficult to actually hear Luis’ words—it was more a jumble followed by the words translated in English. Looking back, I think this was an excuse. Really, I was too afraid to find out the truth about what Luis was saying to me.
While my love for Luis faded, my love for the translator did not. I stayed not for Luis but for that voice that always knew how to calm me down, knew exactly what to say to make me stay.
After I gave Luis his dinner, his first bite was a piece of burnt chicken. Everything was a blur—plate smashed, chicken flying, fingers curled, hot white pain, blurry vision, burning tears.
I ran from that house, jumped on the bus and headed for the nearest Translator Store.
Holding the side of my face, I walked up to one of the employees. “I need my translator removed.”
It took nearly 10 minutes to remove the circuitry from my ear. The employee only said one thing to me: “Once the translator is removed, you will no longer be able to understand anyone speaking another language and you cannot reinstall another translator. Are you sure you want to proceed?”
“Yes.”
After the translator was removed the employee spoke to me again asking if there was anything else he could do for me. It took me a minute to realize that he was speaking to me in Spanish. In all these years married to Luis I must have picked up enough Spanish to translate on my own. I told the employee I was fine and left.
I should have gone to the airport, flown home and reunited with the parents that hadn’t seen me since the wedding. Instead, I found myself standing in front of the home Luis and I shared, fumbling to find my key and hand shaking as I inserted it into the lock. I slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.
Luis screamed at me for leaving, told me I was worthless and that he knew I had no place else to go. Somehow I understood what he was saying to me—but the translation in my head was the Cotton Candy voice saying that he was worried about me and loved me and never wanted me to leave him.
I told him that I loved him and just wanted to do right by him. He responded by hitting me across the face.
As I lay on the floor feeling Luis' foot breaking my ribs, and that voice telling me how much he cared about me, I wondered if the Cotton Candy feature was ever on in the first place.
| The beginning was like a Jane Austin novel. There were glances, there was conversation glittering with promises that went beyond the lips. We were in love, and when we discussed marriage it was as clear as day.
They call it the seven year itch, or at least they used to. Now it's more like the seven month itch. His words have not changed but my reception of them has. They feel stale, rehearsed, re-hashed over hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of conversations we've never had.
In a last-ditch attempt to spice things up I turned my attention to his native language. I learned in secret, reading in the bathroom, listening on the train, and befriending the young intern who by some coincidence was a native speaker.
When I was confident I wasn't going to insult his mother I took the last step. I stood at our front door, sans I Over, and put my key in the lock.
I greeted him with his own words, fully expecting to hear the same back. Instead I reeled at a barely-concealed insult to my timekeeping. My thoughts of seduction flew swiftly from my mind, and I cobbled together a reply in his language detailing my less than glowing review of my husband's cooking skills.
Silence.
His head emerged from the living room with a puzzled expression, his fingers twiddling his device. I repeated my sentence, watching him carefully. He clicked the I Over off, and so began an exchange of words in language far coarser than I'd heard offered by the translator.
Readers, I never knew love could be like this. Passion of the body was described in clinical, empty terms in biology. Passion when the mind is stimulated is... quite different. | |
[WP] Is the year 2090 and everyone carries an ear device that instantly translates any language. You married an amazing foreign woman & decide to learn her mother tongue as an act of love, then discover you didn't fall in love with her personality, but with the ear device get-along editing feature. | Luis let out a long sigh as he tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. He shouted something from across the house—there was a pause, and then a soft, soothing voice: “where’s dinner, honey?”
“Coming right up!” I declared, opening the oven door as a wave of heat and rosemary enveloped me. With my oven gloved hands I removed the large pan from the oven. I removed a large knife from its drawer and began carving the chicken into smaller pieces.
Another yell assaulted me from the other room followed by “do you need some help?”
“No, I’m fine,” I responded before grabbing two plates and bringing them into the dining room. I delicately placed them on the placemats before heading back to the kitchen to grab our dinner.
It had been 8 years since I found out about the Cotton Candy upgrade to our translators. It started off as one of those features that’s automatically enabled on your device—one that made everyone sound nicer to each other. Around that time the update came out I was on my annual summer trip and met Luis, a handsome business executive. He was kind to me and we had so much in common—hiking and cooking and dancing. Without the translator, I would never have met the love of my life.
Shortly after we were married, something changed. I could tell by the way he said things to me—he spoke more shortly, spoke louder. But the translator spoke to me in that same soft, loving tone it always had. I honestly thought I was imagining things—how is it possible that his face could be saying one thing but his words were completely different? I thought back to the Cotton Candy update and figured it must be adjusting the tone and content of his words.
Nonetheless, I stayed. I learned Spanish over the years in the hopes that I could translate what Luis was *really* saying to me. Unfortunately with the translator, It was difficult to actually hear Luis’ words—it was more a jumble followed by the words translated in English. Looking back, I think this was an excuse. Really, I was too afraid to find out the truth about what Luis was saying to me.
While my love for Luis faded, my love for the translator did not. I stayed not for Luis but for that voice that always knew how to calm me down, knew exactly what to say to make me stay.
After I gave Luis his dinner, his first bite was a piece of burnt chicken. Everything was a blur—plate smashed, chicken flying, fingers curled, hot white pain, blurry vision, burning tears.
I ran from that house, jumped on the bus and headed for the nearest Translator Store.
Holding the side of my face, I walked up to one of the employees. “I need my translator removed.”
It took nearly 10 minutes to remove the circuitry from my ear. The employee only said one thing to me: “Once the translator is removed, you will no longer be able to understand anyone speaking another language and you cannot reinstall another translator. Are you sure you want to proceed?”
“Yes.”
After the translator was removed the employee spoke to me again asking if there was anything else he could do for me. It took me a minute to realize that he was speaking to me in Spanish. In all these years married to Luis I must have picked up enough Spanish to translate on my own. I told the employee I was fine and left.
I should have gone to the airport, flown home and reunited with the parents that hadn’t seen me since the wedding. Instead, I found myself standing in front of the home Luis and I shared, fumbling to find my key and hand shaking as I inserted it into the lock. I slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.
Luis screamed at me for leaving, told me I was worthless and that he knew I had no place else to go. Somehow I understood what he was saying to me—but the translation in my head was the Cotton Candy voice saying that he was worried about me and loved me and never wanted me to leave him.
I told him that I loved him and just wanted to do right by him. He responded by hitting me across the face.
As I lay on the floor feeling Luis' foot breaking my ribs, and that voice telling me how much he cared about me, I wondered if the Cotton Candy feature was ever on in the first place.
| My wife was always so submissive and it always turned me on. She gave into my carnal needs and would never say no. I even tested a few things that I would never have thought to ask of a lover and still she allowed me. When I would feel guilty about the extent of our sexual adventures, she assured me that she wanted more. It got to the point that I couldn’t think of anything beyond what I have done. Because of this, it seemed as if she had become complacent with me. She began staying out late. She stopped having sex with me. Then the next thing I knew, I was brought into custody and here I am telling my side of the story.
“Sir, her perception piece recorded the entirety of your ‘marriage.’ You were with her for a mere three months and everyday she had told you she hated you but you’re telling us that she said she had to have you. She told you no more, and you’re telling us that she said she needed more. You say you couldn’t top yourself, but in the recording, it depicts you telling her to come up with her own ideas. She was so scared to come up with something she began seeking help. And after all of this, you’re saying the perception piece is responsible for you imprisoning this young lady for three months?”
I don’t know what to say. I moved here to be with her. We met online and we fell in love. We had a private VR marriage and she immediately quit working because I swore she didn’t need to. I think it’s rather convenient that the court only has her perception piece! Don’t you think it’s peculiar that the officers lost my piece? Don’t you think it’s rather strange that my wife began these allegations after my money transferred to her account?
“Are you really implying that our justice system, our technology companies, and even our citizens are all working to together to con you out of your money?!”
Yes, that’s exactly what I’m implying!
“If only you had your perception piece to prove it…” | |
[WP] Is the year 2090 and everyone carries an ear device that instantly translates any language. You married an amazing foreign woman & decide to learn her mother tongue as an act of love, then discover you didn't fall in love with her personality, but with the ear device get-along editing feature. | Luis let out a long sigh as he tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. He shouted something from across the house—there was a pause, and then a soft, soothing voice: “where’s dinner, honey?”
“Coming right up!” I declared, opening the oven door as a wave of heat and rosemary enveloped me. With my oven gloved hands I removed the large pan from the oven. I removed a large knife from its drawer and began carving the chicken into smaller pieces.
Another yell assaulted me from the other room followed by “do you need some help?”
“No, I’m fine,” I responded before grabbing two plates and bringing them into the dining room. I delicately placed them on the placemats before heading back to the kitchen to grab our dinner.
It had been 8 years since I found out about the Cotton Candy upgrade to our translators. It started off as one of those features that’s automatically enabled on your device—one that made everyone sound nicer to each other. Around that time the update came out I was on my annual summer trip and met Luis, a handsome business executive. He was kind to me and we had so much in common—hiking and cooking and dancing. Without the translator, I would never have met the love of my life.
Shortly after we were married, something changed. I could tell by the way he said things to me—he spoke more shortly, spoke louder. But the translator spoke to me in that same soft, loving tone it always had. I honestly thought I was imagining things—how is it possible that his face could be saying one thing but his words were completely different? I thought back to the Cotton Candy update and figured it must be adjusting the tone and content of his words.
Nonetheless, I stayed. I learned Spanish over the years in the hopes that I could translate what Luis was *really* saying to me. Unfortunately with the translator, It was difficult to actually hear Luis’ words—it was more a jumble followed by the words translated in English. Looking back, I think this was an excuse. Really, I was too afraid to find out the truth about what Luis was saying to me.
While my love for Luis faded, my love for the translator did not. I stayed not for Luis but for that voice that always knew how to calm me down, knew exactly what to say to make me stay.
After I gave Luis his dinner, his first bite was a piece of burnt chicken. Everything was a blur—plate smashed, chicken flying, fingers curled, hot white pain, blurry vision, burning tears.
I ran from that house, jumped on the bus and headed for the nearest Translator Store.
Holding the side of my face, I walked up to one of the employees. “I need my translator removed.”
It took nearly 10 minutes to remove the circuitry from my ear. The employee only said one thing to me: “Once the translator is removed, you will no longer be able to understand anyone speaking another language and you cannot reinstall another translator. Are you sure you want to proceed?”
“Yes.”
After the translator was removed the employee spoke to me again asking if there was anything else he could do for me. It took me a minute to realize that he was speaking to me in Spanish. In all these years married to Luis I must have picked up enough Spanish to translate on my own. I told the employee I was fine and left.
I should have gone to the airport, flown home and reunited with the parents that hadn’t seen me since the wedding. Instead, I found myself standing in front of the home Luis and I shared, fumbling to find my key and hand shaking as I inserted it into the lock. I slowly turned the doorknob and stepped inside.
Luis screamed at me for leaving, told me I was worthless and that he knew I had no place else to go. Somehow I understood what he was saying to me—but the translation in my head was the Cotton Candy voice saying that he was worried about me and loved me and never wanted me to leave him.
I told him that I loved him and just wanted to do right by him. He responded by hitting me across the face.
As I lay on the floor feeling Luis' foot breaking my ribs, and that voice telling me how much he cared about me, I wondered if the Cotton Candy feature was ever on in the first place.
| "French seems a lot more *harsh* than I remember it..."
The thought crossed my mind as my wonderful wife spoke to my family. She seemed to be being a bit more abrupt than she needed to be - but I figured it was just a mistranslation on my part.
I was still learning the language, after all. My little secret.
I turned my ear device on again, and she was pleasant as can be for the rest of the trip.
Yes. Definitely just a mistranslation.
****
It was beginning to bug me. It felt like every time I turned off the device, she'd be a lot more... rude. I wanted to think of a better word, but nothing sprang to mind.
The only words that sprung to mind were a whole lot worse, really.
Clearly, French is just quite a harsh language. Worse than German, if I must say.
****
I've kept the ear device off for a week. Something's desperately wrong, there's no denying it.
When it's turned off, something in it malfunctions. Makes things sound like not what they are.
It makes my beautiful, amazing, radiant wife, sound like a total fucking bitch.
***
"There's something wrong with our devices," I urged, as she theatrically sighed once again.
"John, stop being such a whiney bitch," she replied, turning the holodeck louder.
"Seriously, it makes it sound like you're saying terrible things!" I said, feeling hopeless. I didn't even know what was real anymore. "Please just try turn yours off?"
"Fuck it, if it will get you to shut up," she replied, fiddling with it in her ear. "There, it's off. How about I turn off my digital contacts as well? Do you want me to see like shit as well?"
She pressed her temple before I could say anything, and she blinked, looking at me.
"...Oh sweet *Jesus*," she mouthed, staring at my face.
*****
These days, I just leave my ear device on. Easier than dealing with the malfunction, I guess.
And my wife, she leaves her digital contacts on at all times.
She never really explained her outburst, to be honest.
I guess she just doesn't want bad eyesight, right?
...Right?
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | |
[WP] If you do this,they'll never stop being afraid of you. | That’s what I said to her.
«Fear of the unknown is preservation. They are right to be afraid, their actions make sense, “she said. Then she pulled back her hood and strode forward.
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to follow her. *They’re wrong*, I would’ve said. *Let them die*, I did say.
She never could.
A witch’s house doesn’t burn. Fire thrown on it is turned back with equal and opposite force. I called it preservation, she said unfortunate side effect.
“They don’t know what they’re doing.” She looked at me with eyes full of sorrow and pain, lines on her tired face despite her young age. “They’re good people. They’re just afraid.”
I watched.
The cloak billowed around her and cast her shadow like an angel coming to the people’s rescue. She walked through the flame and tamed it beneath her. They saw her as a demon. Even as she disappeared the fire eating at their clothes they lifted their stones to cast her down.
I watched.
They screamed. She never did.
They dragged her across the smoldering planks that would have been their grave. One after another they stumbled through the ruins of their former homes, lungs wrecked by smoke and eyes tearing. One house remained standing in the center of destruction and their hate grew with every glance.
I watched.
The gallows were ready. We had argued about those too. I would have burned them down together with the people building them. She refused; “Don’t feed the fire. Don’t satisfy their hate by proving them right.”
She was wrong.
Their hate was fueled by fear and ignorance, and even the grandest selfless act did nothing to sway them. Still wearing their clothes singed by fire, they tied the noose and pulled the rope. Stones were thrown and curses were shouted, but no fire was lit. A witch doesn’t burn, either.
I watched.
Her body woke, twitching and turning as the rope was pulled. Desperation in every movement as the air was cut off. Blood streamed down the side of her head, a stone thrown too hard for her to wake again. A blessing.
I watched. I cried. I cursed. I told myself she was wrong; they deserved to burn, to scream, to die.
Minutes passed and the last twitching stopped, one finger lasted longer than the rest. I moved closer. I looked at her face and felt the heat coursing through me. The elated shouts surrounding me tore at my control, wore at my restraint. Her eyes saved me.
They reminded me of being huddled together in a dark cave, of rain pouring down outside and angry voices in the forest. Of how she ran away from threats and towards pleas. Of the hope she carried and the dream she had.
I walked away.
I did not make them burn.
I would remember her.
I would not let hate win.
_________________
If you like this, please take a lot at /r/Kolibri_Writings, leave a comment and make my day/week/life. | At the foot of the hill, Ogachi Village burned and Kaori watched. For two years, Kaori had lived in the village and no one knew her name. They called her Sakura. To them, she was a widow who sold vegetables from her small garden. She was loved and respected - not feared. Why would anyone have reason to fear her?
"If you do this," said a familiar voice behind her, "they'll never stop being afraid of you."
Kaori turned to see a silvery fox, cocking its head to the side.
"I know," she told the fox, "but the attacks haven't stopped. They're are far too many this time - they'll burn it to the ground. I have to do something. These people have been so kind to me"
"It is because they don't know you," the fox's mouth didn't move when she spoke.
"Perhaps," Kaori sighed, "but even if that's the case, I can't sit back. We can't let these people take whatever they want."
"Of course," the fox bowed her silver head, "We are yours to command, Demon Caller."
Kaori nodded and tied her hair back. She ran towards the village and the fox met her stride. It was chaotic - villagers were running and screaming, fire was tearing through the small houses.
"Sakura!" cried the man who bought her leeks, "Quick, over here! They're coming this way!" He frantically motioned for her to join him in a dash to the river.
"Go!" she shouted at him, "I'll come later!" she lied.
He didn't believe her and changed his path to run towards her instead. She was hoping he wouldn't see, but as three angry attackers came around the corner, she had no choice.
Palms raised to the sky she screamed, "Spirits! Your Mistress calls! I command you do my bidding!" A fierce wind came from directly beneath her and her palms began to glow, "Protect this village and kill these men who seek to harm it!"
The villager who had been running towards her fell backwards and raised his hands to his face, "Kaori? The Demon Caller?"
All around the village, spots of green light began to form. The spirits and demons took shape. Bizarre creatures from legends and bedtime stories filled the village and immediately began seeking out the attackers.
She heard confused cried of villagers,
"What is it?"
"Hide!"
"Are they demons?"
"It's Kaori!"
Kaori stayed planted where she was, palms up and unyielding. A wind spirit took the shape of a large human with the face of a bat before her. It grabbed one of the attackers by the foot. The attacker screamed and waived his torch at the spirit, but he could not reach him. The spirit screeched and blew a puff of air that causes the flame to chase up the man's arm. The spirit then tossed the burning man threw the air and out of sight.
An army of river children - no taller than two feet - had gathered to gnaw at the feet of the attackers with their pointed teeth.
A giant skeleton drifted above them all, lifting attackers into the air and slamming them against the ground.
Kaori's fox companion had grown to be larger than a horse. She ran threw the flaming village to tear the limbs of the attackers.
The scene was too fearsome - too gruesome - for the villagers to feel any sort of gratitude. They still hid or dashed to the river. Kaori didn't blame them.
The river itself had taken the shape of a giant koi that swam through the air. It dumped water from its wide mouth on the burning buildings to stop the fire's spread.
Noise began to quiet down as the attackers died. There was only the hiss from the steam and the stifled crying from the villagers. Kaori dropped her arms to her side and, one by one, the spirits returned to light and then the light dispersed into darkness.
She shuffled towards the river in the dark. However, before she reached the huddled dark silhouette of her fellow villagers, I voice called out to her,
"Kaori, please! Have mercy!"
She stopped.
"Please Mistress Kaori, do not harm us!" cried another voice.
"I don't want to hurt you, I wanted to protect you!" she called back.
"Please leave us, Mistress Kaori!"
She took a step backwards.
"Don't come here!" a panicked child's voice.
Kaori took another step back.
"Please don't worry," she shouted, "I will leave you. Be well."
She turned to see the silver fox waiting for her on the hill and went to join her.
| |
[WP] If you do this,they'll never stop being afraid of you. | That’s what I said to her.
«Fear of the unknown is preservation. They are right to be afraid, their actions make sense, “she said. Then she pulled back her hood and strode forward.
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t bring myself to follow her. *They’re wrong*, I would’ve said. *Let them die*, I did say.
She never could.
A witch’s house doesn’t burn. Fire thrown on it is turned back with equal and opposite force. I called it preservation, she said unfortunate side effect.
“They don’t know what they’re doing.” She looked at me with eyes full of sorrow and pain, lines on her tired face despite her young age. “They’re good people. They’re just afraid.”
I watched.
The cloak billowed around her and cast her shadow like an angel coming to the people’s rescue. She walked through the flame and tamed it beneath her. They saw her as a demon. Even as she disappeared the fire eating at their clothes they lifted their stones to cast her down.
I watched.
They screamed. She never did.
They dragged her across the smoldering planks that would have been their grave. One after another they stumbled through the ruins of their former homes, lungs wrecked by smoke and eyes tearing. One house remained standing in the center of destruction and their hate grew with every glance.
I watched.
The gallows were ready. We had argued about those too. I would have burned them down together with the people building them. She refused; “Don’t feed the fire. Don’t satisfy their hate by proving them right.”
She was wrong.
Their hate was fueled by fear and ignorance, and even the grandest selfless act did nothing to sway them. Still wearing their clothes singed by fire, they tied the noose and pulled the rope. Stones were thrown and curses were shouted, but no fire was lit. A witch doesn’t burn, either.
I watched.
Her body woke, twitching and turning as the rope was pulled. Desperation in every movement as the air was cut off. Blood streamed down the side of her head, a stone thrown too hard for her to wake again. A blessing.
I watched. I cried. I cursed. I told myself she was wrong; they deserved to burn, to scream, to die.
Minutes passed and the last twitching stopped, one finger lasted longer than the rest. I moved closer. I looked at her face and felt the heat coursing through me. The elated shouts surrounding me tore at my control, wore at my restraint. Her eyes saved me.
They reminded me of being huddled together in a dark cave, of rain pouring down outside and angry voices in the forest. Of how she ran away from threats and towards pleas. Of the hope she carried and the dream she had.
I walked away.
I did not make them burn.
I would remember her.
I would not let hate win.
_________________
If you like this, please take a lot at /r/Kolibri_Writings, leave a comment and make my day/week/life. | Nora nuzzled into the fur of the Great Beast as it lay sleeping next to the fire she had built for them. This creature looked as though someone had crossed a bear and a dog together and turned it into a giant. It's paws and ears were large and disproportionate to the body, too. Although no one had seen the likes of this creature in a hundred years, she could tell it was a youngling.
Between it's long rhythmic breathes, she couldn't help but marvel at how much larger it was than her. She knew that she could easily fit inside it's mouth, but she felt at ease laying in its fur, despite it's impossible size.
Old legend told of these beasts and how they attacked small villages, destroyed everything in sight, and even that they would consume humans. Yet Nora was not frightened.
When she discovered the Beast several days ago wounded and whining, it had seemed too injured to be bothered with her presence. Either that or her small size made her seem as though she were no threat.
Once she started treating the wounds and feeding the Beast, however, she was immediately shown affection. It became attached to her in an instant, almost as though it believed her to be the mother.
Nora's eyes followed the smoke and cinder as it rose from the fire. She watched as it faded into the sky, the small red cinders dancing among the stars.
"We have to get you home." she whispered as she stroke the Beast's side lightly. | |
[WP] The World is ending. It's been proven by scientists everywhere. A meteor is heading to Earth. The day of the impact, millions of people are present, waiting in the desert around the soon-to-be impact zone. Suddenly, with minutes to go, a man in a cape steps forward and cracks his knuckles. | It's been a good run.
I mean, of course I'm goddamn terrified at the prospect of a giant meteorite hurdling itself into the planet at an unreasonably high velocity, but it's been a good run.
And besides, this Doomsday-esque situation has actually brought us all together. We bonded more in a couple of hours than we have over the course of *years*. Also, it's not like we were the best people we could possibly be. Bloodthirsty empires, massive genocides, *modern politics*, I'm getting a shiver just thinking about it.
I suppose the meteor could be interpreted as God's way of punishing humanity for its sins. Others view as extremely bad luck. I look at this as a new chance. Somewhere out there, some protozoan organisms or some shit like that are slowly evolving, slowly growing. Those little creatures might become the next humans. Who knows?
We can all see the meteor now. It's time to say our final goodbyes. But we're not sad. We knew this was coming. And so we accept it.
Then, I see someone shuffling through the crowd. When I glanced over at him, it was an immediate *what the fuck?* He was bald, his head shining with sunlight. He wore some weird piss-colored getup, and had the stereotypical red cape. He glanced at the crowd, who at this point were just staring at him. He then crouched a bit, and jumped.
As he flew straight up at the meteor, I could hear rock music, crescendoing frantically, until I could hear one thing.
"ONE PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNCH!"
//EDIT: When you realize someone already made a One Punch joke... | Upon first inspection of this man everyone around me laughs. "He looks like a complete idiot!" yelled one man before gasping for breath. I couldn't see what they mean't he looked pretty heroic to me, maybe it was his outfit. He looked a bit odd with his red cleaning gloves, white cape, and yellow pajamas. But nonetheless he was going to be our savior, I had to admire him for his bravery standing exactly where the meteor would land.
He somehow ignored all of the laughing and heckling around him, even that was impressive. He just stood there with no expression on his face, he didn't even seem concerned that he was humanity's only hope. I then started to think about my favorite movie Star Wars: A New Hope, I suppose if you're going to die you might as well end it with your favorite movie. I quickly noticed then that he seemed to be thinking intensely, I look up and saw that the meteor was maybe a mile overhead now.
I decided to walk up to him to give a bit of support, but mostly to ask for this strange man's name. " I think you can do it, don't listen to everyone else. Also who are you? You must be pretty brave to stand up against all odds." He smiled and turned around to face me and seeing him up close he was actually pretty more muscular than he seemed to be earlier.
"I'm just a hero for fun" He said in an almost cheery voice. This was more shocking to me than hearing about the meteorite about to crash down on us, but it made me smile. I couldn't be mad at someone that honest to me. Before I knew it a huge gust of wind hit me and The Hero was gone, I then heard an explosion similar to that of an atom bomb and bits of meteorite were crashing down. "Ah man, one punch again?" The Hero was standing in front of me holding a small part of the meteor and he sounded quite disappointed. Everyone around me was amazed about what we had just witnessed, and up to that point they were all laughing like The Hero was the best comedian of all time. " Oh yeah I almost forgot, here's a souvenir." He tossed me the small part of the meteor and walked away like it was an average day for him and looking back on that day it must have been. (Constructive criticisms would be appreciated, thanks!) | |
[WP] Your young daughter is a magic prodigy with summoning powers. Despite you being normal, when she's in danger she keeps summoning you first. | “I’ll take a bushel of cucumbers, a loaf of bread, two barrels of mead, and one cheese wheel,” I told the grocer in the market square.
It was hot in town that day. My neck had reddened after being beaten by the sun all day as I sold my wares and purchased those of others. Evading the busier purveyors, I made efficient work of my day and managed to build some rapport with the smaller businesses. Many venders often overpaid for my pelts and meats and granted me significant discounts on their items.
The grocer loaded my cart and told me the cost. Retrieving my coin purse, I counted out what I owed. I handed my gold to the merchant, it hit his hand, I blinked, and when my eyes opened I found myself in the middle of the forest behind my hovel face to face with a pack of wolves.
“Papa!” my eight year old daughter shrieked from behind me. “Wolves!”
“Yes, I see that, dear,” I responded in a touch of panic.
“Right!” she said. She lifted her hands, thrust them at me pointedly and in a flash my body was adorned in stout leather armour, to my left arm bound a shield and in my right hand sprouted a short sword.
I turned to face the wolves, still worried at their number, but determined to save my daughter.
One wolf lunged and gnashed its teeth. I swung my sword and planted it in the side of the wolf’s face. Two more attacked, one I blocked with my shield but the other latched onto my arm. I fought to shake off the beast, but its bite held firm.
“Help!” I called out to my daughter as the three remaining wolves encircled me.
My little girl thrust out her hands again and behind the wolves materialized the donkey and cart I had abandoned in town.
“Not that!” I cried.
“Oops!” She pushed her hands forward again and a doe emerged from the ether. As the panicked animal bounded away, the wolves decided it would be easier prey than I and gave chase.
“Are you alright?” I asked once the animals were gone.
She nodded.
“Reyna, how many times have I told you? Summon a knight or a troll or a dragon. I can’t always win these fights. I’m just a humble hunter.”
I of course knew the answer. She had no mother, she had no friends, and the only people she knew were myself and…
“Well hello there you two.” …The witch. Her taught skin defied her many years and her black cloak hugged a seemingly youthful figure. The only evidence of her advanced age was the snow white hair that cascaded down her back.
“I’ve told you not to come around my daughter, witch.”
Her black eyes twitched. She spoke so smoothly the words seemed to sing from her nigh motionless mouth. “Oh, I know. But then again, you are powerless to stop me aren’t you?” She raise a hand and from twenty paces away lifted me into air.
“Let go of my papa!” Reyna screamed. She pushed out her hands and a boulder appeared, flying at the witch. It crushed her into a nearby tree and in a cloud of black smoke she vanished and I tumbled to the ground.
Standing, I brushed the moist moss and dirt from my tunic. “You know she’ll be back right?” I asked my little girl a more ominous question than she knew.
Reyna gave a nod of comprehension and we traveled back to our hovel.
Over the years that followed she was trapped by more wolves, giant spiders, a bridge troll, a few dozen highwaymen, and at least three very aggressive squirrels. Each time she called me to her aid, usually when I was hunting, gardening, bathing, or in town, and always when I was drastically under prepared for the task at hand (excepting of course with the squirrels).
On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, I sat before the fireplace, tears streaming down my cheeks. My daughter entered our one room cabin bouncing about a boy she had met on the road. He was tall and handsome and a skilled warrior (or so he claimed) and was coming tomorrow to meet me.
It was only after she had regaled herself with reliving the day’s events that she realized I was crying.
“Papa, what’s wrong?” she asked.
I couldn’t muster the words so I simply stood and embraced my daughter, squeezing her as tightly as I could.
“Papa, you’re scaring me,” she said pushing me away.
“Reyna-” I finally managed, “-You won’t be here tomorrow for him.”
“Why not?” the misunderstanding ever clear in her light eyes.
Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. I slowly moved across the room and opened the latch. Standing in the driving snow before me, was a tall, fancily clad young man.
“May I enter?” he inquired.
After my skeptical look, he pressed, “I met your daughter on the road today. I was supposed to come to meet you tomorrow, but I couldn’t wait,” he sheepishly grinned.
“Now is not a good time…” I started, but was cutoff when my daughter pushed me aside and invited the young man in.
She poured us each a stein of mead and made me take a seat by the table. Distracted as I was, the boy made slow work of winning me over.
“Sir, have I offended you in some way?” he pressed as midnight drew near.
“No.” I said sharply. “But you must leave now.”
“Papa, why?” challenged Reyna.
At that, another knock shook our door. This knock was stronger than that of the young man. This knock seemed to calm the howling winds outside. This knock dimmed my once roaring fire. This knock made the world grow dark and cold.
As I approached the door, it opened itself. A black cloak stood at the threshold. The shroud stepped inside and lowered its hood, unveiling the face of the witch.
“Tell her,” the witch demanded.
I refused.
The witch cackled and said, “Fine.” Then she began. “Little girl, ever wonder what happened to your mother?” The witch knew I had refused to answer any questions my girl posed about her ma.
When Reyna failed to answer, the witch continued, “You never had one. Your father was living alone in the wilderness for decades and could stand the solitude no longer. He had lost the will to live on by himself and called out to the world asking for a companion. But not just any companion would do, no. He needed someone who needed him. Someone incapable of taking care of themselves. Someone so dependent on him she would summon him at the slightest provocation. The little girl was always a powerful summoner, but she never wondered who summoned her, did she?”
Reyna was frozen and could not respond. The witch finished her story. “I found your father and brokered a deal. I would give him eighteen years of a loving, dependent relationship with a daughter, and then I would take the daughter. You see, I am growing very old, and while my spirit is powerful, my body grows weak. Tonight I will transfuse my essence into you, stealing the prime years of your life.” This cackle began softer and grew and grew until it chilled, not only my bones, but the very fabric of our home.
“You’ll not take her!” the young man shouted as he tackled the witch outside and slammed shut the door.
“What have you done?” I asked him.
As he began to respond, the heavy logs of my cabin instantly splintered and blew away in the wind. The explosion of my cabin shook the earth, and we all fell to the ground. The witch took my daughter by the hand, and vanished.
A moment later I found myself lying on the floor of an underground stone chamber. Torches lines the walls and a pool of blood bubbled in a bath in the middle. Above the bath, was chained Reyna, about to be lowered in. The witch already waded in the pool. With her eyes shut, she began to chant in an indiscernible tongue.
Once again, Reyna armed and armoured me. I stepped forward and thrust my blade through the witches back, but once again, she dissipated in a cloud of black smoke.
Reappearing behind me, her bloody garments clung to her body. “Fool child!” she hissed. “I created you! You know I have power over you!”
The witch lifted a hand and my daughter’s clothes tore, and blood began to drip through the tears in the fabric. The witch then waved her hand through the air again and through me into a stockade across the room.
“Your father cannot help you now, girl!”
My daughter then summoned the young man, and he instantly met a fate akin to mine. We both watched helplessly as the witch crawled back into the blood bath and began her chant once more, and once more Reyna summoned a boulder to crush the witch and once more the witch teleported away.
Reyna began to think independently, being unable to use me. She summoned a key to unlock her chains, she summoned a sword, shield, and armour for herself, and she charged at the witch to no avail.
The witch simply tossed her aside without a touch. “Stab me, girl,” the witch taunted. I want to show you something. Confused and angry, Reyna let out a battle cry as she drove her blade into the witch’s heart. She twisted the sword and slid it back through her foe’s sternum. Watching in terror, the fresh, gaping wound closed itself.
“You see?” the witch laughed again. “Even if you could harm me, you could not end me. I created you to be a sacrifice and you can only be saved with a sacrifice!”
Reyna summoned another key in the hands of the young man. She then summoned yet another stone over the witch, then another, then another. Wherever the witch reemerged, Reyna crushed her again. She instructed the boy to free himself and to flee. After a brief protest, he did.
Reyna then turned to me. “You wanted me to depend on you for my survival, Papa. Now I will.” At that, she summoned a fire that engulfed the room burning everything within, save herself.
I watched in horror as the witched screamed, burning alive, and as the flesh melted away from my own body. My need was served. Her sacrifice, was found.
If you found this not terrible, check out The Change by L.M. McPherson on Amazon or Authorhouse.com | > I had told her the first time she summoned me "I want you to know that because I am not normal by human standards but by intergalactic standards, I'm not allowed to hurt anyone. I may only observe as long as I'm not directly intervening the outcome of something the Gods want to happen." She was always a smart one, understood that I can't do anything to help her in her battles.
I can feel the buzzing sense I always have felt when she summons me. The sense dissappears quickly along with the quiet ringing sound.
"Mommy!" She runs straight into my arms, her wild, long, black hair smells of soot and smoke. We are in the middle of an empty warehouse. "Honey, I love you very much, but you know that I cannot help you. If the Gods don't want me to continue they will stop me." Footsteps are approaching. Tick, tick, tick, tick. "How cute. The little, wittle girl wants her mommy. How bad mommy is on the naughty list." Damn those mages, thinking they are the messengers of the Gods. Just because I chose having a life on Earth doesn't mean I betrayed the Gods.
I let her go, she needs to fight this herself. I can see the hooded sillhouette of the mage, and my beloved daughter quietly chanting for a summoning.
And then everything goes black and explodes.
I can hear my daughter shout for me, her voice fading away slowly. The pain feels like a dull knife to my skin, almost sharp enough to cut it, but quite not enough. The world fades away before my eyes, small cracks in the darkness showing only flames.
"Mommy!" | |
[WP] It is the 22nd century. A vessel has been dispatched from Earth to investigate a far away world theorized to be the home of a pre-space flight civilization. After a decade of stasis, the crew finds a backlog of urgent messages from Earth instructing them to do one thing: run. | 2183 CE
JUNE
She stands at the front of the room, still and silent.
Slivers of light from a distant star filter in through the main windows of the flight deck, bathing the room in a soft silvery hue. It’s a beautiful day. Small, idyllic asteroids slowly drift across the emblazoned celestial skies, every once in awhile casting soft shadows onto the flight deck of The Remnant; the worlds of this galaxy and of those far beyond are alive, oblivious of the stifling fear that has seized the officers aboard The Remnant.
I anxiously turn my gaze away from the windows and back to Alexa, commander of The Remnant. Even with her back turned to us, I can see the slight trembling of her hands as she tries to compose herself. Something bad has to have happened for her to be like this. The nervous shuffling of the four other officers in the room tell me that I’m not the only one thinking this.
What could be wrong? Everything had seemed fine for the past three hours. All of us in Sector A had woken up at 0000 hours on day 3650, just as ISPAH* had planned. Those in Maintenance had started systems checks almost immediately, relaying enough strings of numbers and statistics back and forth to one another to cause my mind to swirl. Meanwhile, the rest of us had slowly gathered our bearings--let me tell you, waking up from cryosleep is one hell of an experience, one that I can’t quite recommend.
After performing some quick exercises and waiting to get checked by someone on Medical, I had asked around if anyone had seen Alexa. This had resulted in a bunch of hurried “Not now. Busy”s or “Nope. Haven’t seen her.”s. Some had even given me irritated looks before returning back to their tasks at hand. Not wanting to press my luck any further, I had stopped asking around for Alexa; I was after all not even supposed to be a part of Sector A.
Being a biologist commissioned to study the local flora of the landing site at B7-5039, I had had no right in being moved to Sector A, which was reserved for only those crucial to the maintenance of The Remnant for the landing at B7-5039.If Alexa hadn’t argued so fiercely for my spot in Sector A, I would still be in cryosleep alongside the other scientists in Sector B. Turns out that dating the commander of a space vessel can have quite a few benefits.
Sipping on the bitter liquid meal Medical had given me, I had wandered aimlessly through the nearly empty hangar bays of The Remnant. With maintenance still scrambling all over the place, checking and rechecking countless numbers of things, I had decided to explore the interior of The Remnant--no need to get in their way and give them an excuse to put me to cryosleep in Sector B--and had started to make my way towards one of the small corridors when a pair of nearby guards halted me.
“ID please” the short one barked.
“07-402-239. June M. Iparis.”
While the short one eyed me suspiciously, the other guard punched in the numbers into his handheld monitor.
“Thanks, Ms. Iparis,” the tall one frowned and continued, “It seems like you were supposed to be in Sector B, if I’m not mistaken here?”
“Ale-I mean, the commander, had me placed in Sector A a few days before The Remnant disembarked.”
“Ohh. You’re that lesbian girlfriend of hers, ay?” the short one asked, cracking a smile.
Punching his partner in the shoulder, the taller one, with a slightly flustered voice said, “Well at any rate, we need you to remain here in Hangars 1 and 2 since Maintenance is still--” He cut off suddenly, and read something on his handheld monitor.
“Nevermind about what I just said. Commander Brighton requests your immediate attention at the flight deck.”
Both delighted and alarmed, I had raced off quickly to the deck. Several military officials and important staff members were already present when I barged into the room. A few of them glanced back at me and then back to a still figure at the front of the room.
“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Iparis,” Alexa said in an alarmingly shaky voice, “Will you please sit down?”
Finally taking notice of the dreary mood of the room, I had quickly taken my seat next to one of the military officers. And that’s about all that has happened up until now. The silence of the past five minutes and seeing Alexa trembling before us is absolutely hellish. I wish I could be up there with her and tell her that it’ll be okay, that whatever happened, we’ll get through it together.
ALEXA
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.
A billion thoughts course through my mind, all of which serve only to push me further into the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole. The past three hours have been hell. Thirty minutes after awakening from cryosleep, Comms went through all the messages relayed to us by ISPAH. Instead of last minute changes to our landing operations at B7-5039 or letters from back home, we were greeted with one sole message.
I shiver from the mere thought of it. I can’t do this. I’m only one person. How do I tell them? What can I even do? I’m on the verge of tears when a shaky voice reaches out to me: “Alexa?” June. Always the beacon of light in the sea of darkness. I shake my head and clear my mind. Emotions must come later when I can be Alexa. Right now, I need to be the fearless and solemn commander of The Remnant.
I suck in a deep breath of air.
“I have called you all here because you are the people I trust most. What I’m about to tell you is classified and must remain in this room only,” I take another deep breath and exhale, “At approximately 0030 hours after awakening from cryosleep, Comms went through the messages ISPAH has sent us over the past decade. We expected some updates on the situation back home and perhaps minor changes to our operation at B7-5039. However, we instead received a series of messages suggesting that an extraterrestrial invasion of Earth took place sometime between 2176 to 2178 CE.”
“Are you saying that Earth has been invaded?” one of the officers ask incredulously.
“Yes, invaded, and most likely destroyed.” I shakily reply.
Looks of surprise, disbelief, and horror contort the faces of the officers before me. I don’t dare to look at June.
“The last message we received was on March 5th 2178. I will display it to you now.”
A brief string of words appear on the screen behind me. It’s a message that I must have read over 100 times by now:
EARTH TO THE REMNANT // THEY HAVE WON // EVERYTHING IS GONE // SOON WE WILL PERISH TOO // GODS BE WITH YOU // RUN
*ISPAH - the International Space Program for the Advancement of Humanity
EDIT 1: This is my first post here. It’s nowhere near what I want it to be, in both length and quality. However, it’s 3:32 am here and I need to sleep. Will update eventually. Hope you guys enjoy! :) Please let me know what you think and comment your suggestions! | The comms were almost overloaded with distress signals and emergency broadcasts from the space stations orbiting earth. Earth's very own distress signal, referred to as "Code 0" and only used when Earth is in a state of absolute danger, had also shown up in the log.
"What happened?!" Asked Captain Edwards.
"I don't know, but there's so many of them!" Replied Earl, the communications officer.
By now, the whole crew of the spacecraft had gathered in the bridge to hear the transmissions. The whole room was abuzz in worried and scared murmurs.
They only stopped when the Captain shouted for everyone to quiet down and listen.
"I, just like you, cannot understand or comprehend what we just heard. However, we set out into the void of space for a reason, and it is our duty to fulfill our mission. Sandra, how close are we to our destination?"
After a quick glance at the navigation computer, the navigations officer replied with a hopeful response.
"We are just about to enter orbit," she said.
(Go ahead and continue if you want.) | |
[WP] It is the 22nd century. A vessel has been dispatched from Earth to investigate a far away world theorized to be the home of a pre-space flight civilization. After a decade of stasis, the crew finds a backlog of urgent messages from Earth instructing them to do one thing: run. | The line between empty space and a solar system is subtle. Thousands of sensors dotting the ships periphery, like neurons of a system, calmly watched for signs of this change for over a hundred years. The central computer ran its daily logs, diagnostics, checks, and so on, in its own synthetic version of avoiding insanity. One sensor pinged; increased radiation from the destination, Gliese 581. Stellar light slowly began to give way to the whole spectrum. Discrepancies were found but written off as cause for recalibration. A week later and outer rock bodies were detected; the exo-Oort cloud pinging in response. A threshold was reached and the ship made its binary decision: time to wake up.
The crew were taken out of their chemical sleep. The process was fully automated; sedation was maintained until the machines fully withdrew their various probes and tendrils. Shipmen and scientists began to wake in their pods, a bit chilled and vulnerable, but with only the sensation of having a rather quick and unfulfilling rest. The Darwin came to life as the crew began to take their stations and light and sound once again filled the narrow corridors.
The Captain thought of the toads waking up from hibernation. He came to the deck last, having given the leading team time to prepare themselves. A few drowsy eyes met him as he walked on board. His mind moaned; he had naval experience, but this was a private enterprise. There would be no crisp soluting or announcements.
“Alright everybody. Welcome to the next stop in the universe. We’re now a month out from the exoplanet, but I want everything a hundred percent by the time we get there.” A nod here and there. “Carrie, anything on comms?”
She swivelled slightly at her post. “Arrays are out and we’re still downloading the packet now. Text only for awhile. Most of its personal messages that were left in our wake.”
Silence crept in for a moment while she left unsaid that the people who sent those messages were now long dead.
“Anyway, nothing missions critical yet.”
Taking his chair, the captain thanked her, and began the business of managing Earth’s greatest scientific expedition.
Two days later, and his cell unit began beeping, waking the Captain from sleep. A red light flashed in the corner; something critical had just been posted to him. Tapping the device awake. Need to show you something. Storage 4A 15min. From Carrie.
The pneumatic door slid closed behind him. The bay was filled with boxes. Tools, equipment, water; each bay had a little of everything in case any one was compromised. Triple redundancy. Carried turned to him, her face tense.
Her voice was tight as she tried to keep herself clam. “Hey… Okay, so, we have a problem” The Captain waited for her to continue, “Right. So, we’ve decrypted more of the packet. More’s still coming in, but, about fifteen years after we left the exoplanet surveyors devised a new form of analysis, and, well---” She handed him a screen with a message brought up on it.
///MISSION CRITICAL
NON TERRESTRIAL ENERGY EMISSIONS IN HIGH ORBIT OF GLIESE 581 1 2 3 6
ADDITIONAL STRUCTURE ON SYSTEM EDGE NOT NATURAL
SUGGEST ABORT MISSION
///END
The captain’s mind remained blank. He looked back to Carrie’s face, twisted in the hope he could explain this better than she. “Anything else?”
She shuffled, drew her arms close to her chest. “That’s the thing. This is the last message in the packet. There should be more, and there might be--- quantum comms are funny like that, but---”
“But?”
“There should have been something by now.”
Back on the bridge, the captain tried to remain calm, “George.”
“Hey Cap?”
“I need you to bring the surveying equipment up.” The ship was, until now, flying mostly blind. They were still mostly in deep space; they wouldn’t reach the most exterior orbit of a body for a few more days. The lab rats were doing everything to make sure their equipments was pristine when the time came.
George hesitated. “Were still a ways out and it would mess with some of the timetables. Besides, Cap, at this range I could pretty much only tell you a yes or no answer to if we are, in fact, looking at a planet.” A assistant chuckled.
The Captain remained stern. “Do it George.”
Shrugging his hands, he began the preparations. An hour later, “Online Captain. What rock would you like a look at.”
The Captain walked over, pushed himself past the crewman, and began typing in the areas to scan. George watched, eyebrow cocked. “That’s, uh, behind us; you know that, right?”
It took five minutes. George was beginning to build up the courage to protest when readings came flowing in. “Hey… Hey! There must be a planetoid the surveyors missed---or, something---” his speech trailed off.
Every screen was filled with static. The lights blacked out, and the emergency reds failed to light up. The hollow noise of the ventilation stopped. The ship was now dead and dark. “Oh fuck,” George contributed. The empty sound was replaced with a reverberating screech, as every atom of the ship shook and tore against itself for a second.
Emergency lighting returned. A few computers rebooted successfully.
Her heart blocking her voice, Carrie spoke, mousey and clenched, “Captain? I think--- I think we downloaded a new packet from Earth during the reboot. It’s small.”
“Go ahead and display it on the main.”
///CRITICAL
NOTHING LEFT HERE
WE FOUND THEM FIRST THEY FOUND US THEN
GODS OF FIRE
RUN
///
| The comms were almost overloaded with distress signals and emergency broadcasts from the space stations orbiting earth. Earth's very own distress signal, referred to as "Code 0" and only used when Earth is in a state of absolute danger, had also shown up in the log.
"What happened?!" Asked Captain Edwards.
"I don't know, but there's so many of them!" Replied Earl, the communications officer.
By now, the whole crew of the spacecraft had gathered in the bridge to hear the transmissions. The whole room was abuzz in worried and scared murmurs.
They only stopped when the Captain shouted for everyone to quiet down and listen.
"I, just like you, cannot understand or comprehend what we just heard. However, we set out into the void of space for a reason, and it is our duty to fulfill our mission. Sandra, how close are we to our destination?"
After a quick glance at the navigation computer, the navigations officer replied with a hopeful response.
"We are just about to enter orbit," she said.
(Go ahead and continue if you want.) | |
[WP] It is the 22nd century. A vessel has been dispatched from Earth to investigate a far away world theorized to be the home of a pre-space flight civilization. After a decade of stasis, the crew finds a backlog of urgent messages from Earth instructing them to do one thing: run. | I was the last to awake, and awake I did. The other Aeronauts slipped into this strange, new world like slippers after a warm night's rest, but I was Lazarus; emerging like a man reborn.
My eyes snapped open, and my other senses followed stampeding: smell, taste, touch, all of it hit me like a callous double-slap into actuality. I could taste the metal on my tongue. I could smell the stench of professional sterility. I could feel the icy walls of the pod and the heat of the quickly draining barofluid that had once encased me like a beetle in lucite.
Most of all I could see Mr. Overt staring at me through the frosted glass. His visage was hidden behind the opalescent pane but I could still make out who he was from the way he carried himself - hunched, but with an air of confidence.
Decompression of air. The pod glass popped open.
"Anthony," he said. "Welcome back."
"I'd say it was a pleasure," I said, a rasp in my voice. "But I think I was happier a couple seconds ago."
Overt chuckled without mirth. "We all were. You took more time than most to come back, but that was expected considering your...."
"I'm a bit on the short side, Richard, I know." I interrupted. "I'm reminded everyday."
A smirk lined his face, but it was frosty. Although Overt spent his days keeping his emotions shielded behind a thin-lipped mask, I could tell something was amiss. I stepped out of the chamber slowly, wary of the muscular atrophy associated with a century-long voyage half-way across the galaxy. My bare feet hit white linoleum. Even at 3 M/S centrifugal gravity, I felt heavy.
"I don't think I'm gonna like what you're about to tell me." I said.
"Not a damn bit," Overt responded. He gestured to the door. "Let's get to the center."
----------------------------------------
The pod room was connected to The Center by a walkway and egress. It was essentially just a circular room with an arched dome, completely devoid of decoration or blemish – save for the egresses and two doors leading to the bridge and the port respectively. And, of course, The Hub, a black cylindrical monolith that stood at the epicenter, snaked with large steel wires and holoscreens. Scanners, computers, and some other doohickeys I wasn't all too familiar with. Five men and women were whizzing about, hands flying like they were constructing some grand orchestra, as holoimages flashed across separate ephemeral screens. Frantic voices crescendo'd and clashed in the stale, recycled air, and I looked sideways at Richard Overt.
“What the hell is going on?” I said.
“That's the crux of our dilemma.” Overt responded. “We don't know.”
“The hell does that mean?” I asked. “What's NASA sayin -”
“Absolutely fucking nothing,” a voice said. I looked forward.
Cindy, the red-headed geologist, was standing in front of us. A holopad was exploded up around her forearm like a gauntlet, the flow of screens moving with every twitch of her fingers. Most people usually chose to have it all just float in front of them, but she was known for her drama.
“Well, not nothing precisely,” Overt said. He pushed his spectacles back into his face. “They did say -”
Cindy snapped her fingers and one of the screens flew off her gauntlet, enlarged itself, and stood in front of me. One word.
“Run,” I said. I looked through the holoscreen and at Cindy's face.
“That doesn't make -”
“Sense? Fucking A+ observation right there,” she said, snapping her fingers and letting the screen minimize back to her gauntlet.
"Get Jared on contacting NASA. See if we can't turn around," Overt said.
"We can't," she said.
"The commmunication relay need readjusting then?"
"It's not that," she said, shaking her head. "Sarah checked the clocks. We woke up a week late."
“What?” Overt said. "That's...peculiar. However it shouldn't make a difference whether or not we contact NASA."
“Well...here's the fucking whammy. After Sarah checked the clocks, Uruguay checked the external cameras.”
She turned around and gestured at a man with a bushy mustache. Uruguay. The cameras flipped on and a large screen popped up on The Hub, facing us. Water and gravel. The kind of ocean floor that'd usually attract all types of cretin and bottom-feeders, but on Genos was devoid of any life except us.
“That's...” Overt said.
“Yeah,” Cindy responded. “We can't turn around because we're not orbiting around Genos.”
She gestured to Uruguay, and the screen dissipated. “We're on it."
“But” I said. “That's impossible! We couldn't have landed unless all of the crew members authorized it with their individual passcodes."
“That's the other thing,” she said. “We didn't land either. There's distinct damages on the exterior of the ship, and when you look at the -"
“Holy hell" I said. "We were plucked out of goddamn orbit."
edit: Yo I'll continue this tomorrow. I started writing pretty late. The gist is basically Jurassic Park & Cthulu 2: Electric Boogaloo | The comms were almost overloaded with distress signals and emergency broadcasts from the space stations orbiting earth. Earth's very own distress signal, referred to as "Code 0" and only used when Earth is in a state of absolute danger, had also shown up in the log.
"What happened?!" Asked Captain Edwards.
"I don't know, but there's so many of them!" Replied Earl, the communications officer.
By now, the whole crew of the spacecraft had gathered in the bridge to hear the transmissions. The whole room was abuzz in worried and scared murmurs.
They only stopped when the Captain shouted for everyone to quiet down and listen.
"I, just like you, cannot understand or comprehend what we just heard. However, we set out into the void of space for a reason, and it is our duty to fulfill our mission. Sandra, how close are we to our destination?"
After a quick glance at the navigation computer, the navigations officer replied with a hopeful response.
"We are just about to enter orbit," she said.
(Go ahead and continue if you want.) | |
[WP] It is the 22nd century. A vessel has been dispatched from Earth to investigate a far away world theorized to be the home of a pre-space flight civilization. After a decade of stasis, the crew finds a backlog of urgent messages from Earth instructing them to do one thing: run. | I awoke from cryosleep with a pounding headache and a blaring voice telling me to report to the helm every 15 seconds. A silent alarm painted the walls with brilliant flashes of red, just what a man with a migraine needed. What a way to welcome someone back to reality. I eased myself out the creche and did a few calisthenic exercises to get the blood flowing before grabbing a liqua-meal and heading out to see what all the commotion was about. When I arrived at the helm, I noticed that Captain Eudora and almost the entire rest of the crew, everyone down to the mechanics, was gathered here. A few concerned eyes glanced my way as I entered before returning to the giant screen at the front of the room. There was a constant buzz coming from the crowd. A mixture of excitement and worry.
I saw Sylvester in the corner, one of the special ops, talking with some of the marines. I waived to him and smiled, continuing to sip on my liqua-meal, oblivious to the rising tension. He motioned me over.
“Hey, Sylvy. Long time no see. It feels like it’s been a decade at least.” I flashed him a big smile.
“Hey, big guy. How was your nap?” Silvester didn’t return the smile as we embraced.
“Refreshing. Had a few nightmares that we broke up. I just wish someone would’ve invited me to this party sooner. I know you guys are excited to see me, but you didn’t have to. Where are the drinks?”
“Well, if you hadn’t heard, this is supposed to be a first-contact party, but I don’t suppose they briefed you on that when you signed up for this ride.”
“Now that you mention it, that does rings a bell,” I replied, playing along. “But if I do recall, I think I’m still supposed to still be asleep.”
“Most of us are.. According to the plan, we were supposed to receive instructions once we’d exited hyperspace. No military intervention until the scientists had established contact.”
“Or we came under attack,” I replied, smiling. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Well, we aren’t under attack as you’ve probably noticed, and we haven’t quite made contact yet either. It’s the instructions that’s got everyone riled up.” He motioned to the text on the screen. “At the ten year mark right before we were supposed to exit hyperspace, Earth sent us one message. It simply read: ‘run’”
“That’s it?” I held back my laughter. “Run?”
“There were some other messages, but most of it’s been corrupted as far as we can tell.”
“Well who says ‘run’ is a bad thing?” I replied. “Maybe our new friends like some good ‘ol sport. I like running myself.”
“But that’s not the strangest thing. That message was—”
“Attention!” Captain Eudora commanded. The whole room fell silent. “As most of you know at 0800 today, E.T., most of you were reanimated and notified of a change in plans stemming from directives from Earth. In the hours since then, we’ve been attempting to salvage some corrupted messages that we’ve received while in hyperspace, and our original mission has shifted. In 15 hours we will be approaching the planet Ramlah. We’ll be sending a small reconnaissance task force before we land headed by our Special Ops division.” There were murmurs of surprise throughout the room. She nodded to me. “As of now, we will be in battle-ready status. You’re all dismissed to your positions.”
As the crowd headed out, I approached Captain Eudora. “Hey, Cap. Mind filling me in on this task force I’m supposed lead?”
“First Lieutenant Jurek, it’s good to see you. There’s been some … minor complications as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“Sure, something about ‘running’ and some corrupted messages.”
“Right, about those corrupted message. We know two things about the messages. For one, we’ve been receiving them for far longer than ten years”
I stood there silently, trying to process the information. “Longer? How’s that even—how much longer?”
“Last one received was 380 years after our departure.”
I nearly gagged on my liqua-meal. “But that’s not possible, we’ve only been hyperspace for ten years!”
“That was the plan. And that was only the date of the last message. We’re running constellation analysis right now to determine our true flight time, but it could be even longer if they stopped sending messages. But the real question is who they were sending messages to. There was another party involved, someone other than us, and they were responding to Earth. That we’re sure of.”
“Captain, AIs confirmed our suspicions,” one of techies yelled out from a console. “The messages were using a quantum-trinary encryption. Something that could only have been developed while we were in hyperspace. We’re displaying their contents now.”
We turned to the display overhead as a picture materialized. The man in the image was disheveled, and cut up. He had a long beard and piercing eyes, the eyes of someone who’d seen terrible things.
“Day 1531,” The man began.
He seemed familiar.
“The terrors of Ramlah are unceasing…”
Where had I seen him? I turned to Sylvester and saw him gaping at the screen. He looked at me.
“... we sent two more teams into the fifth portal …”
Then it hit me—that man was me. I choked on my liqua-meal.
____
[/r/Priscillium](https://www.reddit.com/r/Priscillium/) | The comms were almost overloaded with distress signals and emergency broadcasts from the space stations orbiting earth. Earth's very own distress signal, referred to as "Code 0" and only used when Earth is in a state of absolute danger, had also shown up in the log.
"What happened?!" Asked Captain Edwards.
"I don't know, but there's so many of them!" Replied Earl, the communications officer.
By now, the whole crew of the spacecraft had gathered in the bridge to hear the transmissions. The whole room was abuzz in worried and scared murmurs.
They only stopped when the Captain shouted for everyone to quiet down and listen.
"I, just like you, cannot understand or comprehend what we just heard. However, we set out into the void of space for a reason, and it is our duty to fulfill our mission. Sandra, how close are we to our destination?"
After a quick glance at the navigation computer, the navigations officer replied with a hopeful response.
"We are just about to enter orbit," she said.
(Go ahead and continue if you want.) | |
[WP] Three strangers, bound by destiny. A mad king. A broken soldier. A cunning thief. | Once upon a time, there was a peaceful little kingdom in a land far away. Let’s call it Apathia.
Now, the King of Apathia found himself in a bit of an embarrassing situation. It was a situation that led from embarrassment to anger, from anger to outrage, and from outrage to outright war. The legions of Apathia’s forces were spent on far away lands to protect the King’s honor (or maybe it was the honor of a lesser known ‘virgin’ princess… history is a bit unclear on that point).
War, it turns out, is expensive.
The King decided that he would give his throne away to anyone who could end the war within the year. The kingdom was nearing bankruptcy and the only objects of worth in the castle were his ring, his crown, and the few piles of gold left in his vault. It was generally accepted as bad form to abandon the throne in the middle of a war you started, however.
But miracle of miracles, the enemy was driven back. Their forces surrendered. It was actually, finally over, and rumor claimed a cripple had in fact made the impossible into reality.
Within the month, three different men appeared on the King’s doorstep to claim the throne. They called themselves Alonso, Alphonso, and Fred. An audience was granted, and the three men each limped into the throne room on one good leg.
“Which of you do I have to thank for the great service you have done for our Kingdom?” the King asked.
“I, Sire,” each replied.
“That cannot be. Which one of you really brought us victory?”
“It was me.”
“I did.”
“I’m the one.”
The King was angry. And stumped.
“Two of you are lying and I shall find you out! Each of you tell me your tale, and I will decide which is true.” Everyone knows that Kings are given divinely granted sight into such matters.
Alonso stepped forward, grimacing in pain. “Sire, when we were fighting at the Narrows Bridge, I judged that their main attack was actually a feint, and I drew the larger part of our armies to the nearby fords, where we surprised and routed the forces that hoped to flank us. It was then a matter of chasing their tails all the way home.”
Alphonso pushed Alonso aside and limped to the foot of the throne, speaking, “Sire, that is not true. It is I who rallied our forces. ‘For the King and for honor!’ I cried to them. Ask any man in my command, and they will tell you the same. We did not stop at the fords, but all the way to the gates of their own capital I led our forces in the chase!”
Fred could abide no longer and dragged his lame leg to the King’s side, kissing his hand in petition and pleading his case, “Sire, they do not speak truth! I rode all around the enemy capital, since I cannot walk well, seeking a way to compel our enemy to kneel, and found the river entrance which they used for sustainment and blocked it. The war ended then and I told my story to these pretenders, who now use it against me!”
“Silence!” the King roared. “Back, all of you, and withdraw to the anteroom. I will have time to think.”
They drew back, and the King pondered long.
“Guards, call in Alphonso.”
The man was ushered back into the throne room. The King-who-was-no-longer-a-king named his successor then.
“Alphonso, I judge you to be speaking truly. I name you King, and bestow upon you the crown of Apath- wait, where is my crown?!”
Guards went scurrying. The palace was ablaze with action. But Alonso and Fred were no where to be found, as were the crown, the ring, and several piles of gold.
Fred gave Alonso the crown to pawn, as the old soldier really did deserve it. And Alphonso, well, he still sits on the throne a pauper king, though the limp shifts from his right to his left as the mood suits him. | "Who is she?"
Hilary Flint cocked a glance at the dark haired woman busy currycombing her horse, and frowned.
"No one," he said. "No one you should concern yourself with at least."
Faith smirked and stirred at her bowl of stew. "It sounds like she knows you very well. One might even think you two were lovers."
"Cheek chit... The only thing I want between me and Will Solari is a good two, three hundred miles. She's nothing but trouble."
Wilhelmina Solari turned at the mention of her name and smiled.
"Telling stories about me, Hill? You should tell her about the Wichita Job."
Flint leveled an accusatory finger at the raven haired woman. "You left me *in a goddamn Crawlers nest.* I nearly got eaten alive by those bugs. It took me three days to make my way out of that hellhole and with nothing to show for it."
Solari smiled. "I left you with a share of the treasure. Wasn't that enough?"
Flint snorted and shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth, fuming silently as he chewed. The old barn they'd found shelter in was being to fall apart, one half having already collapsed under two decades of winters and spring rains. But it was dry and out of the wind and cold. And that was more luck than Faith and Flint had had in many weeks.
"You left me, as I recall, with a hundred thousand dollars worth of unmarked bills. Worthless paper. *You* took all the jewels and precious stones. You owe me half that haul."
Solari shrugged and placed her comb back into her saddle bags. "I'm afraid you're too late. I spent that treasure on my own people."
"Her people?" asked Faith.
"New Englanders," Flint explained. "There's still a few enclaves tucked up in the Green Mountains and Adirondacks. The coast might be a Deathzone but the mountains more or less survived intact. Few Fae are willing to expend the effort at digging at a few stubborn Yankees. Most of the surviving human states are situated in the remote corners of the world, or else on real estate not worth the trouble for your breed to colonize. That and they stink of clam chowder."
"It's not my fault you're a Red Wings fan, Hill."
Flint laughed at Solari's words. "Yeah and you're a Socks lover. It never would've worked out, dear."
Will Solari sat down next to Faith and ladled herself a bowl from the pot hanging over the fire. Her eyes, Faith noted, were the color of darkest honey. "So you're Tytus the Dying's granddaughter, eh? Tell me, lass, how'd a girl like you end up running with this sorry sack of shit? He's not exactly what you call pleasant company."
"He tried to kill me," Faith replied.
"....Yes, that certainly sounds like him. He's tried to kill me too."
"After she cut the rope and left me in that overgrown spider's nest," interjected Flint. "God, I ran out of bullet on day two of that nightmare...."
Faith nodded, absorbing it all with the eagerness of a mind starving for knowledge. Every so often she'd interrupt, asking for a question or clarification, but for the most part was silent as she listened to Solari and Flint describe various events and travails, of double-crossing and turncoats. Outside, the wind was howling and whipping between the frozen trees. But inside at least, it was warm, and for a moment safe. And that was enough for her. | |
[WP] Write a story that contains a huge plot hole, and try to sneak it past the reader. The bigger the plot hole the better. | Troy ecstatically led his clients upstairs to the master bedroom.
"Oh yes! The master bedroom is absolutely gorgeous; you'll find that almost everything in the room will be to your liking, Mr. Johnson," said Troy reassuringly.
"Almost? What do you mean by almost everything?" inquired Johnson.
"Well I will need to warn you." Troy paused. He wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to see for yourself," Troy replied while pushing open the doors to the master bedroom.
Johnson could only stare in disbelief at what unfolded before his eyes. "It's a hole," Johnson managed to stammer.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Johnson," Troy looked at Johnson as innocent as possible. "It is a hole...on this plot of land. A plot hole."
Johnson looked back at Troy then back to the hole. "Where does it lead to?" Johnson asked.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to be frank with you. I don't know. If you look very carefully, there's only darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. In fact, I dropped my favorite pen last week, and I never heard it land. It just kept falling. But this is a great feature Mr. Johnson; I assure you. You will never need to buy another garbage can again! Just toss all your trash into this hole! In fact, you could probably poop into it as well. Just think of all the endless possibilities with this hole," said Troy.
While it was true that there was a large, gaping plot hole in the side of the room, this one story house was beautiful. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were all to his liking. Johnson briefly considered the pros and cons and resolutely decided that he will take this house. | Nola stood, thin and weak, in the well lit hospital hallway. Dirty, skintight jeans clung to her legs, a loose shirt covered her frame, and she had on a pair of worn flat tops. Her hair, blonde and stringy, was held back in a messy bun. Nola shivered, and walked down the hallway, the scent of antiseptic and ammonia filled the air, choking her. Nurses and doctors, patients and loved ones, rushed past her, speeding through their lives, filled with hope and stress and relief and pain and sadness.
With determination, with desperate loss, Nola stumbled through the hospital, searching desperately for escape, for a way out. The halls twisted and turned, taking Nola this way and that. Nola followed them, followed the flow of the nurses and doctors and patients, followed the colored lines on the floor, the signs on the doors, blindly. She couldn’t think, couldn’t comprehend. She felt a hand come up to her shoulder. Her eyes, too bleary to focus, couldn’t see.
“I’m so sorry for your loss dear. I’m sure she was a lovely woman.” Came a woman’s voice.
Nola shook her head. She barely heard the words; they didn’t register. She continued, stumbling down the hall. She had no clue who she was.
Finally, she found an exit, and burst out onto the busy street. Rough concrete spread out to a busy sidewalk, filled with passersby and pedestrians. Overhead, towering monoliths of brown and grey and steel and stone and glass rose above Nola’s head. She glanced around, unsure of where to go, unsure of what to do. The noise of the city, the screeching of tires, the talking the yelling the honking the beeping the clanking the cooing, filled the air around her; a deafening roar.
Spying an alcove, a momentary respite, cut into one of the nearby buildings, Nola pushed her way through the crowd, and hide off to the edge of the sidewalk. She leaned back against the cool concrete of the alcove, and felt the rough texture of the building through her thin shirt. Nola let out a sigh, and ran a hand over her face. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what do think. Her world had fallen apart around her; it had come completely undone. Her twin sister, Iralia, had been shot earlier today; a mugging gone wrong. She’d died, in the nearby hospital, just now, holding onto Nola’s hands. The image, of her sister, of her pleading eyes, her hair, her lips, her smell, her nose, her fingers, her palms, everything about her was burned into Nola’s mind, every last detail, plastered into her very being, her very core.
Nola whimpered, and raised a hand to her mouth. She tried not to cry, tried to think, as she stood there, and let the sound and smells and sights of the city, chocked with life, and death, and pointless misery and happiness, wash over her.
A man walked past Nola. He glanced at her momentarily, and gave a quick nod of his head.
“I’m so sorry. She was an amazing woman.” He grunted, walking past Nola before she had a chance to reply.
Nola sunk to her knees, quietly crying to herself. Barely thinking, barely hearing, barely seeing. She cried to herself, until her eyes ran dry, and her throat was hoarse.
Slowly, she raised her head from her hands. She sniffled, and the image of her sister’s face haunted her. She gritted her teeth, and rose. With a sad determination, Nola turned, and walked back towards the hospital. She felt broken, shattered, alone and destroyed and incomplete and forgotten.
But she knew what Iralia would say.
With a smile on her face, she would hold Nola’s hand, and whisper softly with a smile.
“Don’t worry. All we have to do is pick up the broken pieces, and put them back together.”
----------------------------
Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got tons more stories over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to that.
P.S. - This prompt was crazy hard but really cool! I wanted to make a really big, interesting plot hole, but ended up cheating and just making two small ones. Still, Hope you enjoyed! | |
[WP] Write a story that contains a huge plot hole, and try to sneak it past the reader. The bigger the plot hole the better. | Troy ecstatically led his clients upstairs to the master bedroom.
"Oh yes! The master bedroom is absolutely gorgeous; you'll find that almost everything in the room will be to your liking, Mr. Johnson," said Troy reassuringly.
"Almost? What do you mean by almost everything?" inquired Johnson.
"Well I will need to warn you." Troy paused. He wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to see for yourself," Troy replied while pushing open the doors to the master bedroom.
Johnson could only stare in disbelief at what unfolded before his eyes. "It's a hole," Johnson managed to stammer.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Johnson," Troy looked at Johnson as innocent as possible. "It is a hole...on this plot of land. A plot hole."
Johnson looked back at Troy then back to the hole. "Where does it lead to?" Johnson asked.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to be frank with you. I don't know. If you look very carefully, there's only darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. In fact, I dropped my favorite pen last week, and I never heard it land. It just kept falling. But this is a great feature Mr. Johnson; I assure you. You will never need to buy another garbage can again! Just toss all your trash into this hole! In fact, you could probably poop into it as well. Just think of all the endless possibilities with this hole," said Troy.
While it was true that there was a large, gaping plot hole in the side of the room, this one story house was beautiful. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were all to his liking. Johnson briefly considered the pros and cons and resolutely decided that he will take this house. | She stumbled through the door, fully aware her last breath of free air was running dangerously low in her lungs. First period. Day one, here we fucking go. Taking the back corner seat was *crucial*. Alex booked it, taking a gamble that her awkward limbs would make the trip. Success! Window seat, too. So far so good, maybe this year wouldn't be such a.. oh who am I kidding, you know where Im going with this.. disaster.
"Hey, Sweetie!"
"M-mom?" Alex's eyes swelled up in tears of panic. His limbs grew numb.
"Congrads on landing that substitute teacher gig, Mrs. M." Joel let out through a tight smirk.
This year was going to suck. | |
[WP] You are a psychologist. You've been evaluating two new schizophrenic patients recently and you slowly begin to realize that the voice inside their head is the same one. | My consciousness reaches its sleepiness attention at the banality of my clients. I've always tried to keep the sessions of the two patients with similar conditions distant so as to not let the monotony of it pierce through my attention for them both. But it could not be helped today. The two schizophrenic patients, the first a girl is a 20-year-old student who is also suffering from loneliness in this vast city. The second a guy is a 22-year-old blog writer who is also suffering from loneliness in this vast city. I day-dreamed throughout the talk, recording it for later analysis and my full attention.
As I always I transcript the sessions at the end of the day to gain a better understanding of my patients, the details I might have missed but the sleepiness caught onto me. My state caused me think that they stopped mid-sentence. In my groggy state, I started to read the two transcripts side by side.
----
Patient 1: I get restless very easily and like a flash of lightning. You know what my sun sign is?
Patient 2: Gemini. Yes, my sun sign is Gemini. Maybe that is why I think about life and people so much.
Patient 1: I suffer from life and people. The sky depresses me. The blank wall filled with dirt stains on my wall swallows me whole.
Patient 2: I hit the wall without any control. I think that's what caused the dirt stains, it is actually blood.
Patient 1: I wish I could control that part of me but when it consumes me, it consumes me whole and I just lay there on my bed looking at the...
Patient 2: ceiling. What it represents. The isolation and the loneliness of just typing out my thoughts and uploading it onto a projection known as the screen. A screen has become a symbolic thing
Patient 1: A symbol of putting our whole life under one gambit. Is it agreeable to look at your life as a whole? And not savouring the moments.
Patient 2: A moment 5 years ago came up on my facebook feed and it was about the goals I set out for myself. A list of 15 points that ranged from travelling to...
Patient 1: Meditating, trying weed, learning german. I want to try meditation so much. That's what I would like to do the most. I wanted to do all that but I failed.
---
My eyes didn't need a caffeine hit to understand what this was. The personalities of the two patients were the same almost as if finishing their sentence. Was this is a sign of something? A cry for help ? or a riddle to solve before its too late. I read on further brushing off my inattentiveness.
---
Patient 2: I want to just live my life happily...
Patient 1: For the last time. This might be the last day of my visit...
Patient 2: to this parasite of a world. I would like to say that I want to think nothing. And not see him amongst the shadows anymore,maybe that's why I want to try medi...
Patient 1: ...medications that actually work. A high dosage of them, because the low dosage does not make him go away. He stands there with his hands on his head, bleeding profusely. I have decided though Today is the last day...
Patient 2: That I will see him. I would like to say to him that it was a good journey nonetheless. Thank you for listening.
Patient 1: Thank you for listening.
---
I sit there shook from what I read. It was 11 pm. I take the keys off my table trying to reach two places at once. Just then my phone rings. I pick it up. Another call after that. I pick it up. I keep the keys back on my table. And shred the conversations off my memory. My consciousness has reached its sleepiness state. | They both said the same thing session after session. I had thought it a prank at first. Maybe two friends deciding to pull my leg for some unfathomable reason. The private eye, I hired, told me there was no connection between the two. They had arrived at different times to the station and worked in different departments. One in RnD and the other in Cargo. Other then seeing me, the onboard psychologist, their medical records were clean. Their brain chemistry clean, astounding considering they were 3rd edition clones by this point. But I digress, they both spoke of a voice that would come when they were alone or in their dreams. "Ratvar loves you. Ratvar wants you to find others."
That name struck me in a peculiar manner so I went to the library to conduct some research. The librarian was drunk but managed to secure me a book on the occult. Ratvar, an ancient God of the void. It fed on blood and belief. Maybe I should have told the Captain then but my oath meant lot to me and I did not want to betray my patient's trust. So I kept attempting to consul the two.
The first one told me that other voices had joined with the first. That they were going to meet each other at the dorms later tonight. I asked if he had been taking his medicine. With a quick nod and a smirk, he confirmed he had been. The rest of the session was rather mundane. I noted down in my PDA to follow up on the dorm meeting later and bid my patient farewell. Patient two entered and looked visibly agitated. He spoke of a need to make others hear the voice so that Ratvar could be brought home.
A cold sweat had overtaken me as I saw the second patient pull out a taser and aim it at me. Before I could say anything I felt the cruel shock jolt through my body and soon I was laying on the floor unable to do much but twitch. He put zipties around my wrists and my feet. He gagged me and then tossed me into a body bag. Fear gripped me tightly and I could barely breath as I felt myself being dragged through the metal halls. With a jolt the bag was opened and I found myself staring at my two patients along with the Chef, the Bartender, the xenobiologist, one of the miners and even the Head of Personnel. The room was covered in bloody runes. I looked about, still gagged, and realized I had been deposited on one such blood rune. The group chanted and I felt a sharp burning pain flare through my body. I felt his holy darkness enter me and empower me. Ratvar would be brought to the world and all would love the blood filled paradise he offered. | |
[WP] An advanced alien civilization discovers the Voyager probe drifting through their space. After extracting the contents of the Golden Record, they experience an entirely new form of art they had never conceptualized: Music. | Our scientists called it an "evolutionary anomaly". It had been nearly two million cycles since our species had developed a hearing sense, after thousands of generations and naturally occurring mutations. We used it to complement the other senses, as do all other lifeforms endowed with it, as far as we are aware, to listen for both predator and prey; avoiding one, hunting the other. Never did we fulfill the full range of possibilities unleashed by this magnificent gift until the Revelation.
I was but a youngling at the time, but the memory of the Revelation is settled more deeply in my mind than any other event in the course of all the cycles my life has been through, even the Planetary War which preceded this wonderful discovery and which saw our species reduced to half and our planet to a third of its habitable territory. The remnants of our Space Armament Avoidance System had picked up the incoming trajectory of a high-speed moving object, aimed directly at the capital city of our last Great Empire. The Generals, fearing a forgotten automated space missile, ordered it be safely exploded while at a distance. Fate would have it that an image came through from one of our interceptor drones which suggested this was no missile, rather an alien object, requiring careful analysis. When they did manage to secure it and transport it back to one of the few science laboratories untouched by the destructive bombardments, our scientists followed the universally translatable informations and assembled the player. What followed changed the course of History.
Out of the machine came the most beautiful sounds we had ever heard. They conveyed something beyond the irrational fear of death or the excitement of successful kill. While some of them were very similar to our world, natural sounds of animals and waves, we discovered that love, passion, happiness, those and many other feelings had sounds as well, and how well they sounded. We discovered rhythm, and harmony, and symphonies. It was a miracle that out of the skies came a machine which not only played sounds, it played sounds our independently evolved senses could understand, and yet had never experienced. It was simply too implausible to be a coincidence, it had to be something more. The "evolutionary anomaly" was too beautiful, too real, too complex to be that - an anomaly. It was destined to be, a miracle of the Heavens to reward us for the sacrifices made during the War, to show us that we were not abandoned, that we had survived our trial, that we were worthy of experiencing the sounds of God. | The cold light from above shines down onto the Golden Record. An alien, Gorglax, a rather dull specimen of her kind, has her dozen of eyes fixated on it. She picks up her communicator nearby and reads her instructions for today for the twelfth time.
'Discover the contents inside - Report back.'
With a sigh, she leans back. Half her eyes close, the other half stay hazily open, and her body unleashes outwards in a sprawl. The walls of the room mock out to her; 'Hello Gorblax,' they seem to say, 'This is your life.'
And what a boring life it is. A Librarian by trade, it is Gorglax who catalogs everything her and her kind find throughout the cosmos. Gorglax has seen it all and heard everything.
Literally.
There is no surprise left in this universe to her. How bland, how boring, how plain; to lose all wonder. With a billion planets in an endless ocean of stars, how could one expect there to be much originality between cultures? Every idea ever thought, ever creation ever created and every feeling ever felt has been written down by Gorglax, made by creatures much more interesting than her.
She stands. Grabbing the Golden Record, she walks over to a device and places it inside. It takes a few seconds, but it processes everything inside and projects it onto a nearby screen.
A few audio lines of creatures saying hello, how typical. Oh, look, pictures of them as well - Interesting. Fancy, sounds of pots and volcanic eruptions. What a marvelous race, splendid and fantastic, nothing before could have ever existed quite like them in the vast, endless, entropy-ridden universe that it is.
Gorglax continues scrolling until she opens a folder titled - 'Music.' Opening it, she plays the first thing she sees.
The rhythmic sounds of something she'd never heard before echo all around her. Loud and sharp, but fluid and powerful, it spurs her inside.
"Deep down in Louisiana close to New Orleans
Way back up in the woods among the evergreens."
Her feet start to tap instinctively. She begins to nod her head as the sounds rise and rise, her many hearts thumping along.
"There stood a log cabin made of earth and wood
Where lived a country boy named Johnny B. Goode."
Her six arms lash outwards, her now adrenaline filled fingers clicking along. She walks forward slowly, her feet full of wonder and energy.
"Who never ever learned to read or write so well
But he could play the guitar just like a ringin' a bell."
Her legs pick up speed, and she's now in a mad dash. Fingers still clicking, head still bobbing, and now her legs won't stop, Gorglax is in pure ecstasy.
"Go go, Johnny, go, go Johnny go, go, go Johnny go,"
She kicks down the door to her office. The loud crash alerts nearby workers, who all check. Gorglax is blitzing pass them all, dance pouring out of her like an open faucet. The music is still roaring, now living, out the door and into the open space. Its infectious design begins to work its wonder on all who can hear now.
"Go, Go Johnny go, Go,"
Gorglax barges into her bosses office, interrupting a meeting. Every inside turns to face her, a mixture of wonder, surprise, and anger drawn on their faces. Despite that, the smile on Gorglax's face could not grow wider.
"We have to go to this planet," She says, joy sliding off her words.
"Johnny B. Goode."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff.
| |
[WP] Two years into the zombie apocalypse you're still alive. Till now you've only been dealing with walkers, until one day, you see one running full sprint at you. | (Kinda long. My apologies.)
Day 687:
I hope you are reading this before it’s too late. If I’ve survived this long – God, it’s been almost two years – then better people have made it longer, I’m sure.
Whoever you are, please, read this to the end. This entry, at least. It’s important. It’s why I’m not here anymore.
If you’ve read up to this point, you know who I am and how long I’ve been alone. If you’ve skipped ahead, that’s fine. I haven’t spoken to another person in over a year. Day 228, I think. An older man. We ran into each other while moving through a grocery store somewhere in Idaho. It was tense. We’d both seen and avoided the gangs and neither of us liked the look of the townships. Bunch of fucking fascists, far as I’ve seen. (Obviously, you can’t count the walkers. They haven’t been human in a long time. We all knew that from the movies, a long time before they showed up.) We put aside our weapons after eyeing each other a good while. Ended up pooling a meal, a two-man potlatch, if you can call it that. Traded a few things from our packs, talked about the old times, before everything went, well, you know. We both cried. A lot. I hadn’t seen tears in a while. Didn’t even know I could still make them, myself. We took turns at lookout, each getting a good night’s sleep. In the morning we hugged and parted ways. I hope he made it back east. Still think about him sometimes.
I’m getting off topic.
This morning I decided to re-check the cluster of houses at the edge of town. You can never know what a second look will turn up, but I don’t have to tell you that. It’s been a week since I checked last, and I’m set for food – by the by, sorry if any of it spoiled before you found this. I wasn’t expecting… anyway.
I found a few things, but I’m not going to bother noting them. They’re with my stuff, so you’ve got them by now, anyway, and my log doesn’t matter anymore.
I was moving house to house, beginning with the southern-most place and working counter-clockwise around the cul-de-sac. There may be something in the last couple if you want to look. I didn’t make it that far. I came out of the back door and rounded the fence. Suddenly this she just sprints out from behind the shed in the next yard. Looked about 25. Fresh. She was dirty, but not rotten at all. I think that’s what scared me the most. Her clothes were moth-eaten and shredded in spots, but they were scavenged, so I still don’t think she was a townie. Her face was ripped all to pieces on one side. Big gash on her left forearm and missing part of her hand. The worst part, the reason I froze, was the fact that, for all the damage, she was running.
I’ve never seen one run before, and I’m willing to bet my eternal soul that you haven’t either. She stopped after clearing the shed and scanned the tree line, like she was looking for something. Then she saw me. Without any hesitation she started moving again. A dead run, right at me. Her arms started clawing the air in front of her, even the ruined fingers of her left hand were flailing as is she couldn’t wait to get a hold of me. The noises she was making… They usually gasp or grunt, but I don’t think they mean anything. Just the audible byproducts of exertion. Her, though. When she saw me, when she started running at me, she screamed. This broken, animal wail that froze my blood in a way that will never warm. I can still hear it. I wish I couldn’t.
I wish I hadn’t frozen. I wish I’d been able to get an arrow in my bow before she got close. I wish I hadn’t had to drop it and go for my knife. But I did. I pulled the blade and just started stabbing as she closed in. I only felt it hit a couple of times. I don’t know if you’ve ever had to get close. If not, I hope you never do. It’s awful. There’s not control, no planning, just scrambling and stabbing and they’re clawing at you and you’re keeping their mouth away from you and putting your blade into them till they stop or you do. It makes me wonder if we’re not just animals, after all.
The last thrust went into her neck. That one, I felt. By this point we were on the ground. I flipped over on top of her for a clean shot at her eye. I never took it.
She wasn’t fighting anymore. She still had a white-knuckle grip on my arm, but she’d stopped scrambling towards me. And she was crying. Tears rolled lazily from the corners of her eyes and vanishing into her hairline. Her mouth moved again, and for the first time, I realized that it wasn’t the gnashing that I had taken it for. Her quivering lips parted and came together in a silent word.
Help.
There was a sickening gasping sound from the wound in her throat. The wound I’d made. Bright blood welled out in a steady rhythm, keeping time with her beating heart. I don’t know how long I stared at her, how long she begged me silently to help her.
It couldn’t have been long.
Dogs are quick.
In perfect silence the Rottweiler leaped on me from behind, sinking its teeth into my shoulder. My pack strap and thick jacket blunted the attack, and the adrenaline in my system dulled my nerves, but it hurt, just the same. There was another bout of struggling and stabbing and blood and terror. I swear, it never made a sound the entire time. Not a bark or growl as it lunged at my face and neck, not a whimper as I sunk the knife to the hilt over and over and over. Eventually, finally, it went still. Fear and rage kept my knife moving until the dog’s side was a bloody, matted patch of flesh and fur and flecks of bone.
Panting, I stumbled back from the corpse. I’d completely forgotten the girl. When I turned back to her she was still. Her eyes were open and staring at the sky. I could still read pain and terror written all across her face. The ebb and swell pattern of blood from her neck had become a lazy trickle. I shut her eyes as best I could. It’s what they used to do in movies. In a numb and nauseated fugue, I looked dispassionately over her injuries. Thick claw gouges on her face. Dog bites on her shoulder and forearm. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t a walker. And I am a murderer.
I carried her body back to the cave where you found my things stashed. I cried the whole way. I did what I could to dig a grave for her. It’s where you found my journal, unless it was moved somehow. I understand if you took my knife, but she deserves some sort of marker. Please leave it.
I don’t want to keep going. I’m not going to keep going. I don’t deserve it anymore. There’s a drop-off at the back of the cave. I’m going to anchor a rope somewhere and jump. Feel free to pull my body up and take the rope. I’m sure you will be able to use it. Just drop me back into the hole. Leave me there.
Please, learn from my mistakes. Especially this one. If you remember nothing else that I’ve written, remember this:
They don’t run.
| I huddled down in my sleeping bag, trying to bury myself deep enough in the thermal lining that the cold night air would stop bothering me.
I’d been a little apprehensive about bringing the bag up here. If Hutch had known that I’d planned on napping whilst I was supposed to be on watch I’d never hear the end of it. Well, fuck him. If he cared about nights watch so much he could pissin’ well come up here and do it himself.
My thick grey beard and baseball cap protected my head from the worst of the cold. I wasn’t comfortable, but hell, I could sleep in it.
It’d been weeks since anything interesting had happened. Weeks of me sitting up here, freezing my ass off, with nothing to listen to other than the bodies below.
The incessant groaning of the undead was a dull and boring sound. The beings that were once men ambled uselessly around the bottom of my watch tower, bouncing uselessly off the fences that protected our home. I’d become accustomed to their noise a long time ago.
In its own way it was comforting. Groans from below meant the dead were still locked outside, exactly where they should stay.
I was just on the edge of dozing when I heard it.
My practised ears easily picking out the sound of running over the usual shuffling.
The sound of leaves crunching underneath heavy, fast footfalls and the sounds of somebody out of breath. There was someone out there.
I sat there momentarily. My brain still numb and not quite making sense of what I was hearing.
Then the realization struck, and I threw myself from my sleeping bag. I hit the switch for the floodlights, a square acre of the glade around me lit up as if it was the brightest day.
My heart was pounding as I blinkingly stumbled over to the balcony’s guard rail. A new wave of groans went up as I became visible over the edge. The undead on the ground below me stretching desperately in a useless attempt to reach me.
I chambered a round into my rifle and squinted into the night.
There she was. A girl, young and blonde, and running straight at the tower.
“Hey” she shouted “Hey!” She was waving her arms and smiling.
What was she doing!? A couple more yards and she was going to run straight into the crowd.
She flinched away and skidded to a halt as I blew out the brains of a walker a few metres on her right.
“Get away you stupid girl.” I growled, mostly to myself and readied a new round. Any second, any second now she would realize what lay ahead of her and would turn tail.
But she didn’t.
Instead she stood there, arrogantly. Raising her chin and grinning at me. I swallowed, hard.
The dead ignored her. They just continued ambling and groaning without so much as a glance in her direction. It was as if she didn't exist to them.
My jaw dropped and my grip on the gun suddenly felt very sweaty. This wasn't right.
We both stood there for a moment, staring at each other.
If she’d been my girl I would’ve rather died than see her go out in the ensemble she was wearing. Short jeans, crop top (showing far too much navel) with a torn leather jacket thrown on top. In fact the only sensible thing she was wearing was a pair of thick hiking boots.
In retrospect it’s interesting that her fashion sense was the first thing my brain focused on.
It completely overlooked the large amount of flesh missing from her left leg. There was no meat between her ankle and knee, only pale white bone.
Her left ear was missing. Blood had run down from the wound and dyed a strip of her clothes bright red. Her skin was pure white and the iris of her eyes were a sick mustard yellow.
The same mustard yellow that stared up at me from every other undead being at the base of my tower.
She winked up at me and my legs gave way and I crashed to the floor.
“Erm, are you okay?” She called up to me concerned.
“I…I’m fine thank you.” I said back, automatically before I could stop myself.
“Do you think you could let me in? We need to talk.”
| |
[WP] Two years into the zombie apocalypse you're still alive. Till now you've only been dealing with walkers, until one day, you see one running full sprint at you. | Diary Entry 631:
The time is 8pm, date is the 16th of March, 1992. Was out most of the day. I don't even know why I bother. There's no more food, drinkable water or any form of supplies left in the whole entire fucking city. I've either taken them all, or they're out of date. I'm planning on leaving the city. I've got no other choice. I have enough food and water to last me... Christ... about another few weeks, maybe up to a month if I'm careful. One of the hardest things these days is trying not to eat. You're so fucking bored, what else can you do? You sit around, waiting to die. I need to start the plans on leaving the city tomorrow morning. My sanity feels like it's dangling on a thread, and writing these 'diary entries' is the only thing keeping it from snapping.
Diary Entry 644:
I finished my 'plan' today. I've gotten 4 of my best survival backpacks and put as much food as I could in there. All tinned, of course. I have a car. It's nothing special. I need to be prepared for tomorrow. I need to do 5 separate trips from the apartment to the car. 4 for the backpacks, 1 for my weapons, torches etc. Wish me luck.
Diary Entry 647:
These... These things are just getting worse. I hadn't seen any walkers for the past few weeks. But then again, I've been laying low for a while too, no point going outside when I had all the food I needed. They can fucking.... They can run. They're more aggressive than ever. Their bodies seems to be... scabbing... It can't be the air, I've been breathing it in for the past two years... Maybe in different cities, the outbreak it's different? I can't think of anything else. Maybe I'm getting closer to the first outbreak, and the closer you are then the deadlier those things are. I don't fucking know... All I know is that you cannot kill the runners like you can kill the walkers. You need to outrun them, or you need to have a pretty good aiming hand.
Diary Entry 652:
I haven't seen any walkers yet... Only fucking runners. I've changed my mind. I'm not looking for just food anymore, I'm looking for survivors. There HAS to be someone else out there. As I said literally hundreds of entries ago, this all started when I was 15 years old. Now I'm 17. If a fucking 17 year old kid can make it this far, so can other people. Ever since Scott died, I haven't let my guard down. I keep telling myself that it wasn't my fault, but... I just don't know how much longer I can keep lying to myself. He was the only other human I've talked to for the past year. Christ, has it been that fucking long?
Diary Entry 657:
I haven't thought about Scott for a while. I just, blocked the thought of him out of my head. You know, one of the worst parts about being alone like this, with the infected chasing after you, and having no one to talk to or cry to, is not knowing if I'm insane or not. I tried talking after making that entry about Scott a few days ago to see if I forgot how to talk, and I couldn't even tell if I were speaking or not. That's been fucking with my head a lot.
Diary Entry 661: So far, nobody. I've found some tins of food. I don't know what to fucking do anymore. Do I go back? Do I keep moving forward? I don't even fucking know anymore. Those things... They're getting faster. Much, much faster. They're not all runners, but the majority of them are. I'm going on foot tomorrow. Wish me luck. If somebody finds this, then of course, that means I am dead. Good luck my friend, God bless.
| Reluctantly crouched at the property line,
Artireys pumping and thumping in time.
The pourch light flashes, the guns go up.
Churning and burning, they yearn for the blood.
They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
Reckless and wild, they pour through the wires.
Their prowess is potent like hungry fires.
As they speed through the yard, the guns go down.
The survivers get up and they get out of town.
The compound is empty except for one man,
Still fighting and striving as hard as he can.
The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the truck.
But he's fighting and striving and hunting the Zeds.
And thinking of someone for whom now lays dead.
He is the residence .
He's powered by need.
She's was all alone
What a bloody deed.
Because he's fighting and hiding and clearing the house,
There scratching and biting and she was a lovely spouse,
He was the residence.
No family, no homestead , no backup this time,
He's haunted by something he cannot define.
Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse,
Assail him, impale him with monster-truck force.
In his mind, he's still hoping to save, the ones that he lost not resting in graves .
Hes hoping in time that his memories will fade.
Cause he's still fighting and hiding and clearing his home,
There scratching and biting all around him they rome.
The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the truck.
But he's thinking and drinking and watching it burn.
And thinking of someone who now returned .
Now shes going the distance.
He's going for speed.
She's was all alone
Now It's his time of need.
Because she's racing and pacing and running him down,
He's fighting and hiding and running for town.
She's racing and pacing and now she's caught up,
No fighting or hideing he's run outta luck.
She's closing the distance.
He meets her needs.
She closed the distance.
Inspired by the band cake and there song the distance. And of course the promt. Hope you all like it. Or at least find it amusing. | |
[WP] No twists. No secret universe tie in. It's a normal day for you, just as regular as any other. This day is also the happiest day of your life. | Your eyes open as the first rays of sunlight peek through your blinds.
You look over at Sarah.
She is still fast asleep.
She’s so beautiful. To this day, you have no idea how you landed someone like her.
You try to get up from the bed without waking her, but she wakes up anyway, and wraps her arms around your waist when you try to sit up and pulls you back down next to her.
“Just a few more cuddles,” she says as she lays her head on your chest, “it’s only 7.”
“All right,” you say, although you didn’t need any convincing at all.
You wrap your arms around her, and kiss the top of her head.
Her hair smells of vanilla and pantene, something you still find irresistible to this day.
Pure bliss.
“You know,” she says, “it IS only 7.”
She looks up at you with a devilish look in her eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you respond coyly, “I should probably head into work early since –”
But you don’t get a chance to finish, because she has already started kissing you, morning breath and all …
A little while later, you’ve already showered and are cooking bacon and omelets in the kitchen.
Somehow, the smell of sizzling bacon just makes the new apartment feel a little more like home.
“Do you want peppers in yours?”
“Yeah, babe,” she call back from the other room. “Is that bacon? F*ck yes!”
You smile, you always said that you would find a girl who loved bacon as much as you do.
How did you get so lucky, you wonder.
A few moments later, she walks in, in that black Ted Baker dress you find simply irresistible, struggling to put in her earrings.
She walks in front of you giving you a quick peck on the cheek before turning around and motioning to the back zipper of her dress.
“Zip,” she says, as she takes the hair band from her wrist and starts putting her hair in a ponytail.
You can’t resist.
You wrap your arms around her waist and kiss her neck.
“Babe, we don’t have time,” she warns.
So you reluctantly kiss her neck one last time, and zip up her dress.
You bring the omelets and bacon to the table.
This is the first time you’ve used it since moving in.
Sarah’s been so busy with her company’s new marketing campaign and your new IPO has been making the office your home for the past few months …
It’s so nice to slow down, if only for a morning.
“Remember, we are meeting with Rachel and Ben today at Milano’s,” she says.
How could you forget?
Ever since Rachel asked Sarah to be her maid of honor, weddings have been Sarah’s favorite thing to talk about.
You don’t mind … much.
After all, Sarah might need a maid of honor soon too.
“What’s today’s torture?” You ask with feigned agony in your voice.
She laughs and says that they’re doing food tastings today to choose a caterer.
“We thought that you and Ben deserved to have a break,” she says laughing.
It’s true, you think. Considering your past few weekends have been nothing but “helping” choose centerpieces and mailing wedding invitations, you do deserve a break.
And Ben’s a good guy, even though he’s a Seahawks fan.
You lightly rinse both your plates and put them in the dishwasher as Sarah goes off to put on her Louboutins.
As a guy, you never thought that you would have much opinion on women’s shoes but the way they make her legs look … –
You stop there.
You don’t have time, it’s almost 8:30.
She walks over to you and straightens your tie.
Then she grabs you by the belt and pulls you in for one final kiss before she heads out the front door reminding you, “remember 6 at Milano’s!”
How did you get so lucky?
As you begin to head out the door as well, you look back into your apartment, most of it is still unpacked boxes, but it’s beginning to look more and more like home.
| Aaron woke up before dawn to the sound of his three year old dog's tail smacking flatly against the door. From experience he knew it was about five thirty in the morning. It was so regular at this point that he didn't even set an alarm any more. He rolled away from his wife Jennifer and continued rolling out of bed. As his feet groped in the dark for his Crocs, his dog Lily licked his toes. He walked her to the backyard and let her out to potty, and as she went he made coffee. After enough time passed he poured a cup of food into Lily's metal food dish. This was easier than calling to her and worked just as well. As the dog ate he started prepping breakfast and lunch for he and Jennifer, whom he could hear getting into the shower. He sipped on his coffee as he ate hid breakfast and checked the front page of Reddit. He showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed for work. He leaned over Jennifer at her vanity to kiss her goodbye as he left.
He always preferred to leave for work early and today was no exception. As he got into his car he could see that it was now seven. Leaving early helped avoid some of the traffic and gave him a more peaceful commute in which to listen to his audio book and finish his coffee. He pulled into his normal parking spot and noticed that he was once again the second one from his office to arrive. He said hello to Steve and sat down to catch up on his email. Aaron was an engineer in Houston and had been fortunate enough to find a great position with an excellent international valve company. Work was busy but he didn't mind, this is what he went to school for, and the technical challenge was rewarding. He got off work at four that evening and headed home. He and Jennifer had decided to eat Indian food from one of their favorite places so he called in and picked up the order on his way home.
When he got home he was greeted once again by the sound of Lily's tail. He let her out and fed her in turn again. Jennifer got home, they kissed, and got out of this work clothes. They talked about their days as they got into their pajamas. He watched her as she changed and couldn't help but feel that he was incredibly lucky. They sat in the living room and turned on the television with dinner. They talked and laughed and went on talking for hours, just as they had for the entire ten years before. They each had a number of hobbies they enjoyed so Jennifer pulled out her cross stitching and Aaron pulled out a model to build.
It got late and they went back to the bedroom. They laid down and turned of the lights. As Aaron laid there in the dark with Jennifer's head on his chest and Lily at his feet he thought to himself. "Another perfect day", and tomorrow would be just as good. | |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | I'm not sure how I got here, maybe a warp of time and space or some cosmic being's intervention, but in any case, I ended up on this planet the natives call Genius. Luckily for me, the people looked just as human as Earth, and even spoke English so blending in was quite easy. However, Genius did have some differences. The buildings, people, and even the planet's gravity were remarkably weaker than Earth. The planet was actually a moon of a gas giant, and was maybe half of size of Earth.
I spent the first three days wandering the streets of the city I found myself in, desperate to find a way home. My hope was running out as the sun disappeared behind the Jovian planet for the third time. The people here seemed indifferent to me, the few I ran up to seemed confused about where Earth was, or any of the countries I once knew. Just as I was preparing to collapse in a slum of a street, I heard a scream pierce the night. I snapped and found myself running towards and down an alley. At the far end two men stood, one armed and pulling at the arm of the other, smaller one. The closer I got the easier it was to hear the screams of help from what appeared to be a kidnapping.
As I ran, or more accurately, leapt using the low gravity to sort of fly at the attacker. When I passed under a light, they both saw me. The victim stopped screaming for a second, but the kidnapped turned his gun at me. I heard three barks from the gun, felt two of them hit me, but they felt as if they were no stronger than a BB gun.
As I reached the kidnapper, my fist hit him square in the chest and sent him flying into the building across the street on the other end of the alley. Panting, I saw the two 'bullets' still lodged in my skin, but they had barely broke the skin. I turned to the other guy who stood shaking.
"Are you okay?" I asked, trying (and failing) to keep my voice from shacking.
"I... Yeah" he said, eyeing the breaks in my skin. "What are you?"
That night I met Steve, a student in the upscale neighborhood who had been kidnapped by a janitor looking to make a ransom. As we walked back to his home, I told him about myself. About how I had woke up on Genius and searched for some way back home. Soon we were talking about our schools, which were similar, how we were both a sort of nerds, then our shared hobbies, amongst them were comic books. That's when Steve came up with his idea.
"Think about it, your stronger, faster, and more durable than anyone else here. Your like Superguy." He said excitedly.
"I don't know," I said, "I still need to find a way back home-" my stomach growled loudly.
"How about this, you can stay with me as long as you need. My parents a rarly home and I can convince them that your a foreign exchange student or something. In exchange, you have to try this super hero idea. It's literally the exact thing people like you and I have always wanted, or at least I have." Steve said, jumping up and down, "You have a gift, and this is your chance to make a difference in the world"
I thought about it for a minute. I mean, who didn't want to be a superhero. And I did need a place to lay my head, I really didn't want to find a bench to sleep on.
"Okay, but no capes"
That was about three months ago, I think. Days are a little shorter here. Since then, I've been living a double life, as Mark Kent, exchange student in Xavier University thanks to Steve's computer skills in putting me into the system. But by night, and weekends that I'm not studying, I'm Indestructible; hero. It was the first day of summer break and I stood atop one of my favorite building perches and listened to the city.
I took in a deep breath. I had really started to like my new life. Being a superhero was a lot easier than I thought. Especially since guns and knives bounced off me. I realized that maybe I didn't want to go home after all.
No sooner than I thought that did I hear an explosion. Leaping up, I pulled down my mask, 'time to be a hero' I thought. And jumped over the buildings between me and the sound.
I landed with an exaggerated superhero landing. I looked up, the smug smile I've been giving all the crooks lately. Then my heart stopped.
There standing in the ruined street was Butch, my high school bully.
From Earth. | Type 3 Sentient life report, low density anomaly; full logs.
--------------------Zeno life studies ID accepted, unencrypting----------------
3/29/3303- Federal Report, Commander Inara
I was sitting in my pilot chair, browsing the galactic web with my emergency Ansible. Not that I was in an emergency or anything, it just gets boring out here in the dark with nothing to do. The haulers nowadays flew themselves, from plotting jumps between stars to docking at port and even monitoring my calorie intake. So it's understandable that I didn't see the planet rapidly expanding ahead of me.
*Bang-mooooooaaan* That well known sound of being thrown from warp as the hull strains against the deceleration. I quickly lowered my HUD, but I saw nothing but black beyond my cockpit.
*Beep beep beep beep* "Frameshift failure, unexpected planetary-class body." What?! "Current altitude, -50 meters, trace oxygen found in the atmosphere, gravity measured at .5 G. Recommend external inspection for damage." Quite certain the sensor array was damaged, I donned my space suit and opened the airlock. I thought it simply must be broken, you can't land 50 meters under a planet! Then I jumped out the air lock into the pure black, and sunk into... foam? Panicking, I flailed around trying to reach my ship, when I suddenly burst into light.
"Aaah! A mole person! Mommy help!" a childish voice cried moments after I could see light. Turning to look at the source, a ring of people standing around something with only a young girl facing me. Shakily rising to my feet, I stagger over to the ring, my feet indenting the spongy ground, like walking through powdery snow. Reaching the group unnoticed expect by the child, I see a puckered crater, the size of my hauler. "Something just sunk in here." "Did you see that thing?” “Was it a meteor?"
I turned to run away. My first step flew through the ground, and I sunk down into the darkness.
----------
1/28/3303- Personal Log.
The world here looks like those historical documentaries about Earth, except everything is lighter, almost foamy. From the times I've peeked at the surface, I've seen the people here skip around, taking great bounds through the air. Hazmat suit wearing scientists and heavy excavating equipment now surround the area where my ship sunk in. If they manage to dig out my ship, I suppose I owe them thanks for doing my job for me, but from what I've seen, nothing they have can lift it.
----------
2/26/3303- Personal Log.
My rations ran out a while ago, and the things I’ve done makes me feel like a common bandit. I would pull myself from the ground, walk towards a house and pull the door off. Even though it was for survival, it felt demeaning to scrounge through a families’ fridge, especially when they wake up and start shouting. I sometimes just take the fridge if I get noticed too quickly. Good news though, I've received confirmation from a nearby salvage ship, the FSS Opportunity, that they will be arriving for rescue if I let them keep my ship. The 5 light year journey will take some time though.
----------
3/07/3303- Personal log.
I was discovered, though it hasn’t been as bad as I thought. I was getting food again, but the father of the family was waiting. Must have been a house I broke into before, because he had a shotgun ready. Looking down the barrel, seeing my life flash before my eyes, I heard the bang, and felt a pattering against my helmet. Opening my eyes, the man was standing there with the gun barrel smoking, cold sweat starting to drip down his face. As I started to back away, he stood frozen on the spot, hyperventilating and staring at me. Like I was a monster. I feel like if I had killed that man, he would be less shocked.
----------
3/25/3303- Personal log.
The military has been hunting me for these past weeks. Like a rabid animal. They evacuated the area of citizens, taking my food source away so they can control where I appeared. Well, after the first time, where I tore open the armored truck to get at the rations. Now they keep the army rations in cargo bobs at all times. Then they set out food in a pile, with bear traps, turrets and landmines surrounding it. It seemed risky, though my stomach eventually convinced me of the benefits of eating. Emerging in the dead of night, I crawled from the ground into the middle of the compound. Then the sky was filled with explosions and gunfire, stinging me as they made contact. Dashing as best I could towards the food, throwing what appeared to be a tank out of my way, grabbing as much as I could carry and diving back into the ground.
----------
3/27/3303- Guest Log, FSS Opportunity.
My entire body feels broken. After the encounters with the planets military, my body is covered in black and blue splotches. Luckily, the salvage ship arrived before I had to make another grab for food. Watching the 150 meter long ship arrive from low orbit was a sight to see. Swooping in with gunfire sparking off the hull, firing the magnetic grapple into the crater and pulling my hauler out from the ground like fruit from jello. The pilot’s federation has contacted me, telling me to keep all of my logs confidential and preserve any samples of material from the world for study.
o7 signing off. Hopefully this all blows over.
| |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | The Aluminator tapped his foil covered fingertips together, in glee."You've done well to survive all my traps so far, Normal Man...not that it will do you any good now".
*Sigh. He put a lot of work into this, I'll humor him.*
"You seemed to shrug off the wet towel dropped from seven feet up, and you defeated ten of my mightiest cardboard robots. It's true, I didn't think you'd make it this far."
*I nodded, gravely.*
"But I think you'll find that these ALUMINUM FOIL HANDCUFFS will keep you cozy for QUITE some time. I had to use the force of SIXTEEN wet towels to bend them into shape, and now that you are bound by them, escape is unthinkable."
*Ok. The Guild commissioned me for two hours of effort, and time's up...*
"Struggle if you want, Normal Man, it's...OH GOD YOU SNAPPED THEM RUUNNNNN".
*What can I say? It's easy money.*
| I hate my bed. Essential to my sound sleep is the facility to toss around, keep fidgeting this way and that, until I find that sweet spot that lulls me to a slumber.
The bed I was on, coloured a horrific pink, was the second one given to me. The first, a horrid green one, came apart in pieces on the third toss of my exhausted body. Came apart being an understatement.
"Is this comfortable, Yuthot?", asked Yvv. I glared at him while he squirmed in an uncomfortable silence. Why they called me Yuthot, I had no clue. The kreon drive powering the pod had gone out somewhere after Alpha Proxima. The pod, in a moment of self-perseverance, had probably landed on and the home planet of Yuk. Known to be a still-developing world, none of the Union had made contact with this world. There would be hell to face once I got out of this mess.
The Yuk refused to let me go to my ship. I had lost consciousness once the kreon aided systems of the ship went out and the next thing I knew was waking on a green bed with a host of rectangular, rubber-like beings peering at me. At a height of nine feet, the group was daunting. All until, I put up a tantrum and killed a Yuk and tore their bed. The bed had been sentient too. The group had scattered and I wept for both, my plight and the two dead beings in bloodless pieces.
The Union's punishment for trespassing was a fine of 200 Genji, an amount I couldn't cover even if I sold my right mechanical arm. For the death of a sentient being, I would be put in semi-death state for atleast a 100 years.
The Yuk had advanced enough to have devised their own translators, The place holding me looked innocuous enough. It sure wasn't a prison.
The door skid open, and the group came back in. One of them held a long apparatus with a jewelled sharp point at one tip. With them was a smaller Yuk, with beady eyes and four ears. He or she stood quivering, possibly afraid of the monster that I must've been portrayed as.
"We sacrifice a young one to appease you, oh Yuthot", proclaimed one among the group.
Oh fuck. | |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | I'm not sure how I got here, maybe a warp of time and space or some cosmic being's intervention, but in any case, I ended up on this planet the natives call Genius. Luckily for me, the people looked just as human as Earth, and even spoke English so blending in was quite easy. However, Genius did have some differences. The buildings, people, and even the planet's gravity were remarkably weaker than Earth. The planet was actually a moon of a gas giant, and was maybe half of size of Earth.
I spent the first three days wandering the streets of the city I found myself in, desperate to find a way home. My hope was running out as the sun disappeared behind the Jovian planet for the third time. The people here seemed indifferent to me, the few I ran up to seemed confused about where Earth was, or any of the countries I once knew. Just as I was preparing to collapse in a slum of a street, I heard a scream pierce the night. I snapped and found myself running towards and down an alley. At the far end two men stood, one armed and pulling at the arm of the other, smaller one. The closer I got the easier it was to hear the screams of help from what appeared to be a kidnapping.
As I ran, or more accurately, leapt using the low gravity to sort of fly at the attacker. When I passed under a light, they both saw me. The victim stopped screaming for a second, but the kidnapped turned his gun at me. I heard three barks from the gun, felt two of them hit me, but they felt as if they were no stronger than a BB gun.
As I reached the kidnapper, my fist hit him square in the chest and sent him flying into the building across the street on the other end of the alley. Panting, I saw the two 'bullets' still lodged in my skin, but they had barely broke the skin. I turned to the other guy who stood shaking.
"Are you okay?" I asked, trying (and failing) to keep my voice from shacking.
"I... Yeah" he said, eyeing the breaks in my skin. "What are you?"
That night I met Steve, a student in the upscale neighborhood who had been kidnapped by a janitor looking to make a ransom. As we walked back to his home, I told him about myself. About how I had woke up on Genius and searched for some way back home. Soon we were talking about our schools, which were similar, how we were both a sort of nerds, then our shared hobbies, amongst them were comic books. That's when Steve came up with his idea.
"Think about it, your stronger, faster, and more durable than anyone else here. Your like Superguy." He said excitedly.
"I don't know," I said, "I still need to find a way back home-" my stomach growled loudly.
"How about this, you can stay with me as long as you need. My parents a rarly home and I can convince them that your a foreign exchange student or something. In exchange, you have to try this super hero idea. It's literally the exact thing people like you and I have always wanted, or at least I have." Steve said, jumping up and down, "You have a gift, and this is your chance to make a difference in the world"
I thought about it for a minute. I mean, who didn't want to be a superhero. And I did need a place to lay my head, I really didn't want to find a bench to sleep on.
"Okay, but no capes"
That was about three months ago, I think. Days are a little shorter here. Since then, I've been living a double life, as Mark Kent, exchange student in Xavier University thanks to Steve's computer skills in putting me into the system. But by night, and weekends that I'm not studying, I'm Indestructible; hero. It was the first day of summer break and I stood atop one of my favorite building perches and listened to the city.
I took in a deep breath. I had really started to like my new life. Being a superhero was a lot easier than I thought. Especially since guns and knives bounced off me. I realized that maybe I didn't want to go home after all.
No sooner than I thought that did I hear an explosion. Leaping up, I pulled down my mask, 'time to be a hero' I thought. And jumped over the buildings between me and the sound.
I landed with an exaggerated superhero landing. I looked up, the smug smile I've been giving all the crooks lately. Then my heart stopped.
There standing in the ruined street was Butch, my high school bully.
From Earth. | I hate my bed. Essential to my sound sleep is the facility to toss around, keep fidgeting this way and that, until I find that sweet spot that lulls me to a slumber.
The bed I was on, coloured a horrific pink, was the second one given to me. The first, a horrid green one, came apart in pieces on the third toss of my exhausted body. Came apart being an understatement.
"Is this comfortable, Yuthot?", asked Yvv. I glared at him while he squirmed in an uncomfortable silence. Why they called me Yuthot, I had no clue. The kreon drive powering the pod had gone out somewhere after Alpha Proxima. The pod, in a moment of self-perseverance, had probably landed on and the home planet of Yuk. Known to be a still-developing world, none of the Union had made contact with this world. There would be hell to face once I got out of this mess.
The Yuk refused to let me go to my ship. I had lost consciousness once the kreon aided systems of the ship went out and the next thing I knew was waking on a green bed with a host of rectangular, rubber-like beings peering at me. At a height of nine feet, the group was daunting. All until, I put up a tantrum and killed a Yuk and tore their bed. The bed had been sentient too. The group had scattered and I wept for both, my plight and the two dead beings in bloodless pieces.
The Union's punishment for trespassing was a fine of 200 Genji, an amount I couldn't cover even if I sold my right mechanical arm. For the death of a sentient being, I would be put in semi-death state for atleast a 100 years.
The Yuk had advanced enough to have devised their own translators, The place holding me looked innocuous enough. It sure wasn't a prison.
The door skid open, and the group came back in. One of them held a long apparatus with a jewelled sharp point at one tip. With them was a smaller Yuk, with beady eyes and four ears. He or she stood quivering, possibly afraid of the monster that I must've been portrayed as.
"We sacrifice a young one to appease you, oh Yuthot", proclaimed one among the group.
Oh fuck. | |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | Day 28
I think I'm blending in. I never thought that being so careful would be so difficult. I have to tread lightly, literally, so I don't destroy their roads. Still can't believe that I'm here; that here exists. I've spent much of this first month homeless, but I got lucky today. Good things will follow. They must.
Day 32
Had to flee a store after I crushed an expensive appliance. I feel terrible but I don't have the money, and I know I don't want to explain myself. Nearly died when I was running away. Decided to try to jump for extra distance, and I almost broke through the upper atmosphere. Took me hours to get back to where I'm staying. Must be more careful. So much more careful.
Day 33
It's all over the news. Fuck. Of course it is. "Mysterious Man Destroys Property, Flies Away?" It's everywhere. I figured that there'd be a clean shot of my face, that I would've been identified by now. Apparently I was moving too fast for anyone to get a good look, so that's something. Is this going to be my whole life now? Hiding and running away?
Day 40
I want to go home. I miss my family. My life. Everything's just so fragile now. This world, it's people...me. I can't look in any direction without seeing something that reminds me of home. What's making me so lonely is that this place is so similar to Earth, and yet more different than anything I've ever known. It's such a strange dichotomy. Oh well. At least I finally slept through the night without destroying my bed. That was getting expensive. Tomorrow's a new day.
Day 45
I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. He died. I...killed him. Blood everywhere. I just wanted to stop him. He shot that lady, and I didn't want him to shoot her again. She was so afraid. I yelled at him and he looked. He looked right at me. He pointed the gun at me and I just lost it. Think he shot me, I'm not sure. He fired twice and I think I felt something, but I don't know. I just got so mad. Forgot about being careful. So many people saw. I didn't mean to kill him. I'm so scared. I don't belong here. Don't know what to do. I can't stay in this building, this city. Need to pack. Leave.
Day 47
Everything's wrong. This isn't how my life was supposed to be, lived out in a strange place among a strange people who are so fragile and don't even know it.
I could...jump into space. Be done with it all. I have as much up there as I do here. Nothing.
Day 50
Thought there'd be a manhunt. Thought they'd be looking for me. I was moving too fast for anyone to catch my face again. That guy was her husband and he'd been hurting her for a while. The authorities said what I did was brutal, but they didn't seem too sad he was gone. Doesn't make it right. Can't lose control like that ever again. Ever. I'll never forget his face. I wonder if she'll be alright.
Day 51
She lived. She was on the news for an interview. She said..."Thank you."
I saved her. I saved her. | I hate my bed. Essential to my sound sleep is the facility to toss around, keep fidgeting this way and that, until I find that sweet spot that lulls me to a slumber.
The bed I was on, coloured a horrific pink, was the second one given to me. The first, a horrid green one, came apart in pieces on the third toss of my exhausted body. Came apart being an understatement.
"Is this comfortable, Yuthot?", asked Yvv. I glared at him while he squirmed in an uncomfortable silence. Why they called me Yuthot, I had no clue. The kreon drive powering the pod had gone out somewhere after Alpha Proxima. The pod, in a moment of self-perseverance, had probably landed on and the home planet of Yuk. Known to be a still-developing world, none of the Union had made contact with this world. There would be hell to face once I got out of this mess.
The Yuk refused to let me go to my ship. I had lost consciousness once the kreon aided systems of the ship went out and the next thing I knew was waking on a green bed with a host of rectangular, rubber-like beings peering at me. At a height of nine feet, the group was daunting. All until, I put up a tantrum and killed a Yuk and tore their bed. The bed had been sentient too. The group had scattered and I wept for both, my plight and the two dead beings in bloodless pieces.
The Union's punishment for trespassing was a fine of 200 Genji, an amount I couldn't cover even if I sold my right mechanical arm. For the death of a sentient being, I would be put in semi-death state for atleast a 100 years.
The Yuk had advanced enough to have devised their own translators, The place holding me looked innocuous enough. It sure wasn't a prison.
The door skid open, and the group came back in. One of them held a long apparatus with a jewelled sharp point at one tip. With them was a smaller Yuk, with beady eyes and four ears. He or she stood quivering, possibly afraid of the monster that I must've been portrayed as.
"We sacrifice a young one to appease you, oh Yuthot", proclaimed one among the group.
Oh fuck. | |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | Day 28
I think I'm blending in. I never thought that being so careful would be so difficult. I have to tread lightly, literally, so I don't destroy their roads. Still can't believe that I'm here; that here exists. I've spent much of this first month homeless, but I got lucky today. Good things will follow. They must.
Day 32
Had to flee a store after I crushed an expensive appliance. I feel terrible but I don't have the money, and I know I don't want to explain myself. Nearly died when I was running away. Decided to try to jump for extra distance, and I almost broke through the upper atmosphere. Took me hours to get back to where I'm staying. Must be more careful. So much more careful.
Day 33
It's all over the news. Fuck. Of course it is. "Mysterious Man Destroys Property, Flies Away?" It's everywhere. I figured that there'd be a clean shot of my face, that I would've been identified by now. Apparently I was moving too fast for anyone to get a good look, so that's something. Is this going to be my whole life now? Hiding and running away?
Day 40
I want to go home. I miss my family. My life. Everything's just so fragile now. This world, it's people...me. I can't look in any direction without seeing something that reminds me of home. What's making me so lonely is that this place is so similar to Earth, and yet more different than anything I've ever known. It's such a strange dichotomy. Oh well. At least I finally slept through the night without destroying my bed. That was getting expensive. Tomorrow's a new day.
Day 45
I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. He died. I...killed him. Blood everywhere. I just wanted to stop him. He shot that lady, and I didn't want him to shoot her again. She was so afraid. I yelled at him and he looked. He looked right at me. He pointed the gun at me and I just lost it. Think he shot me, I'm not sure. He fired twice and I think I felt something, but I don't know. I just got so mad. Forgot about being careful. So many people saw. I didn't mean to kill him. I'm so scared. I don't belong here. Don't know what to do. I can't stay in this building, this city. Need to pack. Leave.
Day 47
Everything's wrong. This isn't how my life was supposed to be, lived out in a strange place among a strange people who are so fragile and don't even know it.
I could...jump into space. Be done with it all. I have as much up there as I do here. Nothing.
Day 50
Thought there'd be a manhunt. Thought they'd be looking for me. I was moving too fast for anyone to catch my face again. That guy was her husband and he'd been hurting her for a while. The authorities said what I did was brutal, but they didn't seem too sad he was gone. Doesn't make it right. Can't lose control like that ever again. Ever. I'll never forget his face. I wonder if she'll be alright.
Day 51
She lived. She was on the news for an interview. She said..."Thank you."
I saved her. I saved her. | To say they were shocked was an understatement.
To say I was shocked would be hardly telling the truth.
I had fallen asleep at the command of my starcraft, a small spaceship capable of going supersonic speeds. Luckily, the starcraft had recognized the impending atmosphere and had slowed down a great deal before activating and deploying the auto-land feature. The ship was basically idiot proof, and I was a great deal lucky.
I woke up to a tapping sound. It was soft, but it was on my window. I pressed down on a touch screen to open the glass encasing me. My suit had ample oxygen, so I crawled out of the ship. I was greeted by a large crowd of curious creatures, There were murmurs around them, but it was all gibberish to me. Suddenly, a hornlike sound could be heard and the mysterious creatures parted in two, leading a path leading directly up to me. I decided to stay by my starcraft, which I didn't really feel like parting with. Creatures holding white banners began to make there way up towards me, and all of the other creatures were saluting the large creature making his way down the path behind the banners. I turned on my Universal Translator. The leader made his way towards me, and with him I noticed a group of decorated individuals. There was a silence as the leader approached me. He gazed at me as if uninformed of my appearance, and signaled a translator towards him. The leader spoke something to me, but my Universal Translator device couldn't register anything of it. "So much for Universal" I thought to myself with a smirk in my helmet." It was broke half of the time anyway. "I am from Planet Earth. I have accidentally landed on this planet. I cannot understand you." The translator glanced at the leader and said something.
The leader pointed his golden scepter. He muttered something, and suddenly the guards came forward towards me. They tried to seize me, yet they could not take hold of me. I simply pushed them forward and they fell with a great might. The ruler suddenly halted them. He commanded them to shoot at me, yet their ammunition simply bounced off of me. The leader's eyes opened wide. He moved toward me and commanded the trumpets to sound. He placed his crown on my head and turned towards to the translator, who did know the common language of which I had spoken. "You clearly are a god of some type. But come, be our leader." I nod in approval and hold the scepter out over the people. "Today, you have made me your ruler. Today, I have made you my people. Go back into your community. I will protect you."
The creatures scurried off, except the guards, the leader, and the translator. The leader spoke to me, "Come, live in the castle prepared for our ruler. From there you can lead these people."
Day 54
A messenger from the ruler came to me earlier this afternoon. Another ship such as mine had landed, and another god had made his impression onto the people, yet he had slain many if them. I was to go and fight this new god of evil.
However, I left the castle with no attention. My spaceship was parked in the courtyard, I activated the glass door via a screen button on my suit, stepped in, and prepared the rockets for lift off. "Stabilizers, check. Orbit path, check. Safety systems, check. Commencing liftoff." I hit the big red "takeoff button." and hit "confirm" as the creatures made their way towards my ship. One, realizing the impending force, pulled the others back, while some tried to run towards me.
"3...2...1...Liftoff. Preparing to leave atmospheric conditions." The starcraft AI voice said. The rockets pushed me forward at such a great force, and pushed me forward through the air.
All that was left of my legacy was a circular smoke trail plowing through the orange sky against the horizon. The rocket re-loaded the destination into its autopilot flight featured and carried me onward.
| |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all.
The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal.
I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love.
But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed.
I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight.
The school’s football team had arrived.
| To say they were shocked was an understatement.
To say I was shocked would be hardly telling the truth.
I had fallen asleep at the command of my starcraft, a small spaceship capable of going supersonic speeds. Luckily, the starcraft had recognized the impending atmosphere and had slowed down a great deal before activating and deploying the auto-land feature. The ship was basically idiot proof, and I was a great deal lucky.
I woke up to a tapping sound. It was soft, but it was on my window. I pressed down on a touch screen to open the glass encasing me. My suit had ample oxygen, so I crawled out of the ship. I was greeted by a large crowd of curious creatures, There were murmurs around them, but it was all gibberish to me. Suddenly, a hornlike sound could be heard and the mysterious creatures parted in two, leading a path leading directly up to me. I decided to stay by my starcraft, which I didn't really feel like parting with. Creatures holding white banners began to make there way up towards me, and all of the other creatures were saluting the large creature making his way down the path behind the banners. I turned on my Universal Translator. The leader made his way towards me, and with him I noticed a group of decorated individuals. There was a silence as the leader approached me. He gazed at me as if uninformed of my appearance, and signaled a translator towards him. The leader spoke something to me, but my Universal Translator device couldn't register anything of it. "So much for Universal" I thought to myself with a smirk in my helmet." It was broke half of the time anyway. "I am from Planet Earth. I have accidentally landed on this planet. I cannot understand you." The translator glanced at the leader and said something.
The leader pointed his golden scepter. He muttered something, and suddenly the guards came forward towards me. They tried to seize me, yet they could not take hold of me. I simply pushed them forward and they fell with a great might. The ruler suddenly halted them. He commanded them to shoot at me, yet their ammunition simply bounced off of me. The leader's eyes opened wide. He moved toward me and commanded the trumpets to sound. He placed his crown on my head and turned towards to the translator, who did know the common language of which I had spoken. "You clearly are a god of some type. But come, be our leader." I nod in approval and hold the scepter out over the people. "Today, you have made me your ruler. Today, I have made you my people. Go back into your community. I will protect you."
The creatures scurried off, except the guards, the leader, and the translator. The leader spoke to me, "Come, live in the castle prepared for our ruler. From there you can lead these people."
Day 54
A messenger from the ruler came to me earlier this afternoon. Another ship such as mine had landed, and another god had made his impression onto the people, yet he had slain many if them. I was to go and fight this new god of evil.
However, I left the castle with no attention. My spaceship was parked in the courtyard, I activated the glass door via a screen button on my suit, stepped in, and prepared the rockets for lift off. "Stabilizers, check. Orbit path, check. Safety systems, check. Commencing liftoff." I hit the big red "takeoff button." and hit "confirm" as the creatures made their way towards my ship. One, realizing the impending force, pulled the others back, while some tried to run towards me.
"3...2...1...Liftoff. Preparing to leave atmospheric conditions." The starcraft AI voice said. The rockets pushed me forward at such a great force, and pushed me forward through the air.
All that was left of my legacy was a circular smoke trail plowing through the orange sky against the horizon. The rocket re-loaded the destination into its autopilot flight featured and carried me onward.
| |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | Day 28
I think I'm blending in. I never thought that being so careful would be so difficult. I have to tread lightly, literally, so I don't destroy their roads. Still can't believe that I'm here; that here exists. I've spent much of this first month homeless, but I got lucky today. Good things will follow. They must.
Day 32
Had to flee a store after I crushed an expensive appliance. I feel terrible but I don't have the money, and I know I don't want to explain myself. Nearly died when I was running away. Decided to try to jump for extra distance, and I almost broke through the upper atmosphere. Took me hours to get back to where I'm staying. Must be more careful. So much more careful.
Day 33
It's all over the news. Fuck. Of course it is. "Mysterious Man Destroys Property, Flies Away?" It's everywhere. I figured that there'd be a clean shot of my face, that I would've been identified by now. Apparently I was moving too fast for anyone to get a good look, so that's something. Is this going to be my whole life now? Hiding and running away?
Day 40
I want to go home. I miss my family. My life. Everything's just so fragile now. This world, it's people...me. I can't look in any direction without seeing something that reminds me of home. What's making me so lonely is that this place is so similar to Earth, and yet more different than anything I've ever known. It's such a strange dichotomy. Oh well. At least I finally slept through the night without destroying my bed. That was getting expensive. Tomorrow's a new day.
Day 45
I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. He died. I...killed him. Blood everywhere. I just wanted to stop him. He shot that lady, and I didn't want him to shoot her again. She was so afraid. I yelled at him and he looked. He looked right at me. He pointed the gun at me and I just lost it. Think he shot me, I'm not sure. He fired twice and I think I felt something, but I don't know. I just got so mad. Forgot about being careful. So many people saw. I didn't mean to kill him. I'm so scared. I don't belong here. Don't know what to do. I can't stay in this building, this city. Need to pack. Leave.
Day 47
Everything's wrong. This isn't how my life was supposed to be, lived out in a strange place among a strange people who are so fragile and don't even know it.
I could...jump into space. Be done with it all. I have as much up there as I do here. Nothing.
Day 50
Thought there'd be a manhunt. Thought they'd be looking for me. I was moving too fast for anyone to catch my face again. That guy was her husband and he'd been hurting her for a while. The authorities said what I did was brutal, but they didn't seem too sad he was gone. Doesn't make it right. Can't lose control like that ever again. Ever. I'll never forget his face. I wonder if she'll be alright.
Day 51
She lived. She was on the news for an interview. She said..."Thank you."
I saved her. I saved her. | "The stars flew past me like little cosmic pebbles as I helplessly careened through space, my escape pod destined to become my coffin.
In desperation, I tried to radio the mother ship, but to no avail. A faulty ship? Sabotage? A mistake on my part? Unfortunately, it looks like no one can say for sure, although it's starting to look like I'm going to put the "terminal" in terminal velocity.
In my little fugue, I think about how happy I am that I'm just going to crash into a small planet and die quickly, as opposed to suffocating or starving to death out in the blackness of space."
The children gaze at me, all spiffed up in my brillant space suit, sitting in a cul-de-sac taken out of time, all in fascination as I let loose a loud sneeze. The *human* children, I might add, on this definitely *alien* planet. One of their mothers, having just diligently delivered some full cans of *Coca-Cola* (alien planet, remember) watches vigilantly for any sign of trouble, but they were certainly more trusting than I was expecting. At least, I certainly know my mom would never let strange men near their children. Little things like that, in addition to the architecture that I've seen, as well as the clothes, really give off an "early 60's" vibe.
"Show us the trick again!" a little boy squeals. "Yeah!" pipe a few more.
It makes me feel like a badass, anyway. I glance at a freckled boy who looks like a little bit like the bully from "Recess," and in my most authoritative voice, "Hey, chuck your can in the air!"
As the can gains more height, I aim my glove at it and nail it directly with a laser beam, much to the awe of the children and shock of the mother. She grabs the arm of the Gelman look-a-like, and starts heading into what I presume is her house. Insulting, but I can understand.
A grunt from behind alerts me to the presence of the police behind me. He tells me that "they've" arrived, whoever that means. I figured my best bet as soon as I landed in this suburban paradise was to contact law enforcement, maybe that could give me a way out, or *something*. It wasn't very difficult to find someone, considering I crashed into someone's fence. I figured being proactive, as opposed to waiting the decades it could potentially take for my people to come back here, would be a much better use of my time. A very slick looking car stops next to us, the back door opened by a rather dapper young woman.
The passenger window rolled down slowly to reveal a man in his early 40's.
"Please," he starts, a grin going across his face, "we've got quite the tour for you..." | |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all.
The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal.
I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love.
But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed.
I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight.
The school’s football team had arrived.
| "The stars flew past me like little cosmic pebbles as I helplessly careened through space, my escape pod destined to become my coffin.
In desperation, I tried to radio the mother ship, but to no avail. A faulty ship? Sabotage? A mistake on my part? Unfortunately, it looks like no one can say for sure, although it's starting to look like I'm going to put the "terminal" in terminal velocity.
In my little fugue, I think about how happy I am that I'm just going to crash into a small planet and die quickly, as opposed to suffocating or starving to death out in the blackness of space."
The children gaze at me, all spiffed up in my brillant space suit, sitting in a cul-de-sac taken out of time, all in fascination as I let loose a loud sneeze. The *human* children, I might add, on this definitely *alien* planet. One of their mothers, having just diligently delivered some full cans of *Coca-Cola* (alien planet, remember) watches vigilantly for any sign of trouble, but they were certainly more trusting than I was expecting. At least, I certainly know my mom would never let strange men near their children. Little things like that, in addition to the architecture that I've seen, as well as the clothes, really give off an "early 60's" vibe.
"Show us the trick again!" a little boy squeals. "Yeah!" pipe a few more.
It makes me feel like a badass, anyway. I glance at a freckled boy who looks like a little bit like the bully from "Recess," and in my most authoritative voice, "Hey, chuck your can in the air!"
As the can gains more height, I aim my glove at it and nail it directly with a laser beam, much to the awe of the children and shock of the mother. She grabs the arm of the Gelman look-a-like, and starts heading into what I presume is her house. Insulting, but I can understand.
A grunt from behind alerts me to the presence of the police behind me. He tells me that "they've" arrived, whoever that means. I figured my best bet as soon as I landed in this suburban paradise was to contact law enforcement, maybe that could give me a way out, or *something*. It wasn't very difficult to find someone, considering I crashed into someone's fence. I figured being proactive, as opposed to waiting the decades it could potentially take for my people to come back here, would be a much better use of my time. A very slick looking car stops next to us, the back door opened by a rather dapper young woman.
The passenger window rolled down slowly to reveal a man in his early 40's.
"Please," he starts, a grin going across his face, "we've got quite the tour for you..." | |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all.
The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal.
I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love.
But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed.
I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight.
The school’s football team had arrived.
| Being famous used to be fun, but that was when I was synonymous with good fame. Now it's only destruction and pain.
I woke up on the ISS Stellar to find the alarms blaring and crew freaking out. We were going down quick and nothing could be done. We crashed, and as I rose from the rubble I could see the crew laying, sprawled over the wreckage, I was the only survivor.
Before I realized, the wreck was surrounded by a group of people that had skin like an opaque ivory. They took me in as their own and I was grateful, but there was always something different that separated us. Somehow their world is made of a type of soft cell foam, similar to evlon or memory foam. This made them a cautious and careful group. To them I was a resiliant superhuman that could take on anything and survive. Being able to lift houses and stop trees from falling, I was a hero to them.
One day came though when it would change. I was with the hunting group making our way through the forest when we came upon their feared predator the lynx-bear. As we stalked it, we followed it to a small watering hole and decided to make our move. I went around the side and waited for an opportunity.
As it rose from the water, it stood up on its back feet and reared it's head, clearly knowing it wasn't alone anymore. I saw my timing, ran up to it, and drove my spear into its back with all my might. Letting out a slight jeer like I always did when getting a kill, but the forest was silent. As I peered from around the goliaths body I could see shock on the faces of the others. And as I took a step to the side I could see why.
The Chief was suppose to be the only one able to kill the lynx bear according to the legends. And I not only drove my spear through the creature, but also through the Chief on the other side. His axe still raised above his head as he stayed glued in place with rigor mortis.
Everybody wanted me dead, and I thought of running, but something inside me really felt bad. So I stayed. I let them take me prisoner and I've been cooperating for almost 22 years now. At first it took a lot to not just break out and live again, but as the time slipped away and the isolation took over, it made more sense to remain. | |
[WP] The world ended in 2199. Mountains crumbled, oceans boiled, but man survived. Three great cities were constructed, one deep in the earth, one deep in the sea, another in orbit. After 300 years, the survivors emerge and confront one another. | Plainly speaking, three hundred years isn’t even a blip on the geological time scale. Really, it’s not even a sneeze. It’s more like the first fluttering of a sneeze, a terrible itching inside the sinuses that pricks at the edges of the mind.
The fact remains, though, that three centuries to humans is quite a long time.
The first thing that becomes evident when they find each other (and the Great Three will dispute who, exactly, found who and in what order it occurred in for literal decades) is that after three hundred years and the end of all that was, nobody speaks the same language anymore. The first transmissions Aquana receives are little more than whirring chitters intersped with something that occasionally sounds like a word. Maybe. If they filtered said word through approximately four tons of rumbling gravel and a vent system.
Likewise, Sub-Terra has no idea what the hauntingly strange song like sounds are supposed to mean when they pick it up. There is something structured in them that seems like maybe it could be a language, only stretched and warbled at notes that none of them could ever make.
In this instance, the simply dubbed New Hope Station will be the key to figuring it out, if only because they sent the strange chittering transmissions in the first place and have the largest compilations of past language data for cross-referencing.
Really, though, it’s Sub-Terra that should get the credit for arranging the meeting. Their advanced technology was built for communicating through the pulsating magnetic fields beneath the earth’s crust, ever shifting with the re-directed magma flows. So without them, all those mysterious stray communications would have forever remained just that. A mystery.
So with New Hope and Sub-Terra acting as the translator and the messenger respectively, it was sort of left to Aquana to take care of transport. And they did, having craft capable of dealing with the crippling strength of several atmospheres, a necessity that came with having built their territory so very deep down in the dark waters of the sea.
Nobody, the future will say, was really ready for the difference that three centuries of divergent evolution could make. Maybe it was the differing elements they had to adapt to, and thus natural selection, or perhaps it was a more selective choice in sexual partners, or else small mutations that had each had undergone to fit their environments better. Maybe it was diet, or culture, or some other influencing variable.
The fact remained, though, that when they perceived one another, what they beheld was strange. Like them, but definitely not.
“On all the stars and planets,” said Nove, diplomat of the first degree aboard New Hope. A recently acquired position, as before now there wasn’t much diplomating to be done on the communal ship. “You are a stout, small thing ain’t ye?”
The translator burbled in the Sub-Terran native’s ear, and its filmy eyes peered forward uselessly, little more that adornments at this point. The coarse, bristly hair that covered its skin picked up on the vibrations the others made as they moved, far more used to closed tunnels than open air.
“Or you both are pointlessly large,” replied Til in her native tongue, a smooth and rumbling sound.
F’shtwa blinked its unsettlingly large eyes slowly, the largest of the three and distinctly androgynous in nature. Nove had the unnerving feeling that is he moved too fast he may trigger the things prey-drive, and it would all end in disaster. It’s obvious they shared more common traits than not -four limbs, faces, ape-like body structure, and generally the same senses- but the differences between them seemed all the more pronounced for the similarities they shared.
“We are suited to our own environs, nothing more,” F'shtwa sang, the notes of its vocal chords oddly resonating somewhere in Nove’s sternum.
“I suppose so, mate,” Nove answered. “Still human.”
“Still people,” agreed Til.
“In one form or another,” F’shtwa said ponderously.
Nove nodded, arms crossed over the expanse of his barrel chest. He inhaled the clean, unfiltered air of the planet that birthed their species millennia ago. It smells strange to him, but then again, this is all strange.
He supposes that humans have never been anything but that, though.
---
[I write things](https://www.reddit.com/r/webfiction/comments/61ow15/after_hero/)
| His smooth oily skin shone in the bloody gleam of the rising sun. His wide staring eyes burned into my own. A pair of frilled ears flared by the side of his head. "Cho! Ya think yaself betta tan us, skyman?"
"Not at all. I merely suggest that we could learn a thing or two by cooperating."
"Look at ya! Ya be skinny and weak, ya body can nae e'en lift a twig. Mi could probably snap ya bones wit' jus' mi bare hands!" He mimes breaking something with his massive webbed hands. I shudder
"Not all conflicts need violence to resolve."
"No. But somet'ings are easier broke than fixed, savvy?" He smiles sadly. "We was all human once. Now? We is separate, a broken people wit no shared culture. Mi never seen such a mess."
"What did you say you called yourself?" I ask, desperate to find some other topic.
"Homo Caudata. You?"
"Homo Aetherea."
"Homo Talpa." The third voice was softer, quieter. We turnered as one to see a young woman with snowy white hair and deathly pale skin. She hoisted herself out of the hole she stood in, short but powerful limbs punshing her squat form out of the earth.
"All Human."
"All People."
"All Survivors."
Because That's what humans do.
We Survive. | |
[WP] Every planet in our solar system has a "champion" being that takes on the attributes of the planet itself. The "champion" from the sun has created an army to destroy the planets and the 8 (or 9) champions must save the solar system. | Pluto sighed as he checked his watch, he hated being late to his first Astral Summon, but it wasn’t his fault that his travel to the Astral Temple wasn’t as short as the others’. Warily, he enter the room, where the other Avatars sat. Arguments were already filling the room. Quietly, Pluto slinked to his throne, smaller than the rest, and sat quietly, paying little attention to the roaring of the other Avatars and hoping he wasn’t noticed.
Finally, when the arguments were soon to come to blows, Jupiter, who had remained mostly quiet until now, spoke in his thunderous voice, only a whisper to him, but an explosive bellow to all others. “Enough.”
The other Avatars fell silent at his voice, even hot-headed Mars listened to the command. Jupiter rose from his seat, almost scraping his head against the ceiling, and folded his arms. “Once again, you forget the purpose of this Summon, and resort to petty squabbles. It’s a wonder we’ve held out for so long with buffoons like you.” He shot a stormy glance at Pluto. “Now that our new member has finally arrived, let us get to business.”
“When will it end, Jupiter?” Called Neptune, “Is there even a point anymore? How many times have we sacrificed to keep these Sunspawn at bay? How many more times must we continue to do so?”
Sunspawn? Pluto wondered. He had no idea what they were referring to.
“As much as it takes.” Saturn replied. “We cannot let these things spread. It will be the end of us all. How they’ve been able to survive on a dead planet is anyone’s guess, but if they can corrupt even a corpse, there is no telling what can be done to us.”
Mercury nodded his heavily scared head. “Even now, their corruption feeds Sol. It won’t be long before his power is too much to contain and he eradicates my sister and I.”
“That may be so,” Spoke Uranus. “But it will also take the Sunspawn with it. It is then that we can strike Him directly.”
Venus’ fiery body flared as she shrieked. “You suggest that me and my brother just sit by and allow us to be sacrificed? You monster!”
Uranus huffed. “Sacrifices must be made. After all, it was your sister that brought the Sunspawn here.”
“You bastard!” Venus rose and stepped toward the Avatar. “I say we sacrifice you! Maybe Sol will find you so revolting that He will just leave!”
“You are welcome to try, little vixen.” Smirked Uranus.
Venus stomped closer to the Avatar, her hand raised, but Jupiter tapped his foot, shaking the room. “Silence.” He whispered.
After a long pause, Pluto raised his hand, “Um. I’m sorry for asking a dumb question, but I don’t quite understand what’s going on here…”
Neptune scowled. “You see, Jupiter? This is why we shouldn’t have invited this pipsqueak. He’s much too far away to-“
Jupiter’s stormy glance was enough to silence him. “With this new threat, we need every able body we can get. He may be small, but he is all we have at present.” He looked back to Pluto. “Where to begin…”
Mercury chimed in. “Allow me, sir.” He wrung his hands and sighed before he continued.
“Certainly, you know of the Sunspawn. A corruption created and empowered by Him. In ages long passed when we were still young, there were nine of us, even before we reached out to you. Now there are only eight, including you. Gaia, and my sister Theia were also among us. In those times, Sol was what we believed to be a benevolent being, a shining eye watching over us. A demigod, He called himself, of the most divine making our goddess Via Lactea had to offer. We believed Him, for his might was unmatched.”
He paused solemnly. “By the time we found this to be false, his corruption had already infected Theia. Sunspawn, we called them. Insignificant on their own, but together hold the power to destroy us. Theia, Mother grace her, was driven mad by their infection. In her maddened rage, she set out to eradicate the rest of us. With no hope, it was Gaia who came to our aid. We could do nothing but watch the battle, the chaos. We were not yet strong enough to aid our sister. Even Jupiter, though he dwarfed them, was not strong enough to intervene. We watched as the two consumed each other. It was Gaia’s sacrifice that saved us that day.”
“But that wasn’t the end of it. Sol’s Sunspawn were resilient. Though the vast majority of their existence was eradicated in that titanic battle, the infection could not be cleansed and arose again on their conjoined bodies. Though we were much more powerful by that time, our best efforts could not put an end to it. Mars and Jupiter sent a meteor and Neptune flooded the planet, but nothing could stop it.”
Venus spoke. “For ages, the Sunspawn have unknowingly fed Sol. So much so, that it won’t be long before He bloats. When this happens, my brother and I will be consumed. Followed by our sister and Gaia’s remains.”
Pluto scratched his chin. “But if Sol takes the Sunspawn’s home, won’t the Sunspawn die as well?”
“Exactly,” scoffed Uranus. “A necessary sacrifice. No, I’m not proud of it, but what other chance do we have now? Let the false god end His own creation. When this happens, the force will be enough to drive us away to a safe distance.”
“The Sunspawn are not so dumb, Uranus.” Growled Mars. “I am on the Front, I have seen their advances. One of the evolutions of the Sunspawn is far superior to the rest. It has already discovered how to leave its world. I’m sure it knows of His plan, and will thus seek to invade us before its demise. Already, its drones have breached my defenses and prepares for an eventual expedition. Though our bodies at present cannot contain them, their adaptability can and will find a way. And this will be long before He bloats. First me, then the rest of us.”
Neptune blinked in astonishment. “Then, there is no hope.” He looked at Jupiter fearfully. “What do we do?”
--I have part two if interested--
| It was the dawn of a new era.
With a blinding flash of light, the champion of the solstice crashed to Earth. He was a fearsome foe - his golden armor glistened, his shield was emblazoned with the mark of the Chosen, and his sword was forged from the molten lava of the sun itself.
He picked himself up and looked around. He would destroy this place. He couldn't care less about the people, or the things he did. He was the Chosen and the One had commanded his actions. Nothing else mattered. He would be the ultimate arbiter of justice and show these planets the Light.
The sun could give, with its rays of light, and never ending energy, providing bountiful harvests for those around it. But it could also take. It could burn. Burn bright and fierce and fast. None will escape, and they will remember what it means to praise the sun.
In an instant, 9 champions appeared, splitting the ground around the Chosen. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Pluto stood as the guardians of the galaxy.
The Earth was the first to speak: "Sun, you are arrogant to think you can defeat us all. This planet contains life and has advanced beyond your control. With the strength of nine planets, even the might of the sun pales in comparison."
The Sun's gaze rested on the Earth, "You and the life on your planet exist because of me. Be careful with your words, Earth."
Jupiter's, gaseous form swirled as he joined the tense conversation. "Su- surely we can come to some sort of agreement. This needs not to come to blows"
Pluto, a tiny yet fierce champion, akin to a chihuahua squeaked "Awww to hell with him! He won't even recognize me as one of his planets. I say blast him"
"Try me"
"You asked for it!"
With that, Pluto jumped into the air and unleashed a flurry of ice from the heavens. The ice, frozen to subzero temperatures, so cold it froze anything it touched, fell towards the champions. The planets looked upwards in horror over the impending calamity.
Mercury, the second smallest planet, cried out and quivered, fearing his impending demise.
Uranus lamented the uselessness of Mercury and cried out "You fool Pluto! Must you ruin everything!"
In the meantime, Mars scrambled to summon the sands of the desert and Saturn expanded his ring to block the ice.
But it was the Sun who slowly drew his sword and pointed it towards the sky. The planets look on in awe as he unleashed the stored light of a thousand suns, melting the ice instantly.
He turned to the ice planet, "For your transgression against the Light, I sentence you to death Pluto"
"Come now Sun, don't be hasty" said Uranus.
"Strike him down and w- we will be forced to act" added Jupiter.
But the Sun's controlled rage could not be tempered. He pointed his sword at Pluto, who looked on with horror, as he realized what he had done. He glanced around frantically at the other planets, hoping they could save him. But in a flash, the Sun's sword pierced him, incinerating his entire being.
With that, the 8 other planets sprung to life and dashed to fight the Sun.
The battle for the solar system was only just beginning. | |
[WP] Every planet in our solar system has a "champion" being that takes on the attributes of the planet itself. The "champion" from the sun has created an army to destroy the planets and the 8 (or 9) champions must save the solar system. | Mercury took the front lines. Swift, fearless, and the most experienced with his stolen Sunfire, he was always the first into battle. His astral form spun and looped through space wildly, weaving between the Flare Beasts as he cut them down.
"There's too many of them!"
Cloud-wreathed Venus followed behind him to provide support. She lacked the aggression of Mercury, being similar to her brother Earth in some ways. But her blanket of clouds greedily absorbed every ounce of Sunfire that she could reach, and anything that entered that white haze never came out.
"I'll blockade them as long as I can. They're not going to hurt my brother!"
Earth hung back, eyes focused on the single shaft of light that shone through the black and red hordes, and bathed his home planet in its radiance. All the survivors had been placed in his care, for he was the origin of life. That ray of light was his lifeline, the only thing keeping a billion souls from freezing to death.
It was ironic that their only source of power came from their greatest enemy. Sol was supposed to be the leader of the Champions, providing energy to all the varied guardians of the planets. But he grew greedy and proud, thinking that he could use his power better than any of his fellow champions. Now his Flare Beasts blotted out the sun, an ever-expanding horde that devoured every scrap of Sunfire they could reach.
"This isn't working," Mars stated flatly. He had always been the calmest of the four inner planets. The planet he called home had been terraformed in the Great Expansion, but his power and nature still showed the dusty, icy rock that Mars had once been. "There's too many of them."
"Hold on, Mars." Earth tried to keep the worry out of his voice. "The outer planets are on the way."
The champion of the Red Planet called up a gust of wind, scattering a group of Beasts that had come too close to the beam of light, but they regrouped and charged again. "They're too slow."
Mercury zoomed past them, two swords of white-hot stone carving into the horde. "They take years to make an orbit. They're not going to get here in time!"
Venus swept her hands through the void, warding off the Beasts with waves of heat and sulfuric acid. "I can't be everywhere at once! Mercury, I need you to..."
Before she could finish the thought, a stream of insectoid Flare Beasts slipped past her. The last beam of light vanished.
Earth felt a chill run through his bones as his home planet went dark. The temperature was falling fast.
"Earth! Are you okay? Earth!"
Earth closed his eyes and tried to focus. He needed energy. But he wasn't limited to only solar power. His focus turned inwards, deep underground, in the mines and shelters of his home. On the embattled planet, emergency generators sprang to life. Oil, gas, and geothermal power, releasing energy he first absorbed a million years ago.
Earth opened his eyes. "I'm not out of the fight yet!"
Right on cue, a massive stone hurtled out of the darkness, punching a hole in the swarm of Beasts.
"Good, because we're just getting started!" said a new voice.
Earth eagerly turned to see the speaker. "Jupiter!"
Jupiter's astral form loomed large behind them, his gravitational slingshot whirling as he threw another asteroid.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Better late than never," said Mars.
More asteroids hurtled in as Saturn joined the fray as well. For sheer gravitational strength, nobody could beat a gas giant.
"Give it up, Sol! You can't beat all of us together!"
"DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN WIN?" Sol's voice echoed through space. "FOOLS! IF YOU DESTROY ME, YOU WILL PLUNGE THE SOLAR SYSTEM INTO DARKNESS. YOU WILL ONLY DESTROY YOURSELVES!"
Mercury paused in his flight. "That... That can't be right."
Earth frowned. "He might be telling the truth. Ultimately, we all rely on the sun for energy."
Jupiter rolled his eyes. "I'm literally pulling asteroids out of orbit with my magic gravity powers, and you're worried about thermodynamics?"
Earth shook his head. "We champions might use mystic Sunfire instead of photons, but the rules are the same. We need power."
"That's messed up!" shouted Mercury. "How are we supposed to win if we can't fight him directly?"
Venus clenched her fists and cloud swirled around her. "Sol's going to keep sending out his Beasts until we die, or he does. We can't let him live."
"WELL? WILL YOU DESTROY YOURSELVES TO STOP ME?"
Earth closed his eyes again. He couldn't give up. He was the cradle of civilization, the home of countless scientists and inventors. If anyone was going to find a solution, it was going to be him. Now, how did you survive the death of a star?
Inspiration struck, and he opened his eyes. "This might sound a bit crazy, but..." He turned to the largest planet in the group. "Jupiter, didn't they call your planet a 'failed star?'" | "Halt, Star Horde menace! Or you shall answer to the Champions! Let it be known to you that we count among our ranks the great champion of Earth, William!"
Millions of light creatures stopped in their tracks. Disturbed dust plumes rose and blotted out their home orb above. Cydonia had never seen so much movement in one day.
The planet champions had united and converged here on Mars to deal with the shiny army. William was entirely too perplexed to understand anything, much less how he was breathing, or how he got there in the first place. He couldn't be bothered to ponder it.
"Now, William, unleash your awful powers!" cried the planet champions in unison.
"I, uh..."
"Now, while they're stunned, do them the unkind gesture of death!"
"Really I can't."
Jupiter was a massive smoldering creature with caverns where eyes should be. He was flanked by the other champions: Saturn, Neptune, Mars, Venus, Mercury, Pluto, and Uranus. They were all sorts of crazy looking, William was sure of that.
"You are the Champion, William of Earth!" cried Jupiter, who seemed to close his cavernous eyes, draw what looked like a fist to his puffed out, rocky chest, and proclaim this to no one in particular.
"I'm from Duluth," said William.
"Our champion of the Duluth!" cried Uranus and Neptune, also puffing out their respective chests, as it were. The glimmering sun horde's advance seemed ceased while they watched the champions deliberate.
"I'm in high school," continued William. "I'm alright in shop class I guess."
"He is the shop master!" cried Pluto.
"He is champion of shop!" agreed Mars.
"Rise and vanquish our bright foe! Turn these perilous creatures to ash!" Jupiter boomed.
William scratched his neck and picked a square one from his nose, flicked it away.
"Look I think there was a mix-up. I'm not Earth's 'champion'. I only won one award, and that was for Pine Wood Derby. You know, Cub Scouts?"
"Indeed." Venus lowered what William supposed was a face, simmering with pride. "Our Pine Wood Derby champion. Rise! Release your Pine Wood Derby Death upon the sun's legions!"
William sighed. He stood and stumbled over to the rocky ledge, and looked out toward the horizon, really unsure what these things expected of him. The light creatures numbered surely in the millions, although William was never good at guessing how many gumballs where in the globe so maybe it was thousands. Beside the point.
"Release your mighty current and flush these fowl fiends back into sol forever!" Jupiter shouted, raging at the horde below as he stood beside William. The others gathered behind and started praising William again for this and that. It was entirely too confusing. William shrugged, felt an urge, and pulled down his zipper.
Uranus blinked, perhaps. William relieved himself into the wind. The champions had stupid looks on whatever, their faces or whatever. Turns out the wind carried the sprinkling pee over the sun creatures, who started exploding in bursts of dark ash.
"We are delivered from destruction! All praise to William!"
"All praise! All praise!"
The sun creatures were banished back into sol, and William was returned to Duluth where he won third place in a welding competition.
______
"I've told you now, doctor, so now you tell me" said Meredith. "Is that normal?"
"You saw William doing this? You heard him?"
"Yes, doctor, it's how I told you. He leaves the bathroom door open so I hear everything."
"I don't think it's anything to worry about Mrs. Goldstein. It sounds like he's playing a game."
"But he'll never be able to pop all the bubbles. It just creates more bubbles!" she insisted.
"Such is life, my dear Mrs. Goldstein. Such is life."
****
/u/velabas
| |
[WP] Every planet in our solar system has a "champion" being that takes on the attributes of the planet itself. The "champion" from the sun has created an army to destroy the planets and the 8 (or 9) champions must save the solar system. | Mercury took the front lines. Swift, fearless, and the most experienced with his stolen Sunfire, he was always the first into battle. His astral form spun and looped through space wildly, weaving between the Flare Beasts as he cut them down.
"There's too many of them!"
Cloud-wreathed Venus followed behind him to provide support. She lacked the aggression of Mercury, being similar to her brother Earth in some ways. But her blanket of clouds greedily absorbed every ounce of Sunfire that she could reach, and anything that entered that white haze never came out.
"I'll blockade them as long as I can. They're not going to hurt my brother!"
Earth hung back, eyes focused on the single shaft of light that shone through the black and red hordes, and bathed his home planet in its radiance. All the survivors had been placed in his care, for he was the origin of life. That ray of light was his lifeline, the only thing keeping a billion souls from freezing to death.
It was ironic that their only source of power came from their greatest enemy. Sol was supposed to be the leader of the Champions, providing energy to all the varied guardians of the planets. But he grew greedy and proud, thinking that he could use his power better than any of his fellow champions. Now his Flare Beasts blotted out the sun, an ever-expanding horde that devoured every scrap of Sunfire they could reach.
"This isn't working," Mars stated flatly. He had always been the calmest of the four inner planets. The planet he called home had been terraformed in the Great Expansion, but his power and nature still showed the dusty, icy rock that Mars had once been. "There's too many of them."
"Hold on, Mars." Earth tried to keep the worry out of his voice. "The outer planets are on the way."
The champion of the Red Planet called up a gust of wind, scattering a group of Beasts that had come too close to the beam of light, but they regrouped and charged again. "They're too slow."
Mercury zoomed past them, two swords of white-hot stone carving into the horde. "They take years to make an orbit. They're not going to get here in time!"
Venus swept her hands through the void, warding off the Beasts with waves of heat and sulfuric acid. "I can't be everywhere at once! Mercury, I need you to..."
Before she could finish the thought, a stream of insectoid Flare Beasts slipped past her. The last beam of light vanished.
Earth felt a chill run through his bones as his home planet went dark. The temperature was falling fast.
"Earth! Are you okay? Earth!"
Earth closed his eyes and tried to focus. He needed energy. But he wasn't limited to only solar power. His focus turned inwards, deep underground, in the mines and shelters of his home. On the embattled planet, emergency generators sprang to life. Oil, gas, and geothermal power, releasing energy he first absorbed a million years ago.
Earth opened his eyes. "I'm not out of the fight yet!"
Right on cue, a massive stone hurtled out of the darkness, punching a hole in the swarm of Beasts.
"Good, because we're just getting started!" said a new voice.
Earth eagerly turned to see the speaker. "Jupiter!"
Jupiter's astral form loomed large behind them, his gravitational slingshot whirling as he threw another asteroid.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Better late than never," said Mars.
More asteroids hurtled in as Saturn joined the fray as well. For sheer gravitational strength, nobody could beat a gas giant.
"Give it up, Sol! You can't beat all of us together!"
"DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN WIN?" Sol's voice echoed through space. "FOOLS! IF YOU DESTROY ME, YOU WILL PLUNGE THE SOLAR SYSTEM INTO DARKNESS. YOU WILL ONLY DESTROY YOURSELVES!"
Mercury paused in his flight. "That... That can't be right."
Earth frowned. "He might be telling the truth. Ultimately, we all rely on the sun for energy."
Jupiter rolled his eyes. "I'm literally pulling asteroids out of orbit with my magic gravity powers, and you're worried about thermodynamics?"
Earth shook his head. "We champions might use mystic Sunfire instead of photons, but the rules are the same. We need power."
"That's messed up!" shouted Mercury. "How are we supposed to win if we can't fight him directly?"
Venus clenched her fists and cloud swirled around her. "Sol's going to keep sending out his Beasts until we die, or he does. We can't let him live."
"WELL? WILL YOU DESTROY YOURSELVES TO STOP ME?"
Earth closed his eyes again. He couldn't give up. He was the cradle of civilization, the home of countless scientists and inventors. If anyone was going to find a solution, it was going to be him. Now, how did you survive the death of a star?
Inspiration struck, and he opened his eyes. "This might sound a bit crazy, but..." He turned to the largest planet in the group. "Jupiter, didn't they call your planet a 'failed star?'" | "Fission.... Blast!"
A bright wave shoots across the plains, hitting an oversized boulder. The boulder shatters into a million pieces with a deafening blast, sending the figures behind it scurrying for safety.
Mercury, a short and stoutly guy, screams at the girl next to him, wrapped in a bubble of sulfuric acid, Venus. "Where are the others? We can barely hold him off!"
They find a temporary protection behind some trees. Both of them are panting heavily. Mercury takes a peek from his hiding place, to see the glowing figure of Sun slowly walking towards them. The fire around Sun burns brightly, consuming everything around him.
Mercury ducks behind the cover, trying to ignore his heart that is beating wildly. He grabs Venus, shaking her. A few geysers erupt from Venus' skin, something that she does when annoyed. She rolls her eyes at Mercury. "Can you don't be so panicky? She's here."
A flash of lighting erupts above Mercury. Mercury turns to see a red-head floating in the air, her hair fluttering wildly in the wind. Two others are standing not far from her. A guy dressed in a red jacket and cap, and a girl with more piercings than she should. Jupiter, Mars and Saturn. Mercury let out a cheer at the sight of them. Backup is finally here.
"Sun!" Jupiter screams out, her voice still clearly audible despite the strong winds. "I know it's not you who's doing this! Please let us help you calm down-"
"Fission Blast!" Another bright ray wave shakes the air, going straight towards the three new champions. They effortlessly dodge it, before flinging themselves at Sun.
"If you're not gonna listen, guess we'll have to use force then!" Jupiter screams, as streaks of lighting rain down on Sun. Mercury watches in awe as the three of them engage Sun in a intense combat. Saturn tries to lock Sun in with her Ring Traps, while Jupiter and Mars throw everything that they got towards Sun. Bright flashes and explosion shake the air.
Mercury turns towards Venus, who is drawing circles on the dirt. "Aren't we gonna help them?"
Venus looks at him with her signature bored eyes and shrugs. "Nah, I don't think it makes any difference anyway."
She takes a step to her right as soon as she finished her sentence, and Mars crashes down on the spot she stood earlier. His face is covered in burns and scratches, and blood is trickling down is forehead. He coughs a few time, before realizing that Mercury and Venus are staring at him.
"Ah hey, you two," he forces a grin, though it is obvious that he is clearly in pain. "Can you please call the rest please? Think we may need all the champions to have a chance at subduing sun."
Another flash fills the sky, and Mercury sees two figure falling towards the ground.
Mars shoots the both of them another look. "Now would be a good time."
---------
/r/dori_tales | |
[WP] Every planet in our solar system has a "champion" being that takes on the attributes of the planet itself. The "champion" from the sun has created an army to destroy the planets and the 8 (or 9) champions must save the solar system. | The heart of the sun is one full of pride. Naturally, the worlds revolve around it.
"Men!" Helios yells, his voice stretching across the cosmos. "Women, servants, and Knights of the Sun." He looks forward, to see an endless march of warriors, prepared for death. His left-hand runs through the tendrils of thick light he has for hair, and he smiles.
"I pray you all know why you're here; the affront to our purpose has arisen." A thunderous applause erupts from the crowd, with slurs amidst the yelling. "Mother has butchered our meaning. Thrown it into the void, like we weren't the reason life blooms on her. Is it wrong for us to be hurt?" A unanimous 'no' roars into existence.
"No!" Helios screams in return, a few drops of sunlight flicking out from his lips. "They forget why we exist! All Nine of them do! So what must we do?"
"Fight!" Cries the crowd, a strain of intention gripping their throats.
Helios frowns, his face turning to a furrow. "We make them remember why they need me." The crowd resumes its bellows, enthralled by their Champion.
"I ask all of you the greatest of deeds today. This will be the longest night." The voices simmer down. They fade, slowly, before Helios speaks again.
"I command you all, my Light Brigade, for sacrifice."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bitter cold bite at the feet of Mother, as she floats in the void above Earth.
She looks down at her home, and a soft smile blooms on her face. A bastion of creation, the entire planet is coated with an industrial layer. For years, Earth has been a utopia, were all Humans flourish under its metal roof, where the sun is no longer needed.
The chill returns to Mothers core, and she shudders. High above Earth the sharp cold rips into her. Pain has become her best friend, and agony is something she will grow accustom too. She turns to try and see her old friend, Red, but she already knows his fate.
High above Mars, the body of a colossus floats. The core of the planet has been frozen solid, and Reds heart ran still with it. Her eyes move past him to the others, but all she see's are friends that have met the same fate.
Another tear of cold punctures her, as her body teeters on the edge of death. She should have long ago, but as long as Earth lives, so will Mother. Her neck creeks as she turns it again, this time, back towards the remnants of the Sun.
Where it once was, so bright and magnificent lies nothing, but one creature. Hate ruptures in her heart, as she stares down the monster that caused The Sun to kill itself.
Helios is floating in the void, one hand wrapped around a body that does not exist, and another above himself, holding a hand which did not exist, as he tango's by himself in the darkness he has made.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff. | "Fission.... Blast!"
A bright wave shoots across the plains, hitting an oversized boulder. The boulder shatters into a million pieces with a deafening blast, sending the figures behind it scurrying for safety.
Mercury, a short and stoutly guy, screams at the girl next to him, wrapped in a bubble of sulfuric acid, Venus. "Where are the others? We can barely hold him off!"
They find a temporary protection behind some trees. Both of them are panting heavily. Mercury takes a peek from his hiding place, to see the glowing figure of Sun slowly walking towards them. The fire around Sun burns brightly, consuming everything around him.
Mercury ducks behind the cover, trying to ignore his heart that is beating wildly. He grabs Venus, shaking her. A few geysers erupt from Venus' skin, something that she does when annoyed. She rolls her eyes at Mercury. "Can you don't be so panicky? She's here."
A flash of lighting erupts above Mercury. Mercury turns to see a red-head floating in the air, her hair fluttering wildly in the wind. Two others are standing not far from her. A guy dressed in a red jacket and cap, and a girl with more piercings than she should. Jupiter, Mars and Saturn. Mercury let out a cheer at the sight of them. Backup is finally here.
"Sun!" Jupiter screams out, her voice still clearly audible despite the strong winds. "I know it's not you who's doing this! Please let us help you calm down-"
"Fission Blast!" Another bright ray wave shakes the air, going straight towards the three new champions. They effortlessly dodge it, before flinging themselves at Sun.
"If you're not gonna listen, guess we'll have to use force then!" Jupiter screams, as streaks of lighting rain down on Sun. Mercury watches in awe as the three of them engage Sun in a intense combat. Saturn tries to lock Sun in with her Ring Traps, while Jupiter and Mars throw everything that they got towards Sun. Bright flashes and explosion shake the air.
Mercury turns towards Venus, who is drawing circles on the dirt. "Aren't we gonna help them?"
Venus looks at him with her signature bored eyes and shrugs. "Nah, I don't think it makes any difference anyway."
She takes a step to her right as soon as she finished her sentence, and Mars crashes down on the spot she stood earlier. His face is covered in burns and scratches, and blood is trickling down is forehead. He coughs a few time, before realizing that Mercury and Venus are staring at him.
"Ah hey, you two," he forces a grin, though it is obvious that he is clearly in pain. "Can you please call the rest please? Think we may need all the champions to have a chance at subduing sun."
Another flash fills the sky, and Mercury sees two figure falling towards the ground.
Mars shoots the both of them another look. "Now would be a good time."
---------
/r/dori_tales | |
[WP] You have reincarnated in world where there are heroes, dragons and demons and you are villager number 231. | My eyes open. I’m not dead.
"Welcome back," a soothing voice announces. I sit up and look around.
I'm wearing a white gown. I'm in a white room on a white bed.
"What the hell?" I say sitting up. I look around expecting to see the woman whose voice I'm hearing. "Is this heaven or the hospital?"
"The staff of Purgatorium wishes you a brief but comfortable stay," she continues.
The sound is clearly coming from a loudspeaker in the ceiling. Guess that answers that.
"Please review the assignment card on the table at your earliest convenience. Once you are ready, please proceed down the hall for processing and reintegration—"
Not heaven. Crap, did I seriously pick the wrong freaking religion for the eighth time?!?!
"After receiving your next assignment and upon completion of your paperwork you will be transferred immediately from Purgatorium to your new life on Earth. Flourish and thrive in the next!"
I pinch myself multiple times. Not a dream either. I stand up, stretch my arms and take a deep breath. Body is in pretty good shape this time around! Not bad, not bad at all.
The door from my room opens into a large white hallway with ridiculously high ceilings. The hallway opens up into a huge hall bustling with voices. Others in white gowns walk past me. Sprinkled among us white-gowned-folk are well groomed individuals wearing dark business suits and sunglasses.
As I enter the large hall, I see signs pointing to various lines. There are dozens of counters manned the dark suits and white gowned people in queues everywhere.
A familiar woman's voice sounds over the loudspeaker, "Welcome to Purgatorium. If you have just arrived in the Great Hall, please proceed to the nearest self-service kiosk to pick up your new life assignment. The kiosks can be found throughout the Hall. All other inquiries can be directed to the service agents. Flourish and thrive in the next!"
I shrug and head towards the nearest kiosk. There are a few white gowns ahead of me.
"Yessssssssss!!!!" says the man currently at the kiosk. He fist pumps and starts jumping up and down, "Dra-GON, Dra-motherfreakin-GON!!!" He proceeds to high-five each of us in line. He stops at me and looks me in the eyes, "Buddy, I've been Pharaoh, I've been Czar, I've been a Calvin Klein model, I was even an Orca whale once. But if someone had told me I was gonna be a freaking FIRE-BREATHING dragon, I would’ve killed myself ten times straight so I could jump right to this!"
"May you flourish and thri—" I start.
"Listen," he grabs me by the shoulders, "I apologize. Right here, right now. I apologize. If I end up burning you or someone you love to a crisp, I'm am so, so sorry. I just play the role they give me friend. All-powerful fire dragon! Flourish and thrive right back at ya, Champ!"
And with a wink and a thumbs up, he heads off.
The next lady isn't thrilled. I hear someone mumble "Plague Demon" or something. I'm not sure what that is, but it doesn’t sound too bad.
Now it's my turn. I saunter up to the kiosk. My hands are sweaty but I'm feeling good. I push the big green button and mumble "hit me". The kiosk whirrs and percolates for a moment and then dispenses a small yellow card. I hold my breath and look at the card.
ASSIGNMENT: VILLAGER #231
Huh? I look back at the kiosk thinking there must be some mistake. I was told that I was overdue for a cool assignment what with all the previous lives I’d been dealt.
I push the green button again. This time the machine returns a loud and hostile buzz. I push it a third time. More buzzing now accompanied by blinking red lights.
The lady behind me huffs, "Excuse me? Could you hurry things along up there? We’ve got lives to get back to."
I wave her forward and look for the nearest service agent. A large, dark-suited man stands at ease nearby. I approach him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Agent?" I look at his badge. "Purgatory Agent 1071 is it? I wonder if you could help me. There must be some mistake."
I hold up my card. He takes it, inspects it briefly and hands it back. He speaks in a dull monotone. "You want line 43A. That’s the really long one over there. That's for peasants, plebes, villagers and the destitute. Straight ahead. Don’t get in 43B, they’ll add on the black plague if you go there."
A skinny fellow had sidles up next to me and nods. "Hi Agent", he interrupts, "Lines 1 and 2 are shorter than the others. Can I stand in one of those?"
The Agent frowns. "Those are VIP lines." He looks at the skinny man's card. "You aren't a VIP."
The Agent turns to me. "Neither are you."
"Excuse me," I say to the interrupting newcomer, "I’m almost finished here." I grimace and hold my card back up to Agent 1071. "So back to my problem. Surely this can't be right?"
Agent 1071 takes the card and examines it once more. "The card is authentic. See here? Holographic watermark. You can't forge that. Good day Villager 231. Flourish and thrive in the next!"
The skinny fellow smiles and puts his arm around me, "Hey what a coincidence! I'm Villager 232! Isn't this exciting? I think there's a good chance we might be best friends or maybe even brothers in the next!"
I sigh, remove his arm and cross mine. "Agent, I need speak to a manager now." | A dragon thudded across the picket fence as a winged demigod flew into the horizon steady on his tail. The dragon was grievously wounded but would not go down without a fight. He mustered all his strength and bellowed as he rained fire in his vicinity. Our hero was well prepared for this as he dodged the dragons attacks with unassuming grace. Meanwhile, the barn nearby was not so lucky to escape the dragon's wrath and caught fire quite easily. The hero dealt a fatal decisive blow to the dragon as it crashed into the tiled roof of the estate. The menace that had been plaguing the village was vanquished at last.
Dave was quite happy about the dragon being vanquished and everything. However, he was not as pleased with the fact that his entire property and by extension, his livelihood been utterly destroyed in the process. The beast had been dragged off to be cremated, the villagers were celebrating, the heroes had swooped off after briefly hanging around to be honored and adored and Dave had been economically ruined for the forseeable future.
Despite his anger, Dave was clueless as to how he could seek recourse. Defeated, he went in to join in the drunken revelries. In spite of being absolutely ordinary in every other way, there was something that was very odd about Dave. Whenever he passed out after having a drink too many he would have dreams, dreams that were more like memories, memories from a previous life that he seemed to have lived in some place called New Orleans. Tonight after he passed having drank too much as usual he had similar visions of past memories, visions of a flood which had destroyed his house, leaving him devastated. However, he remembered something else too. A man coming from a higher authority to inspect the damage and compensating him for his heavy losses.
Dave woke up the next day knowing exactly what he had to do. He was no hero but he had a quest to go on himself. He had no great powers or a strong lineage to speak of, however, his quest was no less important than the slaying of dragons or the vanquishment of demons. Far too long had the common villager borne the economic burden of these heroic battles. Dragons and demons, heroes and gods, their wars had nothing to do with him and yet he was the one left with the bill.
Dave would set out on a journey the very next day to the heart of the kingdom and see the king himself. For now, he had a new purpose in life. To lobby the king and obtain government backed property insurance for all his fellow countrymen. Dave was son of no god. Yet, he was determined to be a hero of the people in his own right. | |
[WP] You have reincarnated in world where there are heroes, dragons and demons and you are villager number 231. | I'm Villager number 231.
No, that's not actually my name. My given name in this world is Elric Sandgather, son of Wursal Sandgather. Before that I had a very different sort of title, but Villager number 231 is how I like to think of myself nowadays. There's some humor involved, so it's not all self-deprecating.
A majority of it is, but not *all* of it.
I live in a Village near the coastal walled city of Bicchiere. This is a strategically important location which boasts a port with the second largest standing population of Imperial soldiers within the human controlled territories of the Northern continent. If you happen to be rich or lucky enough to get a good long look on a map, my village will look like a tiny speck inland north-west of the massive and intricate blot of ink and detail undoubtedly sketching out the Cities, Guard stations, Dungeon entrances, and the Great Forests.
I'd like to tell you that the area has an interesting title of its very own, but as a frontier village, we don't technically have a name for this place. The Empire assigned us a number: Village 52, located near the natural sand deposit. Two generations aged, founded in the 12th Year of Emperor Rilanthian the 5th's reign of power, may he live on forever.
That arbitrary number 52 is another part of the humor for me, if you're wondering.
Most people in these parts don't find it very funny, or really even think about these things at all. Arguably, the main reason I do most comes from being reincarnated from a previous existence with a majority of my memories in-tact. Actually, I'd go so far give that particular reason a wide majority, followed by a complete absence of anyone reasonable to share my thoughts. Going about saying crazy things like "I remember a life from before I was born," well... that is a just a great way to end up burned at the stake.
Yes, that still happens.
Seriously, seriously.
This is a fantasy sort of world, not a Western-culture post-industrial society. The Empire makes the rules and has some draconian policies, with some actual dragons to boot.
Nowadays, border towns on the Northern continent aren't exactly held with high regard. I guess at one point or another there were some cities further inland, but the decline of civilization seems to be in full swing, and though I haven't seen any sea people, I've most certainly seen evidence of tail-end of a Golden Age. The wilds are reclaiming the land around these parts, bit by bit, and the Empire can't be particularly bothered to do anything about it. Still, Village 52 is unique in that regard. They actually seem to bother for us because we make them money.
*"ATTACK! We're under attack!"*
Ah, there it is. The shouts have just only begun and my ears are already hurting. Twenty something years of this, and it still hasn't gotten any better: The fantastic and familiar sound of ringing metal atop the two standing bell-towers in the center of town. It seems the first ones were apparently made of wood, but apparently that was rethought after they all burned down. Apparently though, no one thought this logic was worthwhile for the walls, or the houses for that matter. I'm smelling smoke.
Hmm... A lot of smoke.
See, it's not just in the fact that the village still standing and populated (although that is unique in the greater scheme of things) it's that we actually have a rather specific purpose, outside of being on the border of the Empire. There's a rather nice sand deposit, of rather nice sand about two leagues in every direction. A material that happens to be very useful for things, such as glass. Thus the unusual family name.
*"Monsters, Monsters!"* The Town Guard is rallying down the road. I can hear them, the clatter of armor and weapons is all but unmistakable. *"Monsters at the Northern gates! They're chasing the trader's caravan! Come'on men! Lets give em' a taste of fury!"* If I had it in me to get up and look out the window, I know I would see the familiar sight of adventurers and warrior types, hired as mercenaries. A few swords and spears, bows, maybe even a few staffs with the healers and Wizards. *"To battle!"*
Hear that? That's the reason most towns don't have a high success rate in this territory to begin with. If literacy, sanitation, and intelligence of the local populations weren't already at all time lows, average life expectancy isn't exactly balancing things out. If anything it's the complete opposite. It's not like the Southern continent, where mankind is so over-saturated it's much too busy fighting itself to be concerned with the monsters and creatures roaming the wilds. Up here, humans aren't exactly in control of the land.
*"For the Empire!"*
Ah, the shouts of on-coming battle. Men and women trained and honed in their skills, ready for combat at a moment's notice. Each and every single one of them with stories and legends and lore aplenty. I suppose it sounds interesting, doesn't it?
Fighting monsters with your comrades, saving the town for coin and prestige? It's a fantasy world after all: there are ancient treasures, ruins with gold and legendary weapons, giant beasts and magic artifacts of impossible power. Why am I laying in a shabby straw-bed by the window doing nothing, when I could be living the fantasy world dream? Well I'll tell you *Why*, exactly:
I'm Villager 231.
A random lucky soul that was reborn with memories of a past life- this is the start of a cliche story of power. Knowing what I know, you'd all but expect me to rise to fame and glory, to hone my talents at a young age and become a legend: but without a single exceptional skill, sub-par stats across the board and born into a family much too poor to waste time on a young child's delusions of grandiose heroic deeds, none of this has happened.
The closest effort I made was when I turned twelve in this life, I took all the money I'd save to pay for the Empire's Assessment test and the Guild hall. A magical device read my blood and measured my strengths. I still have the folded parchment of hidden under the floor-board to prove it, odd texts and numbers listing the obvious to anyone: If I picked up a sword and tried to take on the monsters outside the gate, I'd be dead in seconds.
Really, I guess I should have already expected this from my previous life. Anyone who has died once will already know the obvious: Life's not fair.
I'm weak, and there's not much I can do about it. Maybe if I was able to slay monsters I might be able to reap the reward of whatever hidden leveling system I suspect exists behind the scenes, but I doubt I'd make it very far. I'm starting from way too low on the scale, I'd probably die taking on a common-slime, and I know it well.
I'm the peon that dies in the cut-scenes when demonic creatures rip from the void before the heroes swoop in to save the day. I'm the random person who doesn't get away when monsters invade the town in the ten second clip of carnage to set the genre's tone, or the person who meets the main character only to meet a tragic end in the same episode. The signs are all there: Heck, just the other day a Dungeon safe-zone in the region was destroyed, and a massive burst of Green-Fire lit up the sky above the Great Forest. If that's not a clear signal the Fantasy story-line elements are coalescing nearby, I don't know what is.
Which is exactly why I'm not going outside. Why I've taken my extra shifts to fund a journey South, to where Mankind mostly has control of things beyond the occasional dungeon or rogue sea-monster. I've got a bag packed with a one-way caravan ticket out of the Village towards Bicchiere port tomorrow morning. I've perfected my smithing and trade skills as best I could. The life of a peaceful NPC is a humble one, but it's a proven routine. I might be random villager 231, but I'm not about to die like it.
*"The Gates have been breached! The monsters! They've broken through!"*
The guard will clean that up. Not a problem.
*"Fire! The flames are spreading! Fire! Fire!"*
There are mages that specialize in water magic. The Glass Factory hires several of them. I'm not concerned, they'll deal with it.
*"THE FACTORY IS IN RUINS! MONSTERS! THERE ARE MONSTERS!"*
That's happened before, I'm not worried.
*"THE ARMORY IS ABLAZE!"*
That's also happened. It's a Border town, no need to be alarmed.
*"LIGHT HAVE MERCY! EVEN THE BELL-TOWERS ARE ON FIRE!"*
Okay, that's new, but I'm still located on the Southern side of town, the fire won't make it to me any time soon. The monsters will have to make it through the garrison of Empire troops stationed here.
*"OH GODS, HAVE MERCY! THE MONSTERS ARE TOO STRONG!* ***AGGGG-"***
*"MONSTERS! THEY'VE MADE IT OVER THROUGH THE SOUTHERN WALL!"*
God damn it all. | A dragon thudded across the picket fence as a winged demigod flew into the horizon steady on his tail. The dragon was grievously wounded but would not go down without a fight. He mustered all his strength and bellowed as he rained fire in his vicinity. Our hero was well prepared for this as he dodged the dragons attacks with unassuming grace. Meanwhile, the barn nearby was not so lucky to escape the dragon's wrath and caught fire quite easily. The hero dealt a fatal decisive blow to the dragon as it crashed into the tiled roof of the estate. The menace that had been plaguing the village was vanquished at last.
Dave was quite happy about the dragon being vanquished and everything. However, he was not as pleased with the fact that his entire property and by extension, his livelihood been utterly destroyed in the process. The beast had been dragged off to be cremated, the villagers were celebrating, the heroes had swooped off after briefly hanging around to be honored and adored and Dave had been economically ruined for the forseeable future.
Despite his anger, Dave was clueless as to how he could seek recourse. Defeated, he went in to join in the drunken revelries. In spite of being absolutely ordinary in every other way, there was something that was very odd about Dave. Whenever he passed out after having a drink too many he would have dreams, dreams that were more like memories, memories from a previous life that he seemed to have lived in some place called New Orleans. Tonight after he passed having drank too much as usual he had similar visions of past memories, visions of a flood which had destroyed his house, leaving him devastated. However, he remembered something else too. A man coming from a higher authority to inspect the damage and compensating him for his heavy losses.
Dave woke up the next day knowing exactly what he had to do. He was no hero but he had a quest to go on himself. He had no great powers or a strong lineage to speak of, however, his quest was no less important than the slaying of dragons or the vanquishment of demons. Far too long had the common villager borne the economic burden of these heroic battles. Dragons and demons, heroes and gods, their wars had nothing to do with him and yet he was the one left with the bill.
Dave would set out on a journey the very next day to the heart of the kingdom and see the king himself. For now, he had a new purpose in life. To lobby the king and obtain government backed property insurance for all his fellow countrymen. Dave was son of no god. Yet, he was determined to be a hero of the people in his own right. | |
[WP] You have reincarnated in world where there are heroes, dragons and demons and you are villager number 231. | I'm Villager number 231.
No, that's not actually my name. My given name in this world is Elric Sandgather, son of Wursal Sandgather. Before that I had a very different sort of title, but Villager number 231 is how I like to think of myself nowadays. There's some humor involved, so it's not all self-deprecating.
A majority of it is, but not *all* of it.
I live in a Village near the coastal walled city of Bicchiere. This is a strategically important location which boasts a port with the second largest standing population of Imperial soldiers within the human controlled territories of the Northern continent. If you happen to be rich or lucky enough to get a good long look on a map, my village will look like a tiny speck inland north-west of the massive and intricate blot of ink and detail undoubtedly sketching out the Cities, Guard stations, Dungeon entrances, and the Great Forests.
I'd like to tell you that the area has an interesting title of its very own, but as a frontier village, we don't technically have a name for this place. The Empire assigned us a number: Village 52, located near the natural sand deposit. Two generations aged, founded in the 12th Year of Emperor Rilanthian the 5th's reign of power, may he live on forever.
That arbitrary number 52 is another part of the humor for me, if you're wondering.
Most people in these parts don't find it very funny, or really even think about these things at all. Arguably, the main reason I do most comes from being reincarnated from a previous existence with a majority of my memories in-tact. Actually, I'd go so far give that particular reason a wide majority, followed by a complete absence of anyone reasonable to share my thoughts. Going about saying crazy things like "I remember a life from before I was born," well... that is a just a great way to end up burned at the stake.
Yes, that still happens.
Seriously, seriously.
This is a fantasy sort of world, not a Western-culture post-industrial society. The Empire makes the rules and has some draconian policies, with some actual dragons to boot.
Nowadays, border towns on the Northern continent aren't exactly held with high regard. I guess at one point or another there were some cities further inland, but the decline of civilization seems to be in full swing, and though I haven't seen any sea people, I've most certainly seen evidence of tail-end of a Golden Age. The wilds are reclaiming the land around these parts, bit by bit, and the Empire can't be particularly bothered to do anything about it. Still, Village 52 is unique in that regard. They actually seem to bother for us because we make them money.
*"ATTACK! We're under attack!"*
Ah, there it is. The shouts have just only begun and my ears are already hurting. Twenty something years of this, and it still hasn't gotten any better: The fantastic and familiar sound of ringing metal atop the two standing bell-towers in the center of town. It seems the first ones were apparently made of wood, but apparently that was rethought after they all burned down. Apparently though, no one thought this logic was worthwhile for the walls, or the houses for that matter. I'm smelling smoke.
Hmm... A lot of smoke.
See, it's not just in the fact that the village still standing and populated (although that is unique in the greater scheme of things) it's that we actually have a rather specific purpose, outside of being on the border of the Empire. There's a rather nice sand deposit, of rather nice sand about two leagues in every direction. A material that happens to be very useful for things, such as glass. Thus the unusual family name.
*"Monsters, Monsters!"* The Town Guard is rallying down the road. I can hear them, the clatter of armor and weapons is all but unmistakable. *"Monsters at the Northern gates! They're chasing the trader's caravan! Come'on men! Lets give em' a taste of fury!"* If I had it in me to get up and look out the window, I know I would see the familiar sight of adventurers and warrior types, hired as mercenaries. A few swords and spears, bows, maybe even a few staffs with the healers and Wizards. *"To battle!"*
Hear that? That's the reason most towns don't have a high success rate in this territory to begin with. If literacy, sanitation, and intelligence of the local populations weren't already at all time lows, average life expectancy isn't exactly balancing things out. If anything it's the complete opposite. It's not like the Southern continent, where mankind is so over-saturated it's much too busy fighting itself to be concerned with the monsters and creatures roaming the wilds. Up here, humans aren't exactly in control of the land.
*"For the Empire!"*
Ah, the shouts of on-coming battle. Men and women trained and honed in their skills, ready for combat at a moment's notice. Each and every single one of them with stories and legends and lore aplenty. I suppose it sounds interesting, doesn't it?
Fighting monsters with your comrades, saving the town for coin and prestige? It's a fantasy world after all: there are ancient treasures, ruins with gold and legendary weapons, giant beasts and magic artifacts of impossible power. Why am I laying in a shabby straw-bed by the window doing nothing, when I could be living the fantasy world dream? Well I'll tell you *Why*, exactly:
I'm Villager 231.
A random lucky soul that was reborn with memories of a past life- this is the start of a cliche story of power. Knowing what I know, you'd all but expect me to rise to fame and glory, to hone my talents at a young age and become a legend: but without a single exceptional skill, sub-par stats across the board and born into a family much too poor to waste time on a young child's delusions of grandiose heroic deeds, none of this has happened.
The closest effort I made was when I turned twelve in this life, I took all the money I'd save to pay for the Empire's Assessment test and the Guild hall. A magical device read my blood and measured my strengths. I still have the folded parchment of hidden under the floor-board to prove it, odd texts and numbers listing the obvious to anyone: If I picked up a sword and tried to take on the monsters outside the gate, I'd be dead in seconds.
Really, I guess I should have already expected this from my previous life. Anyone who has died once will already know the obvious: Life's not fair.
I'm weak, and there's not much I can do about it. Maybe if I was able to slay monsters I might be able to reap the reward of whatever hidden leveling system I suspect exists behind the scenes, but I doubt I'd make it very far. I'm starting from way too low on the scale, I'd probably die taking on a common-slime, and I know it well.
I'm the peon that dies in the cut-scenes when demonic creatures rip from the void before the heroes swoop in to save the day. I'm the random person who doesn't get away when monsters invade the town in the ten second clip of carnage to set the genre's tone, or the person who meets the main character only to meet a tragic end in the same episode. The signs are all there: Heck, just the other day a Dungeon safe-zone in the region was destroyed, and a massive burst of Green-Fire lit up the sky above the Great Forest. If that's not a clear signal the Fantasy story-line elements are coalescing nearby, I don't know what is.
Which is exactly why I'm not going outside. Why I've taken my extra shifts to fund a journey South, to where Mankind mostly has control of things beyond the occasional dungeon or rogue sea-monster. I've got a bag packed with a one-way caravan ticket out of the Village towards Bicchiere port tomorrow morning. I've perfected my smithing and trade skills as best I could. The life of a peaceful NPC is a humble one, but it's a proven routine. I might be random villager 231, but I'm not about to die like it.
*"The Gates have been breached! The monsters! They've broken through!"*
The guard will clean that up. Not a problem.
*"Fire! The flames are spreading! Fire! Fire!"*
There are mages that specialize in water magic. The Glass Factory hires several of them. I'm not concerned, they'll deal with it.
*"THE FACTORY IS IN RUINS! MONSTERS! THERE ARE MONSTERS!"*
That's happened before, I'm not worried.
*"THE ARMORY IS ABLAZE!"*
That's also happened. It's a Border town, no need to be alarmed.
*"LIGHT HAVE MERCY! EVEN THE BELL-TOWERS ARE ON FIRE!"*
Okay, that's new, but I'm still located on the Southern side of town, the fire won't make it to me any time soon. The monsters will have to make it through the garrison of Empire troops stationed here.
*"OH GODS, HAVE MERCY! THE MONSTERS ARE TOO STRONG!* ***AGGGG-"***
*"MONSTERS! THEY'VE MADE IT OVER THROUGH THE SOUTHERN WALL!"*
God damn it all. | "Ahhh the good old days."
_Clink! Clink!_
"I remember the first dragon I slew. Its breath, hotter than the sun, scorching my armor as I blocked the fiery blast with my shield. And just when he sputtered out his last fireball, I batted it back with my sword, stunning him long enough to shove my blade through his eye. Ha! Talk about a taste of your own medicine!"
_Clink! Clink!_
"And I remember storming the wizard's tower, cleaving his demonic thralls. Floor by floor, I dodged his fireballs, his ice shards, his lightning bolts, all the while dispatching every summon he threw at me. And when we got the to the top of the tower? Wham! Stabbed him in the gut and kicked him off the edge!"
_Clink! Clink!_
"And lo, the adventures could not hold a candle to the glory of the celebrations afterward! The firelight of whatever tavern we could find after our victories would sparkle and glisten off of our armor, wet with the ale we carelessly poured into our gullets! And oh, how the villagers would talk about us! We were heroes!"
_Clink! Clink!_
_Clink! Clink!_
_Hisssssss!_
"Anyway, thank you for listening to the ramblings of an old smith, all while you have an adventure to continue. That dragon won't slay itself! Ha ha!"
"..."
"..."
"... Here, take this sword, on me. I carried her on my hip for many adventures. On my honor, this blade can cut through troll fat, through serpent skin, through dragon scale. Trust me, I would know." | |
[WP] While at a black-tie dinner party you feel a light brush against the back of your hand. When you look, you see Death as he walks by and he says, "Don't worry, I'm not here for you...." | "Wait, was that death's touch, or a brush with death?" you shout. You hear a hollow rasping that you take for laughter, but death doesn't stop, or even glance back at you.
You look down at your hand. It is numb and tingly, but otherwise appears normal. You finish your drink and set it half on, half off the bistro table. It crashes to the ground and shatters. Ice cubes scatter across the floor.
You look back to where death was carefully picking his way across the ballroom, but you don't see him. You turn to look for an attendant, but before you find someone to help with the mess, you hear a stymied gasp and then a crash.
Turning towards the sound, you see a young lady in a tiara lying on the ground. A pool of blood slowly spreads away from the back of her head. A hush falls over the room. You hear walkie-talkies chirping, and then everyone is rushing everywhere.
"The president's daughter has fallen and hurt herself. Dial 999!" One of the many burly men standing at the outside edges of the party has produced a firearm and is heading towards the woman on the ground. She is right at your feet, and your involvement in this, although obviously unintentional, is extremely obvious.
[Do you **Run** or **Talk**?] | "Please, state what happened from the beginning, for the record," the Armed Cohyr instructed. "And be impartial if you can." It was looking over at its once-comrade through a thin energy shield.
The cell recorded its prisoner's story:
"The Local Galactic Summit began. Leaders and/or Acting Representatives of various empires, worlds, and nations had come for the sake of general negotiations, trade, familiarity, etc.
If you held significant military power to back up your own resource wealth, you likely had already arrived, if not someone standing in your place.
Several local Galivant leaders had already arrived, all representing their own individual groups. The recently appointed queen of the royals had arrived as wel-"
"Could you please call them by their official name for the sake of this record's application?"
The prisoner gritted his teeth and retorted. "No. The Federation had arrived, as well as the Cohyr. A few minor empires' leaders could be seen spotting the room, about the dozens of representatives from governments that only had control of one or two worlds each. You likely have that in your records. I don't know all of their names on memory right now."
-------
Sorry to interupt, dear reader, but I feel I should inform you about the Cohyr (Coh-Yer). They were one of several humoid alien races, with most standing about 7ft or 2m tall. The Cohyr were slightly ahead of the technological curve when it came to military bits and organization of civilian population centers (cities, towns, warehouses, etc.) There was a blurred line between the civilian population, the military/police population, and their political/governmental population. Their government could best be describe as socialist imperialist, with a series of AI that assisted with their constitution when it came to checks and balances.
-------
"The Cohyr had officially sent 2 representatives, though 3 could be assumed if you include myself. I guarantee you that the rest of the people there saw me as such, rather than representing my personal organization."
"Impartial, I said." snapped the captor, cautiously. "Please, continue."
The prisoner cleared his mind. He wondered if his captor was annoyed or just scared at this point. "I am a partner who works closely with the Cohyr government. This does not bode well for your higher ups. It is likely that I am seen as a pseudo representative of your people. I personally believe that I am, considering my high military rank." The prisoner looked up at his captor through the shield's glow. "This does not bode well for you or your peers, I suspect..."
The soldier shifted position during the pause. "Understood. Please, continue."
"One of the people I did notice was one of my mechanical partners from the past, often referred to as a failed experiment. You know who I'm talking about. He goes by Martyr now. That's a title, apparently. I know this because he brushed past me. I followed him, and we had a short conversation in our stroll. His application to the event was accepted. I asked him why he had come, and he said that he wasn't there for me. He was there for himself. I figured that security was already aware of him, and his deeds. He bid me farewell as he walked to one of the nearby representatives of smaller domains.
I couldn't attack him and break the neutrality of the event, so I left the event to call my small orbiting fleet. I informed them of the situation from my drop-ship's communicator, had them keep a sizable portion of our navy on standby, nearby, and re-entered. They were to inform and organize my personal fores, as well as the local Coryh Naval Units. I continued to further my own goals, as everyone else had come to do. Afterwards, a giant, local hive cluster warped in and assaulted the planet and it's moons, as well as the nearby fleets and escorts.
My fleets, as well as Coryh Reinforcements arrived to defend the event. A dozen royal ships arrived after a short time to reinforce the summit's defenses, as the latter representatives left the planet. The invaders eventually overran the defenses, and you know the rest. I am not directly responsible for the attack on the summit. My actions allowed for all representatives to leave the planet unharmed, if not psychologically tried." The prisoner leaned back after he finished speaking. "I believe this is the part where you ask me frivolous questions. Go on then."
| |
[WP] A male and female serial killer meet on a dating site, not knowing each other's dark intentions to murder their date. It gets awkward once they realize what the other is really doing. | Janet has a mathematically perfect ponytail. That's all he can focus on. And she's looking at his face, so they weren't lying, visker have teeth like sharks. She's always wanted a visker tooth necklace. Wear it out places, people will assume it's a shark tooth and she's some California actress who stopped being pretty enough for an agent to keep her on.
If they were right about his teeth, they're probably right about his lungs.
"Brandon?"
"Yes. Janet, right?"
She smiles. She's excited about something, she can put the thrill of the hunt in her mouth and aim its brightness at his throat. She's seen men through their last hour with a smile on their face all the way up to their sedation. And Brandon's smiling too, but his smile is more anxious than anticipation. He wants to ruin her hair. Destroy the perfection of it. There's a brick on his chest and the morphine isn't lifting it anymore.
"So your profile says you're a doctor?" *Your profile says you're a liar, they don't let your kind be doctors.*
"I'm a surgeon, I work exclusively with aliens, they wouldn't qualify me to work on humans."
"That makes sense." Another smile. He's an insect and she's the shoe towering over him.
"Something like qualifying a chimpanzee to take out an appendix," he shrugs, she laughs, he doesn't. "But on a lighter note, are you ready to go?"
When she nods, her perfect hair sways and bounces but it always falls back exactly where it was when she started. How does she do that? Women are an enigma. Brandon opens the door for her. Women are an enigma and he does not typically kill them because they are complicated but she's who he was able to find at a moment's notice, so she will have to do.
"Where are we going?" He said it was a surprise, online, which he said because the only type of person who would go to a surprise place with a stranger is the kind of person no one would realize is missing for weeks.
"It's a surprise."
"I love surprises." She can always talk him into going home with her when they're finished with whatever he planned. Men are easy to talk into bed, they're all after the same thing anyway.
Brandon kills teenagers because they're beautiful and easy to trick. Usually boys, because they're fearless. Fearless and easy to get into a car. Brandon kills boys who look like Jude. Brandon lets Jude curl up in his chest and grow and grow and grow until there isn't space for anything else in his ribcage and then he finds a boy to talk into the car and names it Jude and kills it.
And now Jude is stretching his skin apart with every breath. He couldn't find a copy quickly enough so she will have to do until he can.
He cracks his knuckles and she watches his bones bend under the pressure. They were right about visker teeth, they were right about visker bones. His lungs should let her breathe underwater. Her entire body still hurts from the liver she took from that Mormon grad student but she can put up with some pain long enough to give herself lungs that can breathe underwater, brand new sparkling clean untouched liver and visker lungs.
Keep this up, she'll be invincible.
Brandon drives them to an apartment building and Janet's first thought, standing outside of it, is that he probably intends to rape her. It makes sense in context, man asks a woman to go on a surprise adventure with him, doesn't give a last name, the news says visker lay eggs in your stomach but Janet knows how visker reproduction works and it's not like that. Prawns maybe, not visker. She gets this milky smooth feeling in her spine like she should be afraid, but it just translates to excitement.
Besides, what's the fundamental difference between fear and excitement anyway? A bit of heart going *Thump Thump Thump* and a bit of feet moving faster and a bit of sweaty palms.
There's sweat on her palms. There's a brick laying on his chest, he is made out of anxiety. Jude needs to die. He needs to kill Jude so he can focus on anything at all that isn't killing Jude.
And Janet is so, so excited.
God. She practically rushes him into the building. He's not even pretending to have a plan anymore, he'll lead her to the basement unit that he knows no one lives in, the one he's been using for years because they can't fill its vacancy.
*they said they could hear voices in the walls / they said it felt haunted what were they even talking about / they said it was freezing at all hours they said they hated it they said they felt attacked*
She has a tranquilizer. She's watched men smile all the way up to their deaths. These date-kills are her favorites, so clean, so easy. She'll carry his limp visker body back up the stairs to his car and drive him into her clinic, she'll get a shiny new-
There's blood on the wall, a curved smear between a closet door and the hallway. Her hand goes into her pocket, involuntarily, wraps around her keys. Strange what habits girls pick up, strange which of them stick with them even after they've killed four or eleven men. The other hand wraps around the syringe.
Both of them go for it at the same time.
There's sweat on her palms and he can feel her hand slipping on his skin. Visker are smoother than humans, less hair means less traction, but even with her fumbling grip he doesn't want her pressure on his throat. He is not significantly stronger than her, another reason to kill teenagers, any grown man can beat a teenager in a fistfight. But he knows a syringe and he knows how to twist his body so it breaks off where it stuck.
A dribble of blood, him locked against the wall by his neck, her elbow on one end and her hands on the other. Janet's eyes flick back and forth between the stain on the wall and the plastic on the floor. Were it concrete and not carpet, he would step on it.
He swallows. Earth reverberates beneath him. Jude is in his chest, growing, growing. Jude is a ball of lead in his chest and he needs to release.
"Wait." But to do that he has to get out of this alive. "What if we..."
"Yes?"
"Well." He's made of anxiety and plague. Janet is still smiling, always smiling, her hand wraps around his throat, but the touch is gentle now.
"You know how to operate on visker without killing them."
"I do."
"I bet some patients of yours have *gorgeous* lungs." | "Tell me about your interests."
"Oh, you know, I like to collect knives. I have about 40 total. Aside from that I also like...science." He smiled devilishly.
"What kind of science?"
"Just some chemistry. Different chemicals and their affects on the human body, and stuff like that."
"What, like chloroform?"
"God no, that stuff is just too ineffective. You would have to hold a rag for like 10 minu..." His eyes widened as he realized what he was saying.
"I know, right? Why did that get to be the poster boy of the chemical world? It would be faster to just strangle somebody out-right!" She replied enthusiastically. *What what?* He thought. He looked at her inquisitively.
"Were you planning on murdering me?" He asked.
"N-n...no,' she said unconvincingly. "Were you planning on murdering me?"
"For sure."
"Oh. Well then yes, I was totally going to kill you."
They could not meet each other's eyes. The booth was filled with an awkward air.
"If it makes you feel any better, I only kill the prettiest girls."
"Yeah that doesn't help," she replied. He looked disappointed.
"Hey did you ever watch Dexter?"
"No."
"Oh...," he looked down dejectedly, "well, there was a situation sort of like this, where Dexter falls in love with somebody he was about to kill."
"Oh. I guess this is kind of like that."
"Yeah."
"Except I wasn't going to end up on your killing table."
"Wait, I thought you didn't see Dexter?"
"I haven't."
"Oh...It's just that, that's like, exactly how it goes down. He has her on his killing table or whatever and then they bang."
"I just meant it in general. I don't know if you have a killing table."
"I don't."
There was an awkward silence.
"I'm not opposed to bangin, though."
"What?"
"Like in the show, you know how I said that they-"
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Are you going to come back?"
"No."
"Well it was good seeing you."
"Uh huh."
*The one that got away,* he thought as he watched her walk away.
___
/r/Periapoapsis. I tried to focus on the awkward part. | |
[WP] A male and female serial killer meet on a dating site, not knowing each other's dark intentions to murder their date. It gets awkward once they realize what the other is really doing. | Janet has a mathematically perfect ponytail. That's all he can focus on. And she's looking at his face, so they weren't lying, visker have teeth like sharks. She's always wanted a visker tooth necklace. Wear it out places, people will assume it's a shark tooth and she's some California actress who stopped being pretty enough for an agent to keep her on.
If they were right about his teeth, they're probably right about his lungs.
"Brandon?"
"Yes. Janet, right?"
She smiles. She's excited about something, she can put the thrill of the hunt in her mouth and aim its brightness at his throat. She's seen men through their last hour with a smile on their face all the way up to their sedation. And Brandon's smiling too, but his smile is more anxious than anticipation. He wants to ruin her hair. Destroy the perfection of it. There's a brick on his chest and the morphine isn't lifting it anymore.
"So your profile says you're a doctor?" *Your profile says you're a liar, they don't let your kind be doctors.*
"I'm a surgeon, I work exclusively with aliens, they wouldn't qualify me to work on humans."
"That makes sense." Another smile. He's an insect and she's the shoe towering over him.
"Something like qualifying a chimpanzee to take out an appendix," he shrugs, she laughs, he doesn't. "But on a lighter note, are you ready to go?"
When she nods, her perfect hair sways and bounces but it always falls back exactly where it was when she started. How does she do that? Women are an enigma. Brandon opens the door for her. Women are an enigma and he does not typically kill them because they are complicated but she's who he was able to find at a moment's notice, so she will have to do.
"Where are we going?" He said it was a surprise, online, which he said because the only type of person who would go to a surprise place with a stranger is the kind of person no one would realize is missing for weeks.
"It's a surprise."
"I love surprises." She can always talk him into going home with her when they're finished with whatever he planned. Men are easy to talk into bed, they're all after the same thing anyway.
Brandon kills teenagers because they're beautiful and easy to trick. Usually boys, because they're fearless. Fearless and easy to get into a car. Brandon kills boys who look like Jude. Brandon lets Jude curl up in his chest and grow and grow and grow until there isn't space for anything else in his ribcage and then he finds a boy to talk into the car and names it Jude and kills it.
And now Jude is stretching his skin apart with every breath. He couldn't find a copy quickly enough so she will have to do until he can.
He cracks his knuckles and she watches his bones bend under the pressure. They were right about visker teeth, they were right about visker bones. His lungs should let her breathe underwater. Her entire body still hurts from the liver she took from that Mormon grad student but she can put up with some pain long enough to give herself lungs that can breathe underwater, brand new sparkling clean untouched liver and visker lungs.
Keep this up, she'll be invincible.
Brandon drives them to an apartment building and Janet's first thought, standing outside of it, is that he probably intends to rape her. It makes sense in context, man asks a woman to go on a surprise adventure with him, doesn't give a last name, the news says visker lay eggs in your stomach but Janet knows how visker reproduction works and it's not like that. Prawns maybe, not visker. She gets this milky smooth feeling in her spine like she should be afraid, but it just translates to excitement.
Besides, what's the fundamental difference between fear and excitement anyway? A bit of heart going *Thump Thump Thump* and a bit of feet moving faster and a bit of sweaty palms.
There's sweat on her palms. There's a brick laying on his chest, he is made out of anxiety. Jude needs to die. He needs to kill Jude so he can focus on anything at all that isn't killing Jude.
And Janet is so, so excited.
God. She practically rushes him into the building. He's not even pretending to have a plan anymore, he'll lead her to the basement unit that he knows no one lives in, the one he's been using for years because they can't fill its vacancy.
*they said they could hear voices in the walls / they said it felt haunted what were they even talking about / they said it was freezing at all hours they said they hated it they said they felt attacked*
She has a tranquilizer. She's watched men smile all the way up to their deaths. These date-kills are her favorites, so clean, so easy. She'll carry his limp visker body back up the stairs to his car and drive him into her clinic, she'll get a shiny new-
There's blood on the wall, a curved smear between a closet door and the hallway. Her hand goes into her pocket, involuntarily, wraps around her keys. Strange what habits girls pick up, strange which of them stick with them even after they've killed four or eleven men. The other hand wraps around the syringe.
Both of them go for it at the same time.
There's sweat on her palms and he can feel her hand slipping on his skin. Visker are smoother than humans, less hair means less traction, but even with her fumbling grip he doesn't want her pressure on his throat. He is not significantly stronger than her, another reason to kill teenagers, any grown man can beat a teenager in a fistfight. But he knows a syringe and he knows how to twist his body so it breaks off where it stuck.
A dribble of blood, him locked against the wall by his neck, her elbow on one end and her hands on the other. Janet's eyes flick back and forth between the stain on the wall and the plastic on the floor. Were it concrete and not carpet, he would step on it.
He swallows. Earth reverberates beneath him. Jude is in his chest, growing, growing. Jude is a ball of lead in his chest and he needs to release.
"Wait." But to do that he has to get out of this alive. "What if we..."
"Yes?"
"Well." He's made of anxiety and plague. Janet is still smiling, always smiling, her hand wraps around his throat, but the touch is gentle now.
"You know how to operate on visker without killing them."
"I do."
"I bet some patients of yours have *gorgeous* lungs." | >>>Kyle SUPER liked you<<<
K: Hey. So you’re a selective vegetarian, huh?
S: Hi. Yeah, I don’t believe in the structure of slaughter plants. I only eat meat from animals I know where they come from. Most of the time I kill what I eat.
K: So like some sexy redneck chick that hunts game?
S: Kind of. Do you hunt?
K: I’ve been once or twice. But I have other tastes.
S: Lol okay city boy. So where would you take me for a date?
K: How about my place? I’ll even cook you up some vegetables from the farmer’s market.
S: Now you’re just making fun of my choices to not kill innocent animals in dirty environments. I’ll bring the protein. How about this Friday?
Sara smiled as she set up a date with Kyle for this Friday. Diving into his Tinder profile and checking his not very active Facebook, it seemed he didn’t have many people to tell about a tinder hookup. It might be two or three days before anyone thinks he will be missing. She studied his pictures and though not incredibly lean, she wouldn’t have too many issues removing the fat around the choice selections. It had been awhile since she filled up her freezer. Plugging in her phone for the night, Sara rolled over to go to sleep. Dreams of Kyle’s demise looming happily in her thoughts.
Kyle leaned back in his chair thinking about Sara. Not many women came over on the first date, and especially not alone. How many double dates he had to awkwardly sit through to get the girl unaccompanied was more than he could count. He also got stuck with the uglier first date ones too. Sara looked beautiful in her pictures. She didn’t look too lonely either. How long would her friends think to report her missing? Girls always talk about these things and it’s been a few close calls with detectives. Sometimes only getting a day without a nosy chick calling to check up. Kyle never keeps the bodies. That would be stupid, but he would like to. He would at least like to keep them while they still have body heat for Christ’s sake.
“So, Sara” Kyle smiled over his shoulder as he chopped the ridiculous amounts of vegetables he bought. “What did you bring for steak?” Kyle hoped that it was anything but venison. He hadn’t tried rabbit yet though.
Sara set down her canvas bag and looked around his place. She wondered if draining his blood in the bathtub or over the sink would be the best option. Him being bigger, it would have to be in the tub but getting him there….
”It’s from a unique animal, and very fresh. I hope you like it. Do you exercise?” Sara asked offhandedly.
“I try to but I’m not the most tone guy,” Kyle murmured more to himself. He always gets the girl on a date for being six foot but they always want tone and fit too. It angered him as he chopped the vegetables more sternly. She will not be someone he kept around.
“Ouch!” Kyle exclaimed as he sliced his finger.
Sara perked up at this and her eyes went towards his bleeding thumb. This was her opportunity! Bleeding him in the sink will have to do. Sara rushed towards him and grabbed his injured hand.
“You’re going to have to rinse this in the sink right now,” Sara exclaimed as she pulled Kyle towards the sink, picking up his cutting knife as he dropped it on the cutting board.
Her plan felt rushed, but she was eager and has been hungry for so long. “Uh, ok,” Kyle said stupidly. She didn’t fault him for his intelligence and his brain wasn’t what she was after. Sara flipped on the sink faucet and shoved his elbow forward into the water. She pushed his body closer to the edge of the sink and went to reach up with her left hand holding the knife. Aiming to cut his throat.
Kyle backed off instantly. “What are you doing?” He was confused but not frightened. This wasn’t his plan. This wasn’t how his prey normally acted. Was she trying to be cute and weird? His brow furrowed, feeling insulted even.
“Just lean over the sink,” Sara demanded as she looked at him holding the knife. Blood began to drip from his hand onto the tile floor and she didn’t want to sit around to baby him. She had a long night already: butchering, packaging, and cleaning up the mess.
“Were you just trying to cut my throat??” Kyle squawked in his anger. He hated being angry and she was starting to make him very upset. “Put down the knife!” He wanted to hurry up and strangle her. Was she trying to hurt him? How dare she even think she could touch him like that. No one hurts him and isn’t punished for it.
Sara could see Kyle getting visibly upset which made her irritated. Release of the stress hormone epinephrine always tainted the meat and here he was getting red in the face. She would eat it anyway, but it just wasn’t the quality she spent so much time selecting. “Just calm down Kyle. I was just putting the knife over on the counter beside you. Now come over here and stop bleeding on the floor please.” Sara beckoned for Kyle to come closer to her and to the sink, but didn’t put down the knife and Kyle noticed that.
It was a reasonable answer he thought. He also wanted just wanted to hurry up and hurt her now like she hurt him. She was like the other girls. Innocent, ignorant, honest. Her throat would look good with his blood covering it as it was dripping from his thumb. Kyle gave a fake smile and stepped closer just as Sara reflected the fake smile back at him. They both stopped and stared: recognizing intention in the smiles they gave to each other.
“You are really trying to kill me,” Kyle said in shock. He could recognize the smile he practiced so hard to achieve. Sara’s face fell.
“You want to kill me too.” She knew that smile he just gave her. It wasn’t the smile with good intention. It was her smile. Their masks fell away as their intentions became known and understood between each other. “Well this is great.”
Sara put the knife down on the counter but never stopped facing him. He was a predator just like her and though he hunted for different reasons, their end goals were the same. She didn’t want to eat that. She knew the meat of a predator was even more tainted than she could stand. It would be like cooking and eating herself.
Kyle’s anger and pain disappeared into admiration. Here was this creature who completely understood him and his want in life, and even respected him. He wasn’t going to be her dinner and she wasn’t going to be his prey. She was much stronger than any girl he’s ever met. She was like him. He loved her.
“I’m going to go. This was a waste of time,” Sara shut off the sink faucet and walked past him to the table to collect her bag. “You should get a bandage of something.”
“But Sara! Don’t leave me! You understand me!” Kyle cried in desperation as he turned to follow her. He forgot about his bleeding hand. Sara was his life. She could never make him angry. She was him.
“I’m not Sara. I’m not interested in whatever you had planned tonight either. Thanks for dinner Kyle but don’t talk to me again.” Sara firmly retorted back and walked towards his front door. It wasn’t even locked, was he that dumb? Did he want to be caught? What if one of his girls got away? They would have no trouble running out the door screaming through the neighborhood.
“And lock your stupid door next time you bring a girl over.”
Sara walked out and shut the door behind her. She didn’t know how many times he killed someone or what he did afterwards, but the word amateur seemed to ring in her head. What a terrible night and a waste of time. She looked at her phone as she walked towards her car and got in. Opening up the Tinder App as she started the engine, she became more positive. Kyle was certainly not the only man who will be willing to meet up tonight as his place. Sara smiled, put down her phone and shifted her car into reverse, backing out of his driveway.
| |
[WP] A male and female serial killer meet on a dating site, not knowing each other's dark intentions to murder their date. It gets awkward once they realize what the other is really doing. | Dalton was eagerly anticipating his next victim. He'd found her on Match.Com - much like most his other 'exploits' - and she seemed perfect for the bill: quirky, pretty and qualified. It was just the sort of woman he loved to find.
He dressed for the occasion; to kill, that was. A faux black suit, with a fake red tie and loafers to match. He looked like something out of a Bond movie, minus the superficial expense. Like hell was he staining real Armani with blood. Giving himself one last look in the mirror, he slicked his hair back and reached for the ornate knife resting on his bedside desk, tucking it into his inner pocket. Rolling up his sleeve, he checked to see the hidden gun up it was loaded and primed, before pushing the sleeve back down and easing out the creases. He was now ready.
He sauntered into the restaurant to find his victim ready and waiting. He appreciated the eagerness. She too was dressed superbly, in a suggestive red dress complimented by scarlet lipstick that outlined a serpentine smile. The restaurant was unnaturally silent, devoid of almost all life. In fact, Dalton noted the table had already been set, with a mouth-watering steak and champagne on his side of the table. Strangely, her side lacked any food and drink. He'd have appreciated the gesture more if he wasn't so intent on driving a knife through the woman's body.
Like an actor taking on a role, he quickly gave a smile to hide his surprise, giving a slight bow to the lady before taking his seat.
"My, Elise, you're even more beautiful than your profile had me believe."
"You flatter me so, Dalton," she chuckled mellifluously, brushing her blonde tresses back. "I hope you know you kept me waiting."
"Ah, my apologies. I was busy preparing for this occasion... but I see you already went to the trouble of laying the table."
"Yes, I'm a rather impatient person. Unfortunately, I finished my meal by the time you arrived. I figured you'd like the steak, so I went ahead and ordered it for you. I hear it's *killer*."
"You're too thoughtful." Dalton readied his fork and inspected the end, prodding it on his finger to check the sharpness. It seemed pointed enough to kill. He pushed the fork into the steak, watching its juices flow out and noting the smile spreading across Elise's lips as he did so. Just then, he felt something in his sleeve dislodge. With a clunk, the firearm he'd had hidden up there fell to the floor. Dalton quickly scrambled to pick it up, tucking it into his trouser pocket just in time to avoid Elise's gaze.
"What was that?" She inquired innocently.
"N-n-nothing - just a watch I keep up there. Blasted thing has been faulty since day one. Never should've trusted the traders in the City."
"Oh, I see." She chuckled shrilly, like a choking hyena, before coughing into her hand, clearly embarrassed. Dalton had never seen a faker laugh. Her expression suddenly hardened. "Anyway, the steak. *Do* try it."
Dalton furrowed his brows, finding her stark change in attitude indicative of either someone with mental issues or an ulterior motive. He'd better avoid the steak. Just to be sure.
"I would, my lady, but, you see, I just got back from a doctor's appointment. Bastard has had me on a dietary reset, and I can't eat or drink anything but water for the next 24 hours. I know, it's most uncouth of me to turn down what you bought, but I'd be willing to repay you."
Elise waved a dismissive hand, "Why, it's of no problem! Such happens. But do excuse me for a moment. I must visit the toilet." The blonde gave Dalton a wink, flashing an impish smile before departing from the room.
Dalton let out a long exhale as he watched her leave, leaning back into his chair and withdrawing the knife from his pocket. He twirled it in his hand for a moment before considering: did he want the murder to be bloody or swift? Setting the knife down on the table, Dalton waited for the woman to return.
Elise left the bathroom with a grimace on her features. Why hadn't the man taken the damn bait with the steak? The meat had set her back $124, and the poison a further $20. What a fucking rip. She'd gone as far as making herself up and buying a salacious dress for the lying sod. Doctor's appointment her ass. She managed to fake a small smile as she entered the dining room, a brow quirking as she took note of the knife on the table.
"Please, Dalton, I'm not that kinda gal," she jested, opting to not use the fake laugh she'd spent the entirety of last night perfecting.
Dalton snapped to attention and quickly knocked the weapon from the table, uttering a curse as he refocused onto Elise. "Oh, that?! That was nothing. Just a small trinket, don't worry."
"Right, I see." Her eyes narrowed. Something felt off, and it wasn't the steak. She strutted behind Dalton, settling for a difference tact as she rested her hands over his neck, "You sure you don't want to just head back to my place then?" She whispered coyly, smirking to herself as she saw the man visibly gulp.
"Ok, sure. How about I drive you home?"
"I'd really rather drive, honey," she insisted, trying to recall which of her car seats was rigged with explosives as her off-hand began reaching for the knife at her waist.
Dalton's eyes wandered to the knife he'd knocked away on the floor. He formed a mental timer for when to reach for it.
Elise had decided. She was going to kill the man, here and now. She paused to savour the moment, his heartbeat thrumming in her ears, the delectable sense of foreboding in the atmosphere as she gripped a hold of the knife. Soon, his shit would be red with blood.
*Three*, she and Dalton thought simultaneously.
*Two...*
*One.*
Elise jerked forward with her weapon, aiming it to stab into Dalton's chest as the man ducked out of his chair to scramble for the weapon on the floor. Her knife embedded itself in the oaken chair as Dalton gripped ahold of the knife, turning around to see a knife where he'd been sitting moments ago. He blinked for a few moments, the knife quivering in his hand as Elise fixed with him with the kind of countenance a teenager would wear when having walked in on their parents doing the nasty. Halfway between disgust and shock, that was to say.
"Did you.... just?" Dalton began, too shocked to think of any other words to say.
"Ummm... there was a fly. On your suit."
"Oh yeah! Hahahaha. I saw it too! It's why I went for, y'know, the knife."
"Sure, sure. I'll just take this and, uh, put it back where I had it. For protection. And stuff."
"I completely get you. Let's just sit back down and, yeah, continue this date maybe?"
"Sure."
The two robotically shuffled back to their seats, setting their arms on their laps, childishly avoiding each other's gaze. Dalton opened his mouth to talk, but was cut off by a slight look of betrayal from Elise, her crystal eyes sparkling for a moment before hardening, and tearing themselves from him. Eventually, the icy lady broke the silence and pretence that lingered in the air.
"So how many have you gotten this way?"
Dalton was taken aback by the question, fiddling with his collar as he dared a glance at Elise's expression. She seemed insatiably curious. Like a child. Her body was cocked forward with a sense of inquisitiveness, her eyes scrutinising him intensely.
"You were supposed to be my fifth," he conceded, almost ashamed to admit it.
"Amateur. You're my twelfth."
"I'm sorry, but men don't have assets as exploitable as women do."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Elise replied indignantly, folding her arms across her chest.
"Nothing! I was just saying... you got it easier."
"Bullshit. Prove it." She leaned forward against the table, her face inches from his. Up close, Dalton realised just how cute her button nose was, especially when complimented by her pixie-like features. She was extraordinarily dainty looking.
"Umm... how about meeting up here at the same time next week? We can see who has killed the most by then."
"Fine then. But you're paying next time."
Dalton chuckled, giving the woman a charming grin for her troubles. "Yeah, sorry about that. I guess it's a date, then?"
Her expression softened, and she sat up, putting on her peacock-feathered coat. "I suppose so. By the way, you should probably wear a better suit next time."
------------------
/r/CoffeeAndWriting/ For more!
| *CerealMan has now connected with CerealLady*
CerealMan: Well this must be fate!
CerealLady: It might be, depending on what YOUR favourite cereal is.
CerealMan: Oh, have others tried and failed with you?
CerealLady: Many have tried. So go on CerealMan, tell me what you eat in the morning.
CerealMan: See, now there is all this pressure. If I were bold I would say something like, “well, there is a very easy way to find out what I eat in the morning”. Should I be bold, CerealLady?
CerealLady: Being bold can sometimes pay off, but sometimes being bold gets you into trouble. I leave it up to you…
CerealMan: I am just not sure. I have talked to a few before you who claimed they liked cereal as much as me. I have been disappointed with their enthusiasm in the end.
CerealLady: I can honestly say, without a hint of doubt, that nobody knows more about cereal than me. However, now it seems like you are stalling. Maybe I should show you what I know?
CerealMan: Ahh, but surely you realize the anticipation is half the fun? What could you show me that I haven't already seen?
CerealLady: I could show you my cereal collection: it is truly something to behold.
CerealMan: I did just buy a very large carton of milk…
CerealLady: I have some nice bowls we can eat out of. I can bring them to my favourite spot. You bring the milk and your favourite cereal.
CerealMan: It's a date. But I doubt your spot is as good as the one I have in mind. It is nice and private so we could eat cereal all night long and no one could hear us clinking our bowls together.
CerealLady: So is mine! It is outside of town so we wouldn't have to fight traffic, and there is never anyone there.
CerealMan: Mine is in the country as well. Okay, on the count of 3, we will tell each other the name of our favourite cereal eating place. 1…
CerealLady: 2…
CerealMan: 3!
CerealLady: **The Roadside Inn** CerealMan: **The Roadside Inn**
…..
CerealMan: Maybe you like cereal TOO much.
CerealLady: You can never like it too much, right CerealMan?
CeraelMan: You wouldn't like my favourite cereal…
CerealLady: Oh I would make you eat mine first…
CerealMan: ...Well, there are certainly lots of other people that like cereal, maybe we should go find them.
CerealLady: Maybe one day I'll run into you at our favourite spot. I'll have my bowls with me.
CerealMan: I will have the milk.
CerealLady: Enjoy eating your cereal, CerealMan.
CerealMan: You know I will.
*CerealLady has signed off*
*CerealMan has joined another group*
| |
[WP] In a world where they are illegal you are called to prove that the pun was not intended | John sat waiting for his case number to be called. The wait became torturous, as he was a busy man with a lot to do, and it was a simple, accidental pun. As he sat and waited as other preliminary hearings proceeded, seemingly at random, John became incensed. Finally, he stood, and shouted, "Is there an order in this court?!"
The men in black suits appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and whisked him away.
He loved Big Brother. | "Nein, your honor. Ze pun was not intended. I am German, you see. Ze German people are portrayed as unfunny, but our humor is usually subtle, and it is nearly impossible to make puns in German, as everysing zounds like a bad sneeze to begin with."
So it sometimes happens that our innate love of subtle humor comes out when we try to speak in English, even if our English is not perfect. So I am accused of punnery, but it was just innated. I nein did intended to make ze pun."
The judge responds....
"I intuited as much." | |
[WP] In a world where they are illegal you are called to prove that the pun was not intended | I stepped out of my old battered jalopy and lifted my jacket collar to protect my exposed neck from the biting wind and rain. In front of me was a young man being held down by four NYPD gorillas in starched blue shirts, waiting for the meat wagon to show up. The area was already taped off, but an officer saw me coming and waved me through.
'It was an honest mistake, I swear!' The man's face was being pushed into a puddle by a police-issue knee connected to 260 pounds of New York's finest. His words bubbled through the murky water with a clumsiness not usually associated with the criminal punderworld, or wordsmiths, as they called them on the force. I flicked my cigarette into the gutter and stepped through the police cordon.
'What have we got here, boys?'
Officer Jenkins, the knee's owner, piped up first. '30 year old caucasian male. He was held by brave members of the public after walking into the opening of an opticians and shouting 'what a spectac-'
'Don't say it, dummy!' Ramirez, barely sharper, clipped Jenkins to the back of his head, sending his police cap askew, before returning to holding the young man's kicking legs with the dexterity of a crocodile wrestler.
'Jeez, what? We have, what's it called, enforcement immunity.'
'That's not a thing, you schmuck.'
'Then how come when we went to the break in at the bacon factory I was allowed to say they made a pig's ear of it?'
'Jesus Christ, Jenkins, would you stop already?' Sergeant Benitez piped up from the other leg.
'Sorry, sarge.'
The guy looked terrified. He certainly didn't look like your typical wordsmith. Normally they lived to be caught and charged, like it was a notch on their bat or something, the dirty bastards. This guy was different. He looked too stupid, too naive, too vacant in the eyes to be responsible for something like this.
I crouched down and did my best to get his attention. One of the officers eased their knee off, to give his face a break from the tarmac.
'What's your name, son?'
'Snellen, sir.'
'OK Snellen, I'm a public defender, they call me Shephard. You can call me Shep. Now. In a minute or two we're going to take a trip downtown to the station, and when we get there you're going to tell me what's happened. I'm your state appointed lawyer. You're entitled to find your own representation, should you wish, but I think we should be able to wrap up this misunderstanding pretty quickly.'
Snellen seemed to brighten, smiling through his broken and misted up glasses. 'O-O-OK, sir. Boy, I've got to tell you, you're truly a sight for sore eyes!'
'What the fuck did you just say?' Jenkins smashed his knee down with extreme prejudice, giving Snellen another taste of asphalt.
'Aagghh! Please!!'
I had a feeling this was going to be a long night. | "Nein, your honor. Ze pun was not intended. I am German, you see. Ze German people are portrayed as unfunny, but our humor is usually subtle, and it is nearly impossible to make puns in German, as everysing zounds like a bad sneeze to begin with."
So it sometimes happens that our innate love of subtle humor comes out when we try to speak in English, even if our English is not perfect. So I am accused of punnery, but it was just innated. I nein did intended to make ze pun."
The judge responds....
"I intuited as much." | |
[WP] In a world where they are illegal you are called to prove that the pun was not intended | I stepped out of my old battered jalopy and lifted my jacket collar to protect my exposed neck from the biting wind and rain. In front of me was a young man being held down by four NYPD gorillas in starched blue shirts, waiting for the meat wagon to show up. The area was already taped off, but an officer saw me coming and waved me through.
'It was an honest mistake, I swear!' The man's face was being pushed into a puddle by a police-issue knee connected to 260 pounds of New York's finest. His words bubbled through the murky water with a clumsiness not usually associated with the criminal punderworld, or wordsmiths, as they called them on the force. I flicked my cigarette into the gutter and stepped through the police cordon.
'What have we got here, boys?'
Officer Jenkins, the knee's owner, piped up first. '30 year old caucasian male. He was held by brave members of the public after walking into the opening of an opticians and shouting 'what a spectac-'
'Don't say it, dummy!' Ramirez, barely sharper, clipped Jenkins to the back of his head, sending his police cap askew, before returning to holding the young man's kicking legs with the dexterity of a crocodile wrestler.
'Jeez, what? We have, what's it called, enforcement immunity.'
'That's not a thing, you schmuck.'
'Then how come when we went to the break in at the bacon factory I was allowed to say they made a pig's ear of it?'
'Jesus Christ, Jenkins, would you stop already?' Sergeant Benitez piped up from the other leg.
'Sorry, sarge.'
The guy looked terrified. He certainly didn't look like your typical wordsmith. Normally they lived to be caught and charged, like it was a notch on their bat or something, the dirty bastards. This guy was different. He looked too stupid, too naive, too vacant in the eyes to be responsible for something like this.
I crouched down and did my best to get his attention. One of the officers eased their knee off, to give his face a break from the tarmac.
'What's your name, son?'
'Snellen, sir.'
'OK Snellen, I'm a public defender, they call me Shephard. You can call me Shep. Now. In a minute or two we're going to take a trip downtown to the station, and when we get there you're going to tell me what's happened. I'm your state appointed lawyer. You're entitled to find your own representation, should you wish, but I think we should be able to wrap up this misunderstanding pretty quickly.'
Snellen seemed to brighten, smiling through his broken and misted up glasses. 'O-O-OK, sir. Boy, I've got to tell you, you're truly a sight for sore eyes!'
'What the fuck did you just say?' Jenkins smashed his knee down with extreme prejudice, giving Snellen another taste of asphalt.
'Aagghh! Please!!'
I had a feeling this was going to be a long night. | John sat waiting for his case number to be called. The wait became torturous, as he was a busy man with a lot to do, and it was a simple, accidental pun. As he sat and waited as other preliminary hearings proceeded, seemingly at random, John became incensed. Finally, he stood, and shouted, "Is there an order in this court?!"
The men in black suits appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and whisked him away.
He loved Big Brother. | |
[WP] The old Narrator has stepped out of the office for five minutes, you are the intern and something amazing in the story is about to go down. | *Oh my God. It's about to go down now and the boss isn't here to see it.*
Here we see the common highway bandit, *highwayticus baditicus* lying in wait. The bandit is a pack creature by nature, and several more can be spotted nearby camouflaged in the foliage. Generally considered only a threat to lesser prey this is an abnormally large pack lead by a powerful, intelligent alpha male.
And headed their way is what is colloquially known as the 'van, *caravanae guardicus*. This is no average 'van transporting food. No, this 'van has a special cargo. Sequestered behind of several rows of defense one can find the pregnant queen and her young brood. A quality find, not to mention the veritable mountain of gold they sit on.
As the 'van nears the bandits the silent signal is delivered and the bandits can be visibly seen to tense. Soon the 'van is surrounded, without any idea that there is any trouble afoot.
And the trap is sprung. Silently the bandits descend on the 'van. Individually the bandit is smaller, weaker, and slower than the caravan guard. The armor pales in comparison. However, what they lack in brute strength they make up for with ferocity and numbers. Watch as the larger guard is swarmed from all sides, unable to defend from all sides he is eventually drag down and finished off. While the initial loses for the bandit pack was high the sheer numbers--
"What the hell are you doing? This is high fantasy, not one of your stupid nature documentaries where Bambi does all the work for you. It's happening now? What have you done?"
Dorial side step a slash and deflected another. His breath was coming in gasps now. He stepped on a fallen body and nearly lost his footing. Dorial chanced a look down. Plara, the commander of the Royal Guard. He only just now realized the absence of her voice ringing out instructions over the din of the battle. "Close up ranks," he bellowed, "Tighten up." Dorial blocked the incoming mace on his shield and felt it rattle all the way up his arm, then disengaged and took two steps back to the second rank. He surveyed the battle and watched and the Royal Guard began to find some order.
Dorial's hackles rose and the smell of ozone filled the air, *Magic*. "Charin blast a hole forwards and take first squad. Get the Queen out of here."
Before he could finish his orders several detonations rang out. When Dorial climbed to his feet again, amazed to still have all his appendages, he saw bodies strewn everywhere, and the wagon in full flight down the road. "Form up. We need to give the Queen as much of a--" Dorial was cut off as another detonation destroyed the wagon. Splinters, flesh, blood and dirt rained down all around. There wasn't even any sign of the horses left. It hit him like a punch to the gut. His knees gave way and he hung his head in his hands. The sounds of fighting around him fell away and he was left with only the sounds of his sobbing. His sister, the queen, dead. His nieces and nephews, gone. How? Why? His grief was such that he did not notice the bandit approach and take his head from his shoulders. | Oh *Christ* is this thing hot?!
The one time the old man decides to get his own damn coffee and I'm stuck with the repercussions of a lunatic with an itchy trigger finger.
Whelp, Ma thought I wasn't suited for the spotlight but I guess I'm here to prove her wrong.
Folks, I'm sorry if I disappoint but these velvet tones are the last thing you'll be hearing. Any chance otherwise was just vaporized under the weight of 4,500 guided missiles careening over the Atlantic.
My boss would normally give you the schpeel, the old dusty robe and swinging around that exaggerated hockey stick. However he's...erhm....a bit indisposed it seems given the ghastly odors wafting down the hall. I told him to go with hair of the dog but he always has to stick with the classics, eye of newt and what-not.
Anywho, in some cases where we get slammed, dictator here or genocide there, they pull a school assembly so y'all can know what's what. I'm normally just filing invoices and souls receivable though so bear with me if I flub through your next steps in ever-after and then some.
You're going to be pretty confused not having a corporeal bod but hey we're progressive; Don't let societal expectations for fleshy meat figures ruin who you are....being dead and all. You should look for people who can the appreciate the vengeance in your soul. Keep your spirits up, or down, you can float now so it's really your call. Just don't drift too far up otherwise we have to call maintenance to get you out of the rafters and it's a whole 'nother affair.
So..the manual says there should be two doors in front of you. If you were a terrible person go through the right one I think? Otherwise if you were more on the Jimmy Buffet lifestyle go left. I'm sure it's not that big of a deal...It's literally fine. Enjoy the rest of your eternity folks!
| |
Doesn't have to be superheroes. | [WP] The Hero and Villain are trapped, with no hope of escape, and a timer counting down till they die. They have an honest and heartfelt conversation. | "Why did you do it?" came the question as the clock ticks in the middle of the impenetrable room, Emperor Cardinal lifts his head and turns towards the other side of the room and looks at Stargirl who scowls at him and repeats herself, "Why did you turn to crime."
Emperor Cardinal purses his lips and looks away, his eyes seemed both nervous and ashamed. The reason he turned to crime? It was shameful, but the reason why he continued to do crime was even worse.
Stargirl's face reddened and she stalks over and grabs Emperor Cardinal by the shoulders and shakes him hard, "Don't ignore me! Answer me question, I'm being civil here! You already told me you know about why I became a hero so it's your turn to tell me! We're going to die here anyways." Stargirl whispers, tears welling up in her eyes.
Emperor Cardinal grabs Stargirl's hands, stopping her shaking of his person, and he sighs.
"Alright, fine I'll tell you." Emperor stops for a minute then he gestures for Stargirl to sit down, "I'm going to have to ask you to keep quiet during the whole time, I'm talking."
He raises his hands to stop her protests, "It's important," he states looking her right in the eyes, "It's really heavy stuff, so please just listen okay?"
Stargirl scowls then sighs, "Fine." She relents "I'm going to keep quiet, you'd better not be lying about what ever you say."
Emperor looks away and whispers, "I would never lie to you."
"What was that?"
Emperor just ignores her and crosses his legs, ready to begin his story.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had a lonely life as a kid, alone a house that seemed to be so small yet so big for me. I was always just wandering around the house playing by myself or watching TV all day, though at the time I really didn't mind. I was happy playing alone and so I was content.
It went like that everyday, until I started going to school. At first I was excited, I've always watched other kids play with each other on TV and thought "Hey, I can finally do that too! It's going to be really fun!" but I was wrong I was very very wrong. No matter what I did I never really had any friends, no body ate with me during lunch and so I was always alone playing or drawing all by myself. That was my first experience with loneliness.
As the years went by and I got older, I thought things would get better but i didn't happen. The isolation got worse, eventually it escalated to bullying. My stuff was getting taken, I was being called names by everybody and they were ostracizing me outright just because I was an easy target. I tried telling the teachers but they didn't lift even a single finger to help me and so I was left alone hurt and shocked, nobody was going to help me so I only had myself. And so my loneliness had a partner sadness and they would haunt me for the rest of my days.
Eventually, I tried to change myself. I tried to become somebody I'm not, over and over and over again, until I was somebody I didn't recognize. Someone with no goal and no purpose no passion or ambition, I was hurt and alone, but after a while I stopped trying and I stopped caring. I sealed up all my emotions and started to drown in my own emotions, I started to hate everyone while acting like nothing was wrong it was tiring and I almost had take the easy way out.
Heh, it seems like all the characteristics of a villain in a story where you want a sympathetic villain right? Sorry if I'm boring you but I'm not done yet.
I hated everything and everyone so I decided to take it out on anybody I could get away with. I had the power and I was smart enough to get away with it. So I committed my first crime, murder. It was a boy about my age, it was pretty wasy actually, I just tapped him in the back of the throat with my power and then he started melting, his screams were silent because I went for his throat first and melted his vocal chords. I just watched him die slowly, I used my powers to slowly erase him from existence, his cells were slowly disappearing one by one and I looked at him in the eyes the whole time. It was, something the look in his eyes the emotion it conveyed I was enraptured by it right until the life left his eyes and his body faded away not even ash remained.
After that I just kept going, killing and killing people. I started robbing people of their stuff too once it started getting boring It was exciting you know? People were scared of me! Me! The guy who was too afraid to even say a word in class in fear of getting mocked by his classmates, I was the one who made people look behind them at night the terror in the streets!
Although eventually, even that soon felt like nothing. I kept going anyway, killing people, taking their stuff then evading capture like always, I lamented, was I going to live like this? A boring life? Everything utterly meaningless and empty? I didn't like it but there was nothing I could do to change that.
But then you came along and caught me on the act, I remember that day I was about to kill some girl with red hair and you leapt in trying to fight me off like it was nothing! You were something new, not because you did so. You just had that something that caught my eye, like you had a passion, like you had something to fight for. So I let you go and made my escape.
I never regretted that choice not one bit.
You became a hero and I was the villain, people finally knew what to look for. So I decided to stop hiding in the shadows, donning a suit I became Emperor Cardinal and you became Stargirl, every time I appeared you were there to stop me. I was frustrated at first but then I got curious. Why would you risk your life for someone you didn't know? So I followed you to your house one day and saw you with your family and friends, it was happy and warm scene you know? I felt a pang in my chest at the sight something I didn't think I'd ever feel in my entire life and when I looked at your face, I was taken aback by how warm and happy it was it was so bright and filled with emotion.
After that I started to fight you harder, how much until you break? Will you still keep smiling when I killed you? Will your despair stir something inside me? I had to know so we fought. Day or night we fought, each battle you gave your hardest and each battle you won.
It was amazing you know? Each battle was special to me. It never got boring, it was always different to me. I even stopped killing and just waited for you to appear so we could fight.
I was happy.
I was in love.
I didn't want it to end.
So I never stopped.
| Conversation breaks down the strongest barriers.
“Staring at me isn’t going to make this better Daniel,” Cole said.
The two men were enclosed in a steel vault; a result of their latest conflict in Arleta
“That’s not my name,” the man snarled back
“Oh yeah, what do you go by now, X is it?”
He stayed silent.
“God damn it Daniel, I’m trying here. If we’re going to die together at least let’s make some good conversation.”
“Why are you trying to kill me anyways I never did a damn thing too you. I thought we were friends, and one day you just walked away from it all!”
“No you didn’t, all my life I lived in your shadow!” X shot back. “Watching you achieve everything I desired. Getting the powers, the girl, and recognition. You used me and everyone else on that team.”
“What! What do you mean I used you?”
“The missions, the assignments….everything so I left, and eventually I figured the only way to truly prove myself would be to defeat you. So I trained and waited. Fought battles and won wars, whatever it’d take to get more powerful.”
“But for 6 years?!? Shit has changed man.”
“You wouldn’t have understood, and now you’re proving you still don’t.”
“We could have talked about this, worked things out. That’s what I understand.”
X again stayed silent, rubbing the scar on his face.
“Dan…when you left the conclave I missed you most. The older leaders…they played us against each other. Trying to weed out the weak from the strong. They’re all gone now, all of the old team. Even Cass, before she died she tried to contact you last.”
The air grew shallower and tense.
“What do you mean? Cass is dead?” X’s eyes rapidly searched the room.
“Yes, do you really think nothing changed? When you were gone so long. The conclave was destroyed around two years after you left, and its members scattered or dead. This is why she…we wanted you back. We needed help finding the younger members, but then you..”
“I didn’t think…wanted” X interrupted and soon lost in himself in thought.
He paused for what seemed like ages. Then threw out a locket from his pocket at Cole, who caught it without looking. It contained a picture of Dan and Cass, when they were younger, and a note. Cole examined and slowly grew wide eyed: it was a transcript. He did get her messages.
“All these years I kept that, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to face her, or you. I thought I would have more time.”
“I understand; we're all on borrowed time.”
“Indeed”. X nodded
“It’s a shame we waited this long to have this conversation.”
“Perhaps I was ignorant of things going on, my anger blinded me.” X said solemnly
“Listen I’m sorry my pride prevented me from being a good friend all those years ago, I should have noticed.”
“I’m sorry I was so bitter, I still think you’re kind of a dick but that’s my problem not yours. You didn’t deserve the trouble that I placed on your shoulders.”
Cole let out a little chuckle, “that’s fair I guess.”
The two men looked at each other one last time
“You know I missed being called Dan. It brings me back.”
“I bet.”
The vault door cracked, along with their resolve and stubbornness. And one thing was certain, they finally understood each other.
Edit: I hope you like, this is my first one doing. Trying to get back into writing.
|
Doesn't have to be superheroes. | [WP] The Hero and Villain are trapped, with no hope of escape, and a timer counting down till they die. They have an honest and heartfelt conversation. | They sat on opposite sides of the room; two forces, having spent their entire lives in unrelenting conflict, now fated to die whilst staring at one another. Aristice coughed as he felt the walls of the room begin to close in around him and Gael, clutching at his red cloak as he felt his chest uncomfortably constrict. Keeling over, he erupted into a fit of coughs, his hands tearing at his stomach. Just as he felt his vision fading, a firm slap on the back ceased the coughing. He blinked twice, wiping saliva from his face as he looked behind him to see his nemesis worriedly hunched over him. For a moment, Gael almost seemed like a friend.
Aristice knew better and instinctively scuttled back, away from the villain, their eyes locking for a moment as they tried to comprehend what'd transpired.
"My hand moved on its own," Gael said plainly, his voice as emotionless as it'd always been. He slowly shifted forward as he felt the enclosing walls press into his back, forcing him to draw closer to Aristice. "Besides, even I wouldn't like to see the man I've spent so many years fighting die in such a pathetic manner. It'd have been a travesty."
Aristice blankly looked at the other man, his body frozen for a painstaking moment as he absorbed the words that'd been said. Words escaped him, and his mouth hung open, primed to burst into a slew of indignation and drivel about good and evil. As had always been the case between the two of them. Instead, he laughed. A choking, bitter sound that came from his heart. He doubled over and laughed so hard he thought his chest would burst.
"This is ridiculous," he said, wiping a tear from his eye.
"I suppose it is," Gael responded solemnly.
Aristice's body shook as he looked around the room, seeing the walls press closer and closer towards the pair. "So, this is how it ends? Us two, in a room together, crushed to death?"
"I always thought it'd have been more epic," Gael conceded, "Like in the songs. And books."
"That makes two of us, then. Still, what a shitty way to die."
Gael paused, his head sagged downwards. Aristice still found the man to be unreadable, after all the years they'd spent in opposition, knowing each-other through the clashes of their blades. Gael reached into an inner pocket of his cloak, and produced a small metal bottle, a slight smile spreading onto his lips, illuminating his features, like paint on a canvas.
"I think I know a way I can make it less shitty," he said, shaking the bottle before popping it open.
"Alcohol? Really? No wonder you were exiled from the Knighthood."
With a shrug, Gael took a hearty swig from the bottle, extending it towards Aristice as he wiped some of the trickling alcohol from his beard. "It's the nectar of the Gods; I'd be damned if I had to give it up."
An incredulous look on his face, Aristice snatched the bottle and knocked some of the liquid back, feeling his throat light with fire as it trickled down his throat, spreading its heat to the core of his belly. Once more Aristice began to choke from the bitter taste, keeling over, much to Gael's amusement. Gael took the bottle back, chuckling at the display.
"*H-how do you drink that shit?*"
"Exile gave me a lot of spare time. It's from the Arden's - they have a rather acquired taste down there."
There was no response from Aristice as the two began to fall into silence, the only noise being the creaking of the walls as they pushed forward, painstakingly slowly. After a minute that felt like it could've been hours, Aristice broke the silence. "So... why did you do it? Murder her?" His voice cracked as he posed the question.
Gael did not seem phased, although his downcast eyes betrayed an immense sadness Aristice had never seen in the man. "You're too young. You wouldn't understand."
"Her death brought about a war, Gael. I damn well have a right to know."
Gael bit his lip, but eventually nodded slowly. "I understand. Well," he shifted uncomfortably, "Know that it was never my will for her to die. It was the King's decree, not my own."
"You expect me to believe that?" Aristice felt rage replace his weariness, standing up as far as he could to look down on Gael.
"No, no I don't. But I did say you were too young; her death wasn't a mere act of rage. It was a cog shifting in an entire mechanism of politics and relationships. She was the King's daughter-in-law, but also his greatest rival. Like many of us, she was too ambitious. Far too much so."
"So, you're telling me you were just a scapegoat?"
Gael didn't speak, he only nodded wearily. His eyes darted to the right as he felt his arm being pushed against his chest. The two were fast running out of time.
"Why did you never say? If that is true, why did I spend all those years pursuing you on the King's order? What was it all for?"
"Posterity," Gael croaked. "How could we secure a good future for our Kingdom if they all knew the King was plotting against his allies? I took the role of the villain with open arms. And know that I'm not innocent, my hands are just as stained as the King's. I stabbed that poor girl in her sleep. I saw the light fade from her eyes." Gael looked down at his shaking hands, and Aristice could've sworn he saw a flash of tears in the man's eyes. Suddenly he looked old, and weary, as if the burdens of the world had fallen upon his shoulders. "What path was left for me but one of blood? You can't go back after murdering an innocent girl, Aristice, you just can't. And I didn't just stop at one, I couldn't."
Aristice had no sympathy for the man before him. Gael was undoubtedly a murderer, a crooked man who, perhaps, had once been righteous. But in light of the new information, as the walls pressed the two together, Aristice felt something else. Respect. Admiration for a man who had sacrificed everything for his country and the betterment of it.
He rested a hand on the weeping Gael's shoulder, his face stoney. "It's fine. All your sins will be forgiven in death. There's nothing left for you to do anymore, no more to murder. We'll both die here, and everything will be at an end now."
"And that's what frightens me."
It was dark now, and Aristice could only feel Gael's body as his arm was bent against the wall, the bone slowly popping out of place. Aristice hissed in pain as he felt his body begin to contort and squash.
"Aristice?" He heard Gael call, the man's voice rife with pain.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
---------------
https://www.reddit.com/r/CoffeeAndWriting/ for more!
| "Well you should've chosen a better means of making money.", Teddy spat.
That seems to linger in the Bloodman for a while, before it passed out of memory.
"Did you hear me? I despise *parasites* like you."
The Bloodman's eyes flashed over Teddy's green suit, placated with honourable declarations.
"If I lived my life so terribly, why did they put us *both* in here?", was the only thing the Bloodman could argue.
Looking at The Green Hornet's accomplishments made the Bloodman envious, not that he'd ever admit it.
Teddy considered the jest. "Once the people know that I'm in here, they'll come and save me."
*That* made the Bloodman chuckle. "The people voted to lock you up just the same, and you're a bigger fool than me if you think anyone's coming for you".
Teddy regarded what was said. It was true, perhaps along the way he had done more harm than good. He had always intended on saving lifes, but as things go, sacrifices needed to be made. A recent issue, the death of the school children, was all anyone had been talking about for the last couple weeks.
*But they didn't know how many I saved...*, Teddy thought gingerly.
"In fact", the Bloodman carried on, "They must see you as just a threat as me."
*Or they put us together here to make sure I killed you this time*, Teddy mind raced.
But of the weapons in the room, Teddy wasn't sure it was possible.
Teddy had killed the majority of his enemies, for the different crimes they had commited against humanity. The last one, Mothman, had been an incredibly difficult fight, ending in the spine being ripped from the Moth's back. In Teddy's eyes, all criminals deserved death. He'd kill Bloodman as soon as he'd gathered his strength...
"Do you think they're scared of you?" the Bloodman pressed.
"They love me", Teddy replied.
"They **LOVE** you, do they?"
Teddy had almost enough of the Bloodman's questions, but they did provoke a bit of thought.
*Who locks loved one's away?*
Teddy voice was tight and dry in response. "You think we're even, Bloody man? Who have *you* ever saved?"
The Bloodman took a long minute to regard that. He seemed to be getting stronger by the second - a thought Teddy couldn't admit to himself.
Pushing himself up against the wall, he came within a foot of Teddy. "Why, I'm just here to redeem myself, Teddy."
Teddy's eyes went white, unbelieving. "You know who I am?"
"They ***learned*** who you were, Teddy, and they put us in here together. "
A long, thin blade slowly arose from the Bloodman's sleeve.
"They thank you for what good you've done, but everyone's accountable."
And the Bloodman did what he did best, slowly pressing the blade delicately between Teddy's eyes. And then, as fast as the blade came out, it was gone, surrounded by what was Teddy's brain.
Slunking to the floor, the Bloodman took a deep breath. *Holy Shit*, he thought. It's finally over.
The door that had been barred cranked back a lock. It was pulled back, allowing the Sun's light to blow up the room. Five men in white cloaks came in to collect Teddy's body.
"You've done us a great service, Bloodman.", one of them said.
The Bloodman's dark eyes shifted across the room, and focused on the one talking.
"A hero that turned rotten... what a great shame.", the professional said.
The professional went to the pocket on the right side of his coat, and pulled out a single piece of folded paper. "You're free to go", he chimed, and let out a hand for support. Bloodman reached for it to help him rise. But it was the professionals left hand.
As soon as the two made contact, the professional's right hand was plunging deep into the Bloodman's chest with a sharp metal blade.
Everything began to spasm and spin, and soon the Bloodman was no more.
"But a villian that turns good..." the professional spat, "Is just a weak criminal".
|
Just how many worlds are in trouble anyway?!
(Not summoned to the same world every time. It is just that it is the same save the world scenario every time.) | [WP] Just like in the cliché setting, you have been summoned into a fantasy world to defeat the demon king, save the world, blablabla... honestly, this happens at least twice a month, and it is getting very, very tedious to keep redoing the exact same questline over and over again... | Deep in the dark moody mists that shrouded the jagged mountain peaks, a skeleton slouched on the golden throne in the middle of the audience room. The skeleton wore a rich dark robe the colour of the night sky with a deep crimson red cloth in the shape of flames that enveloped the edges, giving the skeleton the impression of being perpetually wrapped in flames. The cloth was untouched by time, and despite the thousands of years since it was stitched together by the seamstress, it was as striking as the day it was presented to the king of the castle.
&nbsp;
The bones rattled, and the teeth clicked together in annoyance. Sensing its masters annoyance, an imp appeared beside the shoulder of the lich.
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“Where is he? The hour of the prophecy draws near,” The skeleton asked. Though it possessed no vocal cords the hatred that had pushed him to live beyond death granted him mystical powers that allowed for such words to be uttered.
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“My master, the hero appears to be….dare I say lost, master?”
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“WHAT?” The lich exclaimed. “But he was foretold to meet me in my palace for our fight to our destiny. The one who lives get the world.”
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“In the peak of the earth,
Two shall meet,
Destined from birth is one,
Royal blood that will turn to hate
And bring darkness upon this land
Brought from the mana is the other.
A glimmer of hope he shall return the earth
Like water and fire the two shall be
A fight to the death they will proceed
The victor shall gain the world anew,” The lich recited from memory as the twin orbs that functioned as his eyes gleamed.
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“But he seems to be rolling into every wall and dead end that you possess master,” The imp said, before muttering darkly. “Not to mention, he has been picking up every item not bolted to the floor. Even the chamber pots”
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“HE DARES STEAL FROM ME? THE GREAT UNDEAD KING OF NINE KINGDOMS? I will make sure he dies a thousand deaths.” The skeleton said again, eyes almost ablaze with anger. “But are you sure he took the chamber pot?”
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“Of course master. Your victory is assured,” The imp said, laying on it’s most charming voice in an attempt to placate its master's anger. “But most certainly, he took both chamber pots. The werewolves and trolls just lodged several complaints. In addition to their injuries of course.”
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The sounds of repeated and extremely loud sighs and the screams of the demons and vampires that lurked in the castle neared the extravagantly decorated double doors that would grant entrance to the throne room. Then they halted right before the doors.
“This should be the final boss room. So I’ll save this for later,” A muffled voice cound be heard filtering through.
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The footsteps could be heard pacing right outside, with their owner not making any attempted to open the doors. In fact, if one listened closely, they actually started to fade. The lich could take it no longer, snapping his bony fingers in anger, and the doors to the audience chamber opened slowly with great clanking as the gears whirred into action, protesting against the rust that had formed from lack of use.
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“Hero. Welcome to my castle. I’ve been-”
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“Expecting me, I know, I know, Sorry.” The Hero said with as much sincerity as he could master. Which, unfortunately for the expectations of everyone else in the chamber, was not much at all. “I just wanted to see if there was a hidden trove of treasure like in the other castles.”
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“What other castles?” The lich implored. He had destroyed all fortresses and castles during his reign of darkness, and the fools who dared fight back operated in caves. The king was genuinely confused.
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“Ah, don’t mind me,” the hero replied with a casual wave of his hand.
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“Well then-” The undying king said, clacking the bones of his fingers together.
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“Are you going to summon your flunkies?” I asked. “ Like, aren’t you going to summon your demons or hordes of undead? And can we please please skip the monologuing? ”
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“What? We are supposed to duel to the death right here right now!” The lich king growled angrily. “It was foretold.”
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“Right. So it’s that sort of setting,” The hero said with a sudden grin. “Thank god. You have no idea how much self righteous speeches I’ve sat through. Let's get it over with.”
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“Yes. Let us,” the lich king agreed. “For after this fated battle I will finally fulfill the prophecy and rule the world. I will make the rivers-”
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“You just said we’re supposed to duel,” The Hero cut in once again with a yawn.
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The impudent upstart the lich king thought to himself as his drew his terrible blade from the sheath and charged towards the hero. This was the last thought to ever grace the consciousness of the king.
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The hero drew a large metallic tube from a bag clearly too small to be contain it. This was the <Super Plasma Thunder Enchanted Bazooka Version XI - Relic item> that he just retrieved from another enchanted item <Unlimited Bag of Holding>. With an look of utmost boredom, the hero fired, utterly atomizing the lich king.
Walking over to the pile of ashes, and ignoring the stunned looking imp, the hero picked up the Demon King’s sword <Cursed Durandal>. Barely a moment later, a beam of light from the heavens shot down and the hero disappeared.
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The hero, still holding the magic weapon <Cursed Durandal>, rolled his eyes once they got accustomed to the bright neon lights. He opened his <Unlimited Bag of Holding> and shoved the weapon inside.
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“Welcome to the future Hero-sama,” A young woman in high tech glowing armor said with a look of worship. “We have brought you from your world to-”
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“Yes yes, save it from what it is this time? An alien invasion? Or is it a robot uprising?”
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“Huh? Hero-sama, we brought you here to take out the evil overlord plaguing the dimensions,” The woman replied in a puzzled expression.
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“Ah, okay,” the Hero said with a resigned sigh. “An evil overlord in the future. This should at least be interesting...”
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It was not. | -------------------------------------------
A sturdily built man sat on an old mahogany bench that stood lonesome on a rocky shore. The bench was positioned seemingly close to the edge of the rocky shore, and the silky ocean was dancing rhythmically in the horizon. The man’s white shirt was torn apart from the traces of his menacing battles, the botches of crimson blood stains portraying the fierce battles he must have fought. The man’s head was drooped, his blonde curly bangs dropping to cover his bloodshot eyes. He stared down at his battered, bloody bare feet with a somber expression written over his face. His hands clasped together as if he was praying to a deity, for forgiveness, or for strength, no one could tell. His blank eyes stared at the cold ocean waves that sparkled at the reflection of the scorching sun above him. The cool ocean waves then came to kiss his feet, splashing droplets of water across his face. The man thought the cold droplets of water that streamed down to his neck refreshing, but the glee quickly subsided as he readied himself for what was coming. Soon, the area around the man darkened to an atmosphere that turned ominous enough for the man to suffocate. The ocean waves that danced merrily and sang in its rhythmic melody transformed into a ferocious roar, its waves sounding like the booming of a thunder strike as it crashed upon the rocky shores. The man sat unscathed and undaunted on the bench, and stared at the naked dark sky to see the blazing sun succumb itself to the devious moon.
“Is it time already?” The man mumbled with a tinge of melancholy resonating within his words. He stood up, throwing his muscular arms up into the sky and bellowed.
“I, Refias, am ready!” as he roared at the top of his lungs, he slumped like a heavy sack on the shores, his eyes rolled back into its sockets.
-------------------------------------------
When Refias groaned and woke up, he was greeted with the smell of freshly baked bread that watered his mouth. He woke himself to find himself lying on a cozy bed, sheepskin with the fragrance of lavender covering his half naked torso. The sun’s golden fingers reached in through the open windows to brush Refias with its soothing warmth, and illuminated the old baroque room that resembled of the medieval times. Refias soon noticed a young girl with twin ponytails with innocence beaming from her emerald-green eyes peeking at Refias with curiosity. Refias let out a grunt, and stood up from his bed, scaring the young girl away whom scurried off crying out for her mother. Refias took a quick glance out of the wooden window and noticed the sceneries of an old marketplace that brimmed with the energy of shouting merchants, pickpockets with their sleight of hand, and overall the citizens that lived under an Emperor’s regime. He spotted stern knights patrolling the area in heavy metallic armor, with a halberd at one hand. Their well-handcrafted blue capes had an insignia of a lion.
Refias, quickly interested in satiating the pangs of hunger that stabbed at his gut, quickly left the room, wrapping himself in a brown used robe that lay beside the bed. He was greeted by a family that gave off a pleasant and warming atmosphere, sitting around a simple round table large enough to fit everybody in the room with enough space. On the table were freshly baked bread, meat loafs, and simple salads that sat on white embroidered dishes placed on the centre of the round table. Refias greeted them with a short nod of his head, and sat down on the firm wooden chair with a thud.
“How do you do, good sir?” the man that sat on the right side of Refias questioned him in a friendly tone of voice.
“I am doing fine. Thank you very much.” Refias replied back, and noticed that the man was well-built and had a charismatic aura around him that resembled of a great leader. The man stroked through his golden beard, and stared at Refias with curiosity.
“So, you are the prophesied hero that will kill the demon king? Ah, and by the way my name is Arthur.” Arthur spoke to him as he sipped refreshing spring water from his goblet.
“Yes, indeed. You have summoned me into this world with the priests of the Catholic church.” Refias firmly said as he reached to grab the well-browned loaf of bread that sat temptingly in front of him
“I assume you want me to get rid of a Demon King?” Refias questioned Arthur with a certain confidence residing within his question. Refias was a talented knight known for his brutality, a centurion with power that made the enemies tremble just with the presence of his name. However, one day after slaughtering the people of Athens with absolute monstrosity, he was cursed upon by Zeus, the king of the gods in Olympus. The curse forced Refias to travel to different worlds to kill a specific Demon King, which were not actual demons, but warmongers that create anarchy and disrupt the peace of the world.
“No. I have already gotten rid of the so-called ‘Demon-King’, hero.” Refias gagged on the bread he was eating, and quickly reached out for the goblet to wash the bread down his esophagus. Refias, bewilderment stricken across his face, wiped his face with his hands and stared at Arthur. Arthur grinned sheepishly and made a firm statement that resonated within Refias’s lifeless heart.
“Hero, I want you to make me King.”
|
Inspired by [this prompt.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/62iaz5/wp_write_a_horror_story_difficulty_the/) I thought this would be harder. Sorry if there's already too many similar to this out there | [WP] Write a horror story, but the story takes place in full daylight. | The silence wakes me. Pain and the smell of burning flesh - my own - jerks me out of a stupor - the scorching ground forces my animal body to its feet before my mind can catch up. I dare not open my eyes, the bright redness visible through my eyelids and the ache - god the pain - reminiscent of looking up to the sun on a cloudless summer day, though the associated pleasantness remains absent. I’m wearing no clothes, and from head to toe I can feel the burning ultraviolet radiation already seeping into my skin. Flashing images blink bright into my mind - *putting pen to paper, staring at a spreadsheet of numbers, the digits blending together helter skelter -- what was in that drink? -- stumbling to the computer -- falling -- falling -- falling* - my head shakes of its own accord. I need to get out of this light, the burning scorching blinding breaking light -- *First law of thermodynamics: the internal energy of an isolated system is constant -- notes on a page peripheral to my sight focused on doodles breaking up the monotony of my teacher’s voice droning on about science I may need to know later but now I forget the tests and quizzes in lieu of nihilistic boredom* -- as the light’s heat seeps into my system.
I stumble forward, reaching out blindly for some relief. For minutes, decades I swear, I slowly walk, though my pace quickens as the hot earth scalds callouses onto my soles. I’m running now, hands outstretched, eyes shut tight, skin peeling. Might this be my eternal purgatory? Have I died, and this is what’s left - a punishment for disbelief in some Almighty - an everlasting throbbing existence, blindling sprinting into an unknown oblivion? My legs slow, unable to move forward more, muscles sore in the heat; I trip and collapse. I lie there. I fade.
---
Footsteps. We see them, I feel them. Left, in the sand, on the Surface. Left, Right, Left, Right, pitter pattering in duel unbroken lines for nearly a league. Who? How? The Surface hurts. Too bright. Much too bright. Sky bad, too bright, too hot. But who? Human? Two feet. Small feet. A Human. Other Human? It stopped. Big footstep now. Not foot? Body? Sleeping? Human. Human…
We climb and dig and climb and dig. Break ground. Sand hot. Sun bright. Wait. Hide and wait.
Night. We wait.
Night. It comes.
---
UNIT 49726973:
On the blasted ground of a dead rock lies a single piece of flesh, unbroken, consisting of two forward limbs and two bottom ones located laterally and posterior to the torso. A protrusion resides at the anterior of this creature - bald - containing sensory organs and a significant cranial cavity filled with nerve tissue. The sinew and succulent flesh of the creature - carbon based - wraps around a calcium-enriched support structure, affixed to which are multiple protein powered strands of tissue - a rich and red meat - that facilitate movement. It appears naturally bipedal, though now is prone. Its skin is red and blistered, pustules rising and bursting by the minute. Gathered research, numerous field studies and in-house laboratory experiment regarding its life signs lead to the conclusion that its current state is vital. First significant sign of sentient beings on this planet - terrestrial - approximately 40 galactic orbits old - approximately 10 billion of its own orbits. Alert sent to UNIT: HEX - OCULUS.
UNIT 4f63756c7573:
Cyclical messages: … Received.
Sorting…
Sorting…
Sorting… Done.
Standard Reports: 11 * 10^23 … Archived
Planetary Exploratory Data: 5 * 10^8 … Sorted and Submitted to UNIT: HEX - HIPPOCAMPUS
Unusual and Extraordinary Reports: 0 … No further action requ--
UPDATE: Received from UNIT: HEX - IRIS
Sorting…
Unusual and Extraordinary Reports: 1 … Submitting to UNIT: HEX - OCCIPITAL
BYPASSING STANDARD PROTOCOL - SUBMITTING DIRECTLY TO UNITE: HEX - FRONTAL
UNIT 46726f6e74616c:
Report Received.
Sending Probe.
---
It leaved. Didn’t see Human. Or care. Dead things not tasty. Night is fading. We emerge. Human!! Bring to chief. We grab it. Too heavy to carry. Must drag. Sorry. It won’t return. Shouldn’t. We safe.
---
I’m pulled, dragged, scraping along a rough surface. It’s cold, a relief on my back and aching bones. My eyes are crusted closed. Hands, human hands but like ice, grip my skin on all limbs, yet still I limply am pulled. I feel no more light. I hear whispers, a language I do not recognize but it - they - sound human. I fade in and out of awareness, senses alternating between dulled and excrutiating. Dreamless unconsciousness plagues my thoughts, derailing any extended train. I let it happen. I cannot control, why bother caring? If this is Hell, Purgatory, whatever, I can’t stop it. I fade.
Screaming pierces the barrier of sweet escape. My back is raw, scratched up. I must have been dragged for hours. I feel broken - as if my skin had been grated like cheese and taped back on by some drunk serial killer, or perhaps butcher. The hands on my arms and legs remain tight, but they are still. Stiff. Rigor mortis. I lift each limb tenderly, wincing in the pain, and find each duty simple. The hands are detached from whatever - whoever - had once been using them I raise my own thankfully-still-connected hands to my face and wipe the crust from my eyes, and open them for the first time.
There is a floor beneath me. Flat and featureless. Pale white. There is darkness direclty ahead of me. I look up and around me. The black gradients into grey, then pale blue, then a bright white. About one third of the sky if burning white and red. Temporarily blinded, I turn back to the comfortable darkness. I struggle to my knees and rip the stiff hands off of me. Almost numbly, I accept this reality. Once I would have vomited from the peeling of my skin alone, fainted at the sight of blood. Now, I am covered in blood - most of it my own - my skin bubbled and blisted on the back, scraped and ripped on the front. This is me now. *I have to keep going forward,* a voice of sanity within my deep awareness whispers. And so I, bones aching and joints protesting more than they had after I’d run that one marathon last year, stand. It all felt so long ago, everything. My life, studying, working, teaching - god what a chore teaching uncaring college students Intro to Biophysics 301 was, but it paid for working - yet I’d gladly stand before hundreds of glazed over eyes for hundreds of years if it meant relief from one second of this Inferno. Shaking any hope of escape out of my brain, I trudge forward. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other.
I don’t know for how long I’ve been walking. I can feel the sky behind me get more bright - two thirds of it must be overtaken by that sickly red glow by now, I guess from the pain I feel. I look up every now and then to see if anything of the horizon has changed. Thus far - no. Simply that flat blank white surface stretching out to eternity. Is this even Earth? Where am I? When am I? Whatever, wherever whenever who cares I don’t I can’t I must walk must focus on walking must keep walking one foot in front of the other one foot in front of the other.
My legs like lead weights. Its another day. I don’t remember night - hypnotized I stalk across the sand.
Kafkaesque.
I’m going uphill now. The horizon hasn’t changed, but the surface beneath me - I swear my legs can tell - my arms hang limply, red and scratched and useless - the surface is sloped up. *Vertigo: the feeling experienced when the senses of balance, proprioception, and sight construct a reality internally disconcordant.* I close my eyes to avoid the resultant dizziness, then open them again when this fails. I’m a zombie - hahaha, I’m one of those poorly renditioned corpses walking, splattered in red paint and a hodge podge mess of different Halloween makeup techniques by someone who went way too far with their corpse that it isn’t even scary anymore, simply grotesque and red and scarlet and crimson and visceral and leaving a trail behind it of bloody ink - that’s me. This fantasy and memories of horror movies, however scary or scarred the memory, is comforting.
I snap out of my stupor. A black pillar, obsidian spire, contrasts with the swirling black and grey sky - a solid among gaseous things. Nothing else, no other sign of anything. I walk faster, sprinting by definition of my abilities.
A skip of time. I’m but meters away from the monolith now. I must have run all this way. I don’t remember.
Centimeters away. Skipping more. My hands rise to meet its pitch black surface. They shudder as I force them forward, force the useless appendages to make contact with this first visible tangible comfortable sign of anything other than that nightmare - the hands, the screaming, the silence. I touch its surface.
The pitch liquid grabs me, shackles around my arms, and pulls me, wrapping tendrils around my wrists and legs and waist and neck. It contorts me, a marrionete flying flimsy through the air piloted by some lovecraftian toddler. It forces me into a seated position, facing the ground, then turns me towards the white. The bright white. I scream. I cannot close my eyes. Agony. Twisting black tar breaks my legs in its probing, my arms following, crushing my bones. I hardly notice, instead unable to look away from the red and white and yellow and damned light invading my irises, traveling through this humble oculus through to my brain. I can feel the scorching light singe my nerves, corrupting my occipital, parietal, frontal lobes with unavoidable pain. I must still be screaming.
(CONT'D...) | Tina was young, pretty, and smart. She was the perfect girl. Every one wanted to be her, every one wanted to be near her. Where ever she went she made people feel happy.
It was a wonderful morning, the sun was out, traffic was light. People walked about with a spring in there step. Tina was one of those people, she was with a group of friends window shopping. The high-school prom was next month and Tina still needed her dress. As the group of girls walked past the small shops one dress caught Tina's eye, a short blue dress mad of velvety material it was perfect. Not wanting to lose it Tina rushed in to the store.
As Tiana exited the dressing room her friends awed at her beauty. The dress huged the curves, elegantly flowing it was perfect. A call was made to Tina's mother the dress was purchased.
The group of friend walked a bit more stopping in a park for a brief break. It was a perfect day.
Tina said bye to her friends as she descended down the subway stairs. She could not stay any longer.
Tina came out of the subway a few stopes latter. As she walked up the stairs she was met with the glow of the sun, warmth spread across the face.
Tina did not mean to leave the subway so soon for it was not her stop but she saw man staring at her. She watched him closely, observed him. She knew the type of man he was, she decided to move.
The station she exited from was a way away from Tina's home, it was in a more industrial part of the city. Tina had never come hear before, she was unsure of the souroundings but the warm glow of the sun reassured her, she felt all was ok.
Tina walked down the road, lined on both sides by factories and wear houses. It was a perfect day save he sourondings.
She spotted the man again she had not lost him.
He was facing away from but turned. His face was kind, he greeted Tina and asked if she was Allright and nit lost for it was unusual war teenagers to frequent this part of town. Tina with ting of fear in her voice said she needed help finding her way home. The man said he could show her were the subway entrance was, and just to follow him.
Tina nervously agreed, she seemed scared.
As the man walked in to an ally Tina saw her chance. She pulled a rather large knife out of her purse and hit the man in his lower spine paralyzing him from the wast down. The man scremed out in terror as Tina ripped out his intestines slowly, making sure each of her cuts would not kill the man, only hurt. As she worked Tina remained silent, of course the man pleaded for his life, but it was pointless. From the time he laid his eyes on Tina in the subway he was hers.
He was the perfect man, tall, perfect skin, deep dark eyes, short cropped hair. He was med especially for Tina and Tina knew this.
When she finished she mad sure the man looked his best and the ally way was properly decorated.
Before leaving she took a grapfruid spoon and carfully extracted hus right eye. Then smashed in to the pavement with her heel.
The sun caused the blood on the body to glisten. It was perfect.
Tina returned home her prom dress was waiting for her. It was perfect.
Late that day the body was found. The detective looking in to the body knew it was the day killer, all the patters were the same. After 25 victims the deceive thought he was getting to know the killer, he was most likely male, they all were. He was most likely white, they all were. And this one liked working in the day and eyes.
The detective was about to learn a lot more about the killer the next day. When the took the subway to work. |
Inspired by [this prompt.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/62iaz5/wp_write_a_horror_story_difficulty_the/) I thought this would be harder. Sorry if there's already too many similar to this out there | [WP] Write a horror story, but the story takes place in full daylight. | "God, such a mess. Why does she do this to me?" The man asked, sweeping the broken plates into a dustpan with a small broom. His eyes were still sore, red from lack of sleep, and exhausted from screaming. But the fight was over for now, and he was alone at home, waiting for her to cool down before making up.
Again.
"I've got work in like two hours! She does this to me, every time. Can my life get any worse than this?" The man looked at his cellphone, waiting for her messages begging him to forgive her, but they didn't come this time. "This is going to be one of those days again." He grumbled, catching a glimpse of a new message under an unknown number.
*Hello, Damian. Do you remember me? We dated back in high school! :D*
"Uh... Oh! Wait!" The excited man in a stained white tank top quickly dumped the plate pieces into the trash and fixed his hair. "Wait, what am I doing?" He shook his head at the foolish pampering and replied as quick as his thumbs would allow.
*Is this Julia? Julia Schaffer? Hey, how are you?*
He waited for a moment, taking a seat beside cold fried eggs and burnt bacon strips. His wife wasn't much for cooking, but he loved her all the same in a way.
*I'm glad I found you! I wanted to meet up with you, catch up, walk down memory lane!*
Damian saw it as a sign from the gods. What were the odds after all? His wife, despite her lovable qualities, was run down, growing more and more unreasonable. Jobless to boot. A second chance at happiness. "It'll be harmless, she won't mind... Yea, just to chat with friends. I mean... Yea, exactly."
*Sure, would love to meet up. Are you in town?*
The reply was almost instant.
*I came through this small town heading South to see family. I'm parked at the RV camp, by the campsite. It'll be just like old times!*
That's all he needed. Well, almost all he needed.
*Great, tell me what you're wearing* "Uh... wait, hang on that's too creepy." *so I can keep an eye out for you.*
The reply took longer. He was able to get dressed in washed out jeans and a flannel shirt before she responded.
*You haven't changed much ;) Glad to hear. Come on over, and I'll show you.*
Now *that* was all he needed.
The weather appeared bright, and yet despite that, rain suddenly drizzled from what appeared to be a cloudless sky. He drove a pick up truck through town, passing the local stores and diners, giving polite waves to those he passed much to their surprise. This was the first time in a long time that he smiled.
A paved road became a long quiet stretch of abandoned dirt. His phone reminded him of the distance away from this camp. "Not long now." Damian sighed, but a glance at his wedding band made his heart pause. "... It's not illegal to take it off. Just for the day."
Trees intertwined branches up above, blocking the rain and sunlight from view. A sense of dread came from the sight, like crossing over into a darker world. But on the other side it was as bright and sunny as before.
"I guess this is it." Damian sighed and lifted his head, seeing an RV park with a few parked and those camping quickly fleeing inside to hide from the rain.
*I'm here. Where are you?*
He parked along a line of trucks and stepped out, leaving his wedding band on the dashboard.
*Getting wet in the woods waiting for you! Follow the trail and I'll be here.*
"Tsk, girls always make me work so hard to get what I'm going to get regardless." He joked, slightly, before taking his jacket from the passenger seat and venturing into the glistening sunlight. Rain made puddles that showed a man with hopeful eyes and thick facial hair. But there was hunger in those eyes as well. He enjoyed the hunt, the chase, just like in high school when his wife appreciated that sort of thing.
*Where are you?* He messaged, finding the trail crossed over a bridge and nothing more. The trees became thicker, with leaves casting shadows and rain blinding him as he looked up.
*You're getting warmer* The message teased, sending a picture along side it.
"Ha this game huh?" The photo came from between the trees, showing a lone figure in a dark jacket in the distance. He laughed seeing himself, unaware of her presence, before clearing his throat and venturing forward.
He could hear the rain begin to drop heavier and patter on the leaves above, drowning out the sound of his own footsteps. But the game continued on.
The sunlight felt taunting, beams of light shining, smiling so bright, while rain beat down on him as he became tangled in broken hanging branches.
*Don't move.* A text message rung. *I'm getting closer.* Damien read the message with a different tone than before. "This is getting creepy."
*Where are you?* Damian couldn't admit he was becoming paranoid. Strong men didn't think that way. His head turned hearing rustling in the leaves. "Julia?"
A photo message came through. He opened and looked through the water drops on his phone to see a photo with his back turned, staring at his phone. A picture closer than the one before.
"This isn't funny!" He whipped around, seeing no one close by. Damian set out to turn, but found another picture on his phone. "Ha, c-come on, jokes over."
*I'm getting closer.*
"Hey! You come near me and I'm calling the cops!" His threat was muffled. He knocked the branches out of his path and ran towards the trail.
At least, it seemed like it.
"Damn it, damn it, where am I?!" Damian wiped his eyes and turned his head. The forest all looked the same. His phone showed he was at his destination.
*I found you.*
A grip reached Damian's neck and threw his face against the base of a tree. Damian fell to the ground, clutching his head. The phone cracked against a stone, crushed under the weight of another man's boot.
"Who are you?" Damian questioned, but found no answers. The weight of his boot came in contact with his nose. His eyes. His mouth. His neck. His forehead. Over and over.
"Why?! Why?!" Was all that could be uttered as Damian fought for his life to shield his eyes and face with broken hands. Rapidly the distinguished face was brutalized and left looking a grape crushed under a grocery cart wheel.
There was nothing left.
The sun shower faded as quickly as they often appeared. Leaving a muddy bloody mess on the ground in the middle of the woods. The killer took Damian's phone, wiping off the water and checking their shared messages. The phone was turned off, and SIM card removed, leaving just the shell behind.
His killer sighed, walking away from the body, knowing campers would emerge and find him in no time.
"Why? I'm disgusted he even asked me that..."
---
(Earlier that day...)
They say when it rains on a bright sunny day, the Devil is beating his wife.
"Yes, thank you." She's nervous, like always, ordering from this place. The waiter takes her silence coldly, but wears a fake smile nonetheless. He jots down her order: one stack of pancakes and coffee, lots of cream.
"I'll be back with your order, ma'am." The waiter never asks about her. He has his own problems. His upstairs neighbors bang on the floor, his cat sprays piss on the curtains, and his girlfriend lost her job. Yes, he has his own horrors to deal with.
She sits with her hands shaking in her lap, her chipped red paint and broken nails stay hidden from view. *The dress he got is too tight,* she thinks loudly to block out all other thoughts, *I can't fit in it. I'm too fat, God why did you make me so fat?*
The couple sitting behind her laugh as she tries to suck in her gut. They're laughing at her. Mocking her. The fat, washed up, prom queen. It's horrid, but she thinks it's true. Her wrinkles are disgusting. Her eyes are always dark. Her lips are chapped and nude. She never wears make up anymore. She's given up. A hideous monster.
She deserves it, she tells herself.
"Here's your meal." The waiter sets the plate before her. Crashing of porcelain reminds her of the shards resting on the kitchen floor at home. The waiter sees her jump and instinctively curl her fingers, ducking her head down to avoid injury to her face.
This isn't new. I watch this everyday from my booth across the diner. I always come here, looking for a new victim, only to find one who isn't mine every time.
"Sir?" My waitress stands there, glancing to where I'm staring, wondering perhaps if I know her. Or if I want to know her. It's a small town, everyone knows everyone here, which disgusts me even more. "Do you know her?"
I shake my head.
She's quiet again, too now watching as the woman uncurls her fingers and sobs quietly with her head turned to the window.
"She comes her all the time like this." The waitress explains, "Her husband comes and picks her up after a couple hours. I wonder what's wrong with her."
Ignorance is bliss.
I take a final sip of my coffee, leaving my food untouched, waiting, like usual.
But waiting never settled my problems before. Approaching a victim that wasn't mine was never easy.
"Excuse me," I ask, watching her jump and slide into the corner of her booth, "may I ask where he lives?"
"Um... where who lives?"
"The man who did this to you."
| Sometimes the most horrific things are made worse when they happen in plain sight. It leaves nothing to the imagination. Its raw, unshielded horror.
The Greengage Psycho was no serial killer. He didn't care about making his murders an art form. He didn't care about the police, or witnesses. He didn't care about making your death poetic or beautiful. He didn't care about time or location.
He would just walk up to you, in broad daylight, and kill you.
Usually people are afraid of things when it's dark or when they're feeling vulnerable. The Greengage Psycho would kill you when you felt the most secure, when you least expected it. Perhaps, on the happiest day of your life.
That's how it was when he killed Ms Keltz. She had just got a promotion in her job, never stopped smiling on her way home. That was until she was pulled aside and stabbed. Killed on the warmest day of the year.
The funny thing is, when I first saw his *wanted* poster, I recognised him. I recognised his dead, vacant eyes, his long face. I had walked past him on a daily basis. Apparently I wasn't worth killing. God knows why.
Anyway, he's still out there, so try and be careful. During your happiest moments, on the most beautiful of days - just watch out, please.
|
Inspired by [this prompt.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/62iaz5/wp_write_a_horror_story_difficulty_the/) I thought this would be harder. Sorry if there's already too many similar to this out there | [WP] Write a horror story, but the story takes place in full daylight. | *I was going to propose.*
I can see the spot, too. Straight ahead, the beautiful grove of flowering trees I had chosen to frame the much-anticipated question. From there, the view of the valley and distant mountains is breathtaking, as long as you don't look down.
I wish I had looked down. My eyes fixed on a radiant orange sunrise, my heart fixed on romance, I stepped too close to the edge, held together almost entirely by dirt packed into exposed roots, and it collapsed with my unfamiliar weight. My body scraped against the sheer, rocky wall of the ridge the entire way down. I came to land hard on my back on the packed dirt of the valley. It did nothing to soften my fall.
Everything feels broken. Well, not everything. I can't feel my legs at all, but I'm too afraid to lift my head to look. You're not supposed to move a person with a broken neck, not unless you can stabilize it. I don't even know if my neck is broken. What part of your spine do you have to break to paralyze your legs?
My arms are almost worse. I *can* still move them, but I won't. The earth I landed on is rocky and hard, and my left elbow smashed into a jutting cut of boulder when I landed. The entire arm is wrong now, lying at what feels like a disturbing angle. I won't turn my head to look. My right arm isn't broken, but it isn't sitting right in the socket of my shoulder anymore. My arm went up as I fell, desperately lashing out to catch on the edge of the ridge. My weight dislocated the shoulder as I fell, and I landed with mud caked worthlessly on my hand and wrist.
The sun has moved directly above me by now. It has been shining bright and uninhibited since it crested the distant mountains. I can't seem to open my eyes, so I keep them clenched shut. Every inch of my skin is burning, burning, burning. I squirm from the pain, but squirming disturbs my arms and the pain grows a hundred-fold. I try to scream but my voice cracks out of my dry throat in a hoarse moan. For a mad second I am glad for the mud caking my hand, protecting a precious few inches of skin from burning away.
My phone jingles cheerfully from my back pocket, unbelievably operational after the impact it suffered. The ringtone is familiar-- my girlfriend's. It's late on a Saturday morning; this will be her good morning text. I sob but tears don't come. *I was going to propose.*
After several hours my skin has begun to peel and blister. My throat is too dry to call for help. I tried, when I first landed. I called and called until my voice was hoarse. Now I try again, but the noise is barely audible. I close my mouth and save the precious moisture.
In the full heat of the sun, the mosquitoes are working diligently to suck me dry. They land on my exposed, sunburnt skin, covered with blisters, blood, and pus. The pain is agonizing. They crawl along the flesh and leave me with an itch I can neither scratch nor bear. Flies, heavier and just as plentiful, begin to collect on my face and arms. I puff air at them, desperate for an escape, but they crawl over my eyes and nose and lips and refuse to take wing.
The sun passes over the ridge. The flowering trees, illuminated from behind, appear to be on fire. Everything is on fire-- my arms, my eyes, my face, my mind. I am as consumed with fire as I am with pain.
The sun is beyond the ridge. I am blessedly cloaked in the shade of the earth. I must have passed out for a while, but it is impossible to determine how long. My abused skin oozes and continues to cook hot, hot, hot, even away from the sun's rays. I can't cry, can't cry out. I only wheeze.
In the shade of the ridge I can hear new sounds from behind me. Movements. Startled, desperate, I chance moving my neck to tilt my head back. I can see the tops of trees, leaves still and branches stolid. There is no wind here. Out of the dusky treeline emerges a figure. Deliriously, I think it is my dog, my dog is here, he came with my girlfriend to find me, they found me at last. I wonder if they will be able to fix me.
But it isn't my dog. My dog wiggles and jumps when he sees me, his tongue flopping harmlessly out of his mouth, his tail whipping lightning-fast from side to side. This creature is nearly stock-still, advancing slowly, slowly toward me, his tail rigidly behind him. His eyes are dark, intelligent, piercing-- his teeth are piercing too. A wolf. His tongue does not flop harmlessly out of his mouth-- it hangs behind his teeth as his lips curl back and his jaw opens. He continues to advance. I hear more sounds and remember that wolves are pack hunters.
My phone jingles merrily from my pocket. My girlfriend again. I haven't talked to her all day. She must know something's wrong. It rings and rings and doesn't stop this time. More figures appear behind the wolf.
*I was going to propose.* | Sometimes the most horrific things are made worse when they happen in plain sight. It leaves nothing to the imagination. Its raw, unshielded horror.
The Greengage Psycho was no serial killer. He didn't care about making his murders an art form. He didn't care about the police, or witnesses. He didn't care about making your death poetic or beautiful. He didn't care about time or location.
He would just walk up to you, in broad daylight, and kill you.
Usually people are afraid of things when it's dark or when they're feeling vulnerable. The Greengage Psycho would kill you when you felt the most secure, when you least expected it. Perhaps, on the happiest day of your life.
That's how it was when he killed Ms Keltz. She had just got a promotion in her job, never stopped smiling on her way home. That was until she was pulled aside and stabbed. Killed on the warmest day of the year.
The funny thing is, when I first saw his *wanted* poster, I recognised him. I recognised his dead, vacant eyes, his long face. I had walked past him on a daily basis. Apparently I wasn't worth killing. God knows why.
Anyway, he's still out there, so try and be careful. During your happiest moments, on the most beautiful of days - just watch out, please.
|
[WP] Write a story from the perspective of anyone, in a world where superheros are slowly becoming obsolete as the army is slowly becoming advanced enough to deal with any threats. | "We looked up to them, figuratively and literally. We used to praise their work and thank them for the good work they did. We used to love them and we thought they loved us back. We thought they'd never leave us or turn against us. Some of us even considered them to be gods. After all, how else would a child view a man who could soar into the clouds and stop freight trains with the tip of their fingers?"
"At first, it was only a few incidents. A train being saved from an accident but the hero would hurt the people inside during the process. A man being saved from a fall when he was trying to commit suicide. A child getting into the way while they were in battle. Then, it started happening more frequently. Personally, I blame the people. Every time a hero would engage in battle or was attempting to save someone they would pull out their phones and start recording. They started getting too close and getting killed from flying debris or a misfired shot. Finally, and I will tell you in great confidence even though most people would disagree with me, people started to get in the way on purpose."
"They would throw themselves at the hero while they were trying to save others and get themselves killed. Of course, it was always the hero's fault. It was almost like a business to these people. If your pain was caused in any way by the hero's actions, you would get insurance money. Some hero's started strapping GoPro's to themselves to prove their innocence. It didn't last too long."
"It was at this time that the government decided they had enough and created a 'vaccine' to rid the hero's of their powers. They were ordered to either give them up or branded a criminal. If they refused, they were considered armed and dangerous and were killed by the military's new soldier: Titans. Those who received the vaccine were given new identities and forced to relocate and live their lives with everyone else." He looked up at the clock and realized he was almost out of time. "That's it for today. Any question before you leave?" the professor asked. No one raised their hand. "Very well, class dismissed," he said waving them off.
The students left the room in their usual groups, but a couple of students stayed behind. "Professor?" on of them asked.
"Yes?"
"I was wondering," he said rubbing the back of his neck, "not that I'm questioning your knowledge on the subject, but how do you know this topic so well? Most of the research we've done has led to nothing. It's almost as if the documents on the matter were completely erased."
The professor smiled, "You see, when you've been around for as long as I have, you see things more clearly than others. I was actually there when the heroes would fight the villains and save the people. Now, the Titans do that job for them." He said the last words while looking out one of the windows.
"Do you ever miss them?" the student asked.
"Oh, sometimes, but we can't keep lingering to the past can we? We have to look forward and focus on the future. Now, run along you'll be late to your next class." He waved them off.
"Cool, see ya later Professor K!" they said leaving the class.
Professor K looked as they went off into the world. He wasn't completely honest with him, though. He did miss the heroes dearly. He missed their capes streaking across the sky as they flew from city to city. He missed their glowing auras that gave them away in the darkest of nights. He missed the smiles on the people's faces as they were being rescued.
Professor K opened his locked drawer in his desk and saw his old uniform. The symbol that used to mean hope now snuffed away in a dark, cramp place. He did miss the heroes, but most of all, he missed his friends. | My feet dangled. I felt the cool breeze slide between my toes as I stared into the Great Star, hoping to burn away all feelings of remorse. I squeezed the dry, scratchy thatch of the rooftop and exhaled softly, hoping to release this enormous weight on my shoulders. I clenched my body tightly, every tendon and ligament stiff with anticipation, with excitement. Then, I let go...
*Thud*
*hissss*
The anti-jumper cables deployed and the instant inflatable caught me safely. Again. I sighed and rolled off of the deflating bag, plopping onto the asphalt. After several minutes of complete stillness I made up my mind as I began pacing down the road. Maybe there's a cat somewhere stuck in a tree... | |
[WP] It's a murder mystery... except every character has a name which explicitly states their role in the story (e.g. Traitor, Good Guy, Victim), AND they are aware of this. Subvert expectations. | "He's dead!" screamed Red Shirt.
"We don't know that." replied Mannslaughter. "Check his pulse."
"There's a knife in his chest." said the Blind One. "Pretty sure he's dead."
"How would YOU know that, blindy, unless YOU put it there! Kill her!" Liara yelled.
"And we're supposed to believe you, Liar." SceptiCal retorted.
"Liar*A*, jerkoff."
"EVERYONE, CALM DOWN!" PaNick pleaded. "We're not gonna be able to subdue Mann if we keep bickering like this!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we don't know he did it. I, personally, think Mann's a swell guy!" cowered Coward.
"Nope, he definitely did it." said the Real Killer. "That's good going, Nick. On the ball, well done."
"Come on, Killie, you're not getting away that easily." replied the Suspicious Exotic Stranger. "I don't know how you did it, but I know you were involved."
"Your accent is as persuading as it is British," SceptiCal started, "but I don't know if we can believe you."
"I can!" Liara interjected, playing with her hair. "I think we should kill Killie right now."
"What is with you and killing people-" PaNick gasped. "YOU did it! YOU killed Vic!"
"No I didn't." Liara retorted.
"AHA! I KNEW it!"
"That's pretty solid evidence." Red Shirt stated.
"I don't lie!" Liara lied.
"Look, we can iron out the details later, but right now we have to get Mann and Killie in jail, and Liara in questioning." said the Suspicious Exotic Stranger.
"Hey, what about you?" SceptiCal asked. "I don't know what it is about you, Stranger, but you just seem... suspicious."
"Yeah, how you just came out of no where with that 'May I borrow your phone, I have to call Triple A' bull. How do we even know you HAVE a car?" the Real Killer questioned.
"Look, here are my keys."
"Those are my keys!" exclaimed the Blind One.
"How- how can you tell- how do you have a car?" Mannslaughter stammered.
Suddenly, the lights switched off. The sound of a neck cracking radiated from behind the group with a thud following shortly after. The lights switched back on.
"AAH! HE STRUCK AGAIN!" yelled PaNick.
"Or 'she'." the Real Killer added.
"Who... who was it?" whimpered Coward.
"I... don't know." SceptiCal said. "Was this guy even here before?"
"Oh, I think I recognize him." Red Shirt replied. "Yeah, that's Beckground Character. Vic was talking to him right before Stranger arrived."
"So, 'Beck' was here the whole time and he never spoke up." the Real Killer snarked.
"Some people are just shy, ya know? It's just how they were made." Mannslaughter empathized.
"Has anyone called the police yet?" the Suspicious Exotic Stranger interjected.
"Uh, no, we don't have any signal." the Blind One said, holding her phone up.
"I don't understand you." Manslaughter said.
"Ok, we'll just have to use the mansion's landline." Red Shirt reasoned.
"Wait, we're in a mansion? Why wasn't that mentioned earlier?" SceptiCal inquired.
"Mannslaughter, you and Coward go to the study and call the cops." Red Shirt ordered.
"I'd- I'd really rather just stay here, with you guys." Coward pleaded.
"All right, Nick, you go with Mannslaughter to the study. Yell if he tries to kill you."
"CAN DO." PaNick blurted.
"The rest of us will stay here and watch over Killie and Stranger."
"Good wording." the Blind One snorted.
"Ok, you guys have fun playing Murder Mystery, I'm going home." Liara said, making her way to the door.
"Whoa, you're not out of the woods yet, Liara." SceptiCal grabbed her by the shoulder. "You were awfully eager to kill people, earlier."
"Oh, come on! Killie is obviously the murderer, let me go!" Liara yanked her shoulder away.
"Yeah, well, you could still be her accomplice, and until you can prove me otherwise, you're staying right here."
"Guilty until proven innocent, should have figured as much." Liara walked back to the group and stood uncomfortably close to the Suspicious Exotic Stranger. "How could I even be her accomplice? I didn't know her before tonight."
"That's a good point." Coward said, slightly too quietly. "Did any of us know each other before the party?"
"I knew Vic." Red Shirt said.
"Yeah, me too." Liara chimed.
"He and I were getting divorced." the Blind One added.
"Yeah, and he and I were having an affair." the Real Killer stated.
"What!?" the Blind One exclaimed.
"Yeah, and he and I grew up together." the Suspicious Exotic Stranger interjected.
"Wait, what?" SceptiCal asked.
"Yeah, why do you think I came here for help? Vic and I lived next to each other growing up in Iowa."
"But... your accen-"
"Hey guys, we're back!" Mannslaughter yelled. As he raised his arm to greet them, he accidentally hit PaNick in the face, causing him to fall backwards. By the time everyone had crowded around him, a large blood pool had formed around his head.
"Ooooooooh." everyone said in unison.
"*Involuntary* manslaughter." Red Shirt said. "I guess that means Mann is innocent."
"Oh my Go- I- I KILLED him!" Mannslaughter cried.
"Ok, so that leaves Killie and Liara." Red Shirt continued. "And I know who it is."
Red Shirt started peeling away an elaborate face mask he had been wearing.
"What, no! I- I killed you!" the Real Killer exclaimed.
"Vic? How- what?" the Suspicious Exotic Stranger asked in bewilderment.
"Saw it coming." SceptiCal stated.
"THERE'S BLOOD EVERYWHERE!" Mannslaughter screamed.
"As I'm sure you've guessed already, Killie actually killed Red Shirt." Victim said, picking at the corpse's mask. "I knew she wanted me dead, and Red Shirt, knowing of his inevitable demise, was willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good."
"Bull! What really happened?" SceptiCal asked.
"All right! I told him it was a costume party, and that this would be a funny gag."
"In April?" Liara questioned.
"I never said he was smart. And I didn't know she was going to be that quick! I thought I'd have time to save him and still get her for attempted murder."
"Why would she want you dead, anyway?" Coward inquired.
"She got me to re-write my will. Left her everything, didn't catch on until a couple days ago."
"So, you got us all rounded up in a desperate attempt to...?" the Blind One asked.
"Give her a place to strike."
"Oh. That's not crazy at all." SceptiCal said. "Why didn't you say anything sooner? Ya could have stopped Beck and Nick from dying."
"Yeah, why *did* you kill Beck?" Victim asked the Real Killer.
"He saw me do it, and he was about to tell you all." the Real Killer responded.
"Wait, why didn't he tell us sooner?" the Suspicious Exotic Stranger asked.
"Like I said, he was a shy man." Mannslaughter said in between wails of agony.
"Answer my question!" SceptiCal demanded. "Why didn't you say something sooner!?"
As soon as SceptiCal asked that, the sound of a faint siren could be heard, slowly getting louder.
"Because Killie would have been able to run away before the police arrived."
The police started ramming at the door, slowly causing it to crack and give way.
"Ok, ok, that all makes sense, but there's still one thing that I don't get." SceptiCal said. "If you're not dead, why is your name 'Victim'?"
"I don't-" Before Victim could finish, police officers burst through the door and tackled him.
"You're under arrest! You have the right to remain silent." the Officer stated.
"What!? No! No, no! I- I didn't kill them! It was her-" Victim stammered.
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law."
"Guy's, please! Help me!"
"No, he definitely did it." the Real Killer said.
"Yep, it was him." the Blind One added.
"You have the right to an attorney. If you can not afford one, one will be presented to you by the State."
"Actually..." The Suspicious Exotic Stranger was cut off by the Real Killer dragging her finger across her throat. "Yes. He did it."
"No! Don't listen to them, I'm innocent!"
"Come on, dirt bag. You're gonna have a long night." the Officer replied.
As the group watched the Officer drive off with Victim, police rushed by to take pictures of the crime scene. A couple paramedics checked to see if everyone there was all right. They thought it best to take Mannslaughter into the psych ward for the night, the rest they left on their own. Some officers ushered them out of the mansion and quickly marked off the scene with police tape.
Before anyone could comprehend what had happened, the Real Killer asked "So, anybody hungry? Dinner's on me."
Edit: Typo correction. | Here we begin our story at an old mansion. Y’know the obvious setting for a murder story. There’s rain outside so they can’t get home. Y’know what? Who the hell even cares about rain these days , there’s actually a blizzard instead. Yeah. That’ll do it.
“You really say ‘y’know’ way too much Narrator”, said The Hot Chick That Gets With The Protagonist, brushing her long red hair out of her eyes.
Well that’s how I’m telling the story so that’s how it’s gonna go. Y’know?
Anyways we’re all standing around this living room and…
“We should just kill the guy, I mean c’mon he gon’ kill all of us.” First Victim, a big black burly guy, said pointing at Killer, a skinny looking Asian guy napping on the couch.
Second Victim, a shy looking black haired little girl, asked nervously, “Wait all of us? But we’re the only 2 Victims here.”
“Uh if I may speak up here, seeing as how my name is ‘Lone Survivor’, perhaps he is referring to that?” responded an old man that looked to be in his 60’s. “Also I’m only 55 do I really look that old?”
Same thing.
Wait a minute, if he’s the only survivor, does that mean I die too? I can’t die I’m the Narrator.
“Well apparently you can, don’t worry Mr. 55 years old here will finish the story for you” said Hot Chick. “Also who’s the Protagonist? I don’t see him here, it better not be you either, Narrator, you got a real creepy vibe going on.” She frowned crossing her arms and squeezing her amazing tits together.
“Welp I mean… do whatever you want duuudes. I’m pretty much done with all this.” The Killer had woken up apparently. “And now I’m going back to sleep. Wake me up when we all dead… or whatever.”
“Yo Narrator guy, what happens if I just kill him right now? Wouldn’t that just fuck everything up? Also isn’t that a bit racist, why am I the First Victim?”
Suspected Killer, a middle aged lady responded, “Well isn’t it a common trope in movies that the black guy always dies first?”
“What thas still racist! Anyways I’m goin for it. If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna at least take out my killer.” He then shambled off to the kitchen presumably to get a knife.
“Hey wait up!” Said Suspected Killer, “They got any food in there? I’m starving.”
“Yo Narrator, you still haven’t told me who I’m supposedly hooking up with.” Hot Chick said.
Well hmm, everyone’s supposed to be here already so idk who’s the most protagonisty to you?
“Well there’s that old guy there, he IS lone survivor, but I can’t imagine hooking up with him.”
Lone Survivor responded, “Also I have a wife already so I don’t really think that’s going to work out.”
Second Victim went up to Hot Chick.
“What do you need kid?”
“uh... uhhm... well I need to go to the bathroom, could you come with me?”
Hot Chick’s expression softened, “Sure thing-”
Just then the lights cut out. There was a sudden yelling from the kitchens. Sounded like Black Gu- I mean First Victim. Then silence.
“Whoa guys, like… what just happened?” Killer’s lazy voice drifted across the dark room.
“Hold on guys.” Hot Chick fumbled around the darkness. “Anyone got a light?”
“I’m scared” Said Second Victim grasping onto the edge of Hot Chick’s skirt.
“Wait here we go.” Came Lone Survivor’s voice. Moments later there was a beam of light from a flashlight. “I’m old, I gotta be prepared for stuff.”
Suddenly there was a noise, Lone Survivor shined the light toward the kitchen door.
AHHH.
Everyone else screamed also not just me.
Suspected Killer was standing there covered in blood.
“First Victim is dead.”
“Wha- HUuh??” Hot Chick said, “But Killers still right there.” She pointed at the empty couch.
“Wait! Wha-” just then there was toilet flushing from the room next door and Killer came back with a candle.
“Sorry guys I had to use the bathroom real bad. Also I found this candle and-- WHOAA what happened to you??” He stared at Suspected Killer.
“UH UH well First Victim had gotten this knife right? And And And then he just tripped?” She said. She shrugged her shoulders. “Or something. I was checking out the fridge and suddenly the lights went out and then I heard this loud noise. I couldn’t see so I just tried to walk back to you guys and fell over him. There was blood everywhere.”
“We have to go check out the body.” Hot Chick said. She felt tugging at her skirt and looked down.
“I reaaally need to pee.” said Second Victim.
Killer spoke up, “Yo the bathrooms like this way. Take this candle kid.”
Suspected Killer sat down on the ground. “I’m gonna stay here if you guys don’t mind.”
Hot Chick, Me, and Lone Survivor went to the kitchen.
“Wow that is a lot of blood on the ground” Lone Survivor said. He bent over the body and picked up the blood covered knife. There was a stab wound in First Victim’s neck.
“Wait a minute, shine the light over here” Hot Chick said, stepping over the body with her amazing long legs. "Also you realize this might be considered sexual harassment, Narrator?"
Lone Survivor shined the light toward First Victim’s feet. There was a crushed phone with earphones attached.
“Who’s is this?” Hot Chick picked up the cellphone.
Wait a minute guys. Did we just leave Second Victim with Killer?
The other 2 stared at me.
“Wow we are stupid as fuck.” Hot Chick said. We rushed back to the living room and found Killer standing there patting his pockets.
“Hey anyone seen my pho-” He spotted the cracked phone Hot Chick was holding. “Hey where’d you guys find that?”
“What this phone’s yours?” Red Head Hottie asked handing back the phone. "It was in the kitchen."
“Yeah wow looks like someone stepped on it bummer man, and the earphones are all messed up too.” He replied inspecting the phone. “Must’ve dropped it earlier while I was in there.”
Suddenly they heard a scream.
“That was Victim 2” Hottie said, “I think it came from over there.” She pointed to the door leading to the bathroom.
They climbed up a set of stairs to the second floor.
They found Suspected Killer standing outside the bathroom. “Oh c’mon honey, I’m not a Suspicious Killer my names Suspected Killer, it means people THINK I’m a killer not that I AM one.”
“No get away from me!” screamed Second Victim. “You’re trying to trick me!”
They heard a creaking noise coming from inside then suddenly the sound of wind blowing.
“Oh shit she’s trying to climb out the window!” exclaimed Hottie.
“Is there another way to get to her? Maybe we could find another window?” Suspected Killer asked.
“Here, take my flashlight” said Lone Survivor handing it to her. Suspected Killer went off through a door on the right.
“Shouldn’t we like… try to break down the door or something, before she does something crazy?” said Killer.
Hottie replied, “Uhmmm I guess that’s a good idea. Me and Lone Survivor will try to find a way to her around this other way you got any matches?” Killer tossed his pack of matches to her.
“Ok” She lit another candle. “Narrator you stay here with Killer and try to break through the bathroom door.” She took off through the door on the left.
I suddenly felt pretty nervous all of a sudden alone with Killer.
“Hey could you hold this candle for me?” Killer leaned against the door, “Uh hey little lady. It’s me Killer. I’m gonna try to break down the door ok?”
“Oh no! Everyone just leave me alone! I don’t want to die!” Came the voice from inside.
“Oh come on man, I got Narrator here, don’t worry, I ain’t trynna kill you.”
Suddenly they heard Suspected Killer’s voice, “Honey? Be careful this is a long drop. I’m sorry I scared you, but I just really needed to use the bathroom. In fact I still kinda do but I came here to save you.”
Second Victim started to sob. “I’m scared, I can’t get down.”
“Can’t you scoot your way back to the bathroom?”
“No… I’m too scared.”
“Ok hold out your hand I’ll catch you ok?”
“I-I can’t. I’ll fall.”
Quick Killer we gotta get in there!
“Sure thing man.” Killer stood back from the door getting some distance. “I’m gonna ram it.”
SLAM! The door smashed open. Second Victim was nowhere to be seen.
“What happened?” Hot Chick and Lone Survivor appeared behind them.
Killer went over to the open window, curtains fluttering everywhere and looked out. “I … I can’t see anything there’s too much snow.”
Suddenly there was a sound behind us. We all jumped.
| |
[WP] The first human spaceship as reached deep space. The astronauts in the ship felt they were prepared for anything, until they get pulled over for intergalactic speeding. | Captain Dirk stood terrified as he stared at the monitor. An object was speeding towards his ship, and his intelligence officer confirmed it was 100% unnatural, something engineered. Captain Dirk was the head of a small team of 7 manning the first ever deep space vessel. Using new graviton propulsion, the ship could reach faster than light speeds in space by shrinking the space infront of them. They had explored several of the nearest solar systems already, but none had any sign of advanced life. Though some planets might have been candidates to have RNA, or even single celled microbial life, they did not have the resources to land and investigate the planets thoroughly.
So it was a unsurprising that an approaching alien vessel would surprise Captain Dirk to complete silence. "Captain..." "Caaaaptainnn" "CAPPPTAINN!!!" berated intelligence officer Pock. "W-what!?" replied Dirk profusely sweating. "Approximately 3 minutes until the object reaches us, what should we do? Prepare weapons? Prepare escape measures? Prepa-" he was cut off by Dirk's response "Prepare tribute!" And so the team gathered rare minerals, extra fuel, some laptops and some flash drives with the best of human art.
The ship approached to human viewing distance. They sent a message surprisingly in chinese, russian, english, arabic, spanish, and several other languages. "I guess they've heard of us" joked the pilot. Everyone laughed except Dirk who was still sweating uncontrollably. The message read "Requesting permission to dock". They sent a reply in english "Permission granted" and opened a small hanger. The alien ship launched a very small mini ship that docked into the small hanger.
Two aliens boarded the ship. They were about half the height of humans, and bipedal with human like proportions except larger heads and longer arms. All other features were covered by their suits which were similar to human space suits except much slimmer and theirs were colored blue. Their helmets were metal and glass and looked like sleek biker helmets. They held a few devices in their hands that looked roughly like tablets, but with more features and buttons. The image on the tablet was black, but they used it as if something was displaying on the screen.
"Are you aware how fast you were going? Also, is your flight registered with the space traffic center?" a human like voice said from the tablet the aliens were holding. "W-what? This is our first time in deep space sirs. A-and may I ask how is it you know our languages?". The aliens looked at each other and made a strange vibrating sound. "Automatic translators obviously. So you are an unregistered vehicle? You must go back to your planet and fill out the correct paper work and send it to positron signal 431.32." the aliens looked at each other again and made the same vibrating sound. Then the other alien who hadn't used his tablet to speak yet said "Also, that will be a fine of 231278 quintons". "W-we don't have a-any of that currency. B-but, we don't want to start any t-trouble so we have these goods here that could be worth the c-ost of the f-fine?" They looked at each other and made the vibrating sound again, louder than ever, one of them put his hand near his stomach area. They straightened up, took every item from the tribute onto their ship and one said "Yes, this is acceptable" before another said "Barely" and they both started to make the vibrating sound again. One of them almost dropped what he was holding. Soon the aliens left the ship and drifted off into space.
They made their way back to Earth. Dirk's sweating lowered but did not go away. Three-quarters of the way there Pock had a meeting with Dirk. "So, ever since our run in with the aliens I had a feeling in my gut something was off. They didn't show you any badges or anything did they?" asked Pock. Dirk replied "No... what are you getting at?". "Well let me first say, while you were talking to the aliens I helped them carry some of our tribute onto their ship. I saw a lot of pictures of monsters, heroic looking people, naked female looking organisms. And most peculiar of all, images of the aliens but considerably taller." said Pock. Dirk said nothing but continued to sweat and stare confused. "I'm pretty sure that vibrating noise they were making was laughing... I think they were young aliens, maybe teenagers... I also looked into that positron signal stuff they were talking about. It was completely nonsensical, there is no such thing..." continued Pock, but Dirk remained confused and eventually said "Alright out with it!". "I think we got pranked sir." stated Pock. Dirk turned his head and started to blink wildly. Eventually he turned his head the other way and said "Fuck... I think you're right...". "What should we do sir?" asked Pock. "Lets just go home for now. We explored quite a few systems and experienced first contact with alien life afterall. Mission Success". After a brief pause Dirk said to Pock "You know, I think I'm gonna tell em to let you be Captain instead of me next time." Pock smiled and seemed unsurprised by the proposition. Pock shook his head and said "Oh, but without you as Captain, who would we blame all our mistakes on?". Dirk finally stopped sweating and let out a belly full laugh.
https://www.reddit.com/r/sharpWriting/ | As distant stars made steady streams of light on every side of the small ship - colloquially named "Galileo" by Captain Keller - a soothing female voice spoke from all around the two passengers.
"Congratulations, gentlemen. We have reached the one light year mark. You two have made history. The first spacecraft to achieve faster than light travel. I am quite glad to have had played a part, however small."
An intentional, yet synchronized grin spread on both faces of the pilots. Keeping their professional composure, both their knuckles joined for a fist bump in the sizable space between them. The comfortably arched, black recliners contained their bodies - seemingly vibrating from excitement.
"Thank you, Daisy. Andrew and I couldn't have done it without you - Hell, humanity couldn't have done it without you," Captain Keller said.
"I am glad I could've been service to first mate Rickman and yourself, however I do not mean to be bashf- Captain, there seems to be an anomaly. A single flying unidentified object seems to be trailing the S.S. Gal-146."
Looking into the rear view mirrors, Keller saw a light - not the white and black they've seen for the past twenty minutes. This light flashed hues of blue, red, and light green.
"What on Dawkin's green Earth is that, Andrew?" Asked Keller
"Looks sort of like a space cop - we technically have hit more than 10x the speed of light," Rickman said jokingly.
"Shut up. I'm going to slow down out of it's path," Keller replied.
Pulling back the throttle, the constant stream of light that the ship outran went back to their seemingly normal spots on the landscape. The two, even along with the AI stood at a still inside the freezing, silent vacuum in space. Looking back again, the massive blob of contained light looked to be about twenty feet away. It wasn't just light - it was blinding their weak, non-augmented human eyes.
>Part 2-
Keller turns to see Rickman's pale, ghastly face. Their eyes share nothing but surprise and fear. The only sound in the chamber is the muffled heartbeats of the two, and the humming of the engine core. Nothing could be divulged between them - they knew they are both in literal "uncharted waters". They both turned their heads slowly, looking at their rear view mirror panes. The S.S. Gal-146 was basked in a certain combination of light that no human had ever seen.
"FUCK! WHAT IS THAT?" Keller screamed as he jumped up from his recliner.
Rickman kept silent with fright. They both saw it. An albino-white appendage resembling a tentacle. It stuck to the port side of the ship. The outline of the limb spread thin layers of frost on the glass. Like spilling drips of water on, and around your hand on freezing glass.
Breaking the silence, making the two jump, Daisy asked,
"Captain, I sense cortisol levels being excreted in the ship at dangerously high levels. Permission to release low levels of diazepam vapor into the cabin to avoid fight or flight response?
Rickman nodded feverishly. Rickman, not noticing his first mate, still uttered,
"Yes, please."
"Roger, Captain." Daisy replies, as a a low hiss materialized under the two seats.
Just as quickly as the noise became associated with ease and relief, vibrations got sent through the vessel. With two sets of eyes still on the ghostly white arm, the length of it rapidly compressed. Before either of them could react, a mass was hovering against the window. One would be challenged to describe it's form - much less it's color - based off of memories from Earth. It was spherical, with a few grouped and small appendages wriggling on it's exterior. Seemingly, the creature had a white, smooth exoskeleton. It wasn't too large, and it appeared to be floating in space.
"Capt-" Rickman started, as one of the small wriggling parts steadied, and hit against the window.
Light blue lines of text passed between the top of the creature and the ship. It appeared from thin air. With furrowed brows, Keller asked,
"Daisy, you getting this?"
"Affirmative, Captain. Storing camera footage for imminent cloud upload," the disembodied female voice almost cooed.
The symbols were of an unknown origin, and could have easily had no meaning. But, if they had meaning then why were they being shown this? All three of them studied this, and the stream of text stopped.
"Daisy, can you translate? This is this thing's language isn't it? Captain Keller asked.
Rickman stayed silent, knowing that what he witnessed would be too important to interrupt.
"No, I can not engage a cryptography program of this caliber with my allocated CPU. However, it does seem to be this being's language," she replied.
Continuing to stare into the chamber, the alien appeared to hover in space. It looked as if the wriggling center of the mass was meant to stabilize it, as well as the still attached arm. There were roughly four other parts of it's body similar to the size of the first tentacle. Oddly, the arms contained no apparent "suckers" like a cephalopod would have.
As the Captain and First Mate stared in bewilderment at the floating untranslatable message, something odd happened. The blue text slowly embedded itself into the glass - turning from a blue to a print black. Before the only two humans within five trillion miles understood what was happening, the alien disconnected from the ship and quickly shot back to the flashing lights. Within ten seconds, the lights zoomed past them.
After what felt like minutes, Rickman smiled. Keller looked to him, bewildered. The small crew on the Galileo had experienced not only the first FTL travel, but first contact as well. Yet, they were more clueless than from the start.
"What's so funny, Andrew?" Keller asked.
"I think we just got a speeding ticket," Rickman beamed.
>Thanks for reading, y'all. First post on r/writingprompts and I hope it was enjoyed. Any criticism is welcome. | |
[WP] The first human spaceship as reached deep space. The astronauts in the ship felt they were prepared for anything, until they get pulled over for intergalactic speeding. | The captain of the vessel sat at the complicated ship's controls and felt pretty useless. They had been going at a constant velocity for the past few months. He wasn't sure why he kept up the pretense, but he still sat at the controls occasionally. Mostly he read. Anything to pass the time. He had gotten so bored over the weeks that he seriously wondered if he was going crazy when the ship started to slow down.
He looked up from his book to the series of dials and numbers on the command center in front of him.
"Dear God! There's a 3 on this display! There should never be a 3 here!" he screamed with concern. The rest of the crew heard his distress and came running. Jaws dropped one after another as they saw the controls. There were vague whispering about the 3 and its implications.
"Are we gonna die?" one of the crew wanted to know. The captain looked back at them.
"Probably." he assured. There was a panic. Bodies began to run all about the ship. Mere seconds later there was another distress filled cry. The captain joined the mob of people running towards it like some sort of drama seeking missile.
One after another the crew dropped their copies of Jaws the movie onto the cold floor. The sight that greeted them out of the window was something that no Spielberg could have prepared them for. Actually, he probably did, at some point. Didn't he do that one with the outraged trucker? This was kind of like that.
Except it wasn't like that at all. The view out of the lovely bay window at the nose of the ship was of some sort of policing spacecraft. Red and blue lights rotated throughout space, and a siren was implied, but not heard. They had docked to the front of the ship and engaged thrusters. They were bringing their ship to a standstill.
An opening appeared on the wall next to the window. A tunnel had ejected from the craft, and had pierced them like some kind of snow. There was a rustling in the hollow tunnel, and soon two beings appeared in the pierced spacecraft.
The beings were purple, stood at exactly four feet tall, and had 4 feet. They were dressed in blue uniforms with little stars on the shoulder.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?" The skinny one asked with what sounded like at least 2 paces of gum in his mouth.
The captain stepped forward. "No sir. We actually haven't met any other species before."
The space-cops looked unimpressed, he assumed.
"First time - eh? Well, that doesn't give you an excuse for your radically excessive speeds," he answered. The not skinny one perked up. "Yeah!" he said, helpfully. The skinny one gave him a look that seemed to say 'Pipe down, or I'll send you down a pipe.' He complied.
"What is the speed limit in this part of town?" the captain asked.
"Well, well, well. We got a wise guy," the skinny guy replied.
"Excuse me?"
"The speed limit here is the speed limit everywhere, buddy. Which is to say, photon level."
The captain looked confused. "But we were only going about 32-"
"Save it, buddy. We've heard it all before," he cut him off. "Oh we didn't mean to break the laws of physics! We were just running late for a bar mitzvah!" he continued mockingly.
The captain did not know what to say.
"The quiet game now, huh? Well listen, I'll let you get to your bar mitzvah, if you just give me your license so I can run the numbers."
"License?"
The two cops looked at each other, and then back to him.
"You don't even have your license?"
"No?"
The skinny cop was angered by this. "Listen, I was all ready to let you go to your Jew wedding, but now you've upset me. Now I'm going to have to book you!" he erupted.
The captain was so overwhelmed by the number of things that he didn't understand that he decided to pretend to understand all of them.
"You listen here, wise guy!" he shouted, "I know that you aren't really cops. We were going well under the speed of light! Our entire race doesn't even know how to go over it! And aside from that, what's with the bar mitzvah stuff? I don't think any of us are Jewish, and it's not a wedding, I don't think..."he trailed off as he realized the steam had left his argument. "But anyway the point is you're not a cop at all!" he finished.
The two 'cops' looked at each other. "Do you really not know how to go past the speed of light?" the skinny one asked.
"Well, no, but-"
"Oh geez. You're not worth robbing anyway. What's this thing do, 50%" he asked.
The captain looked down, ashamed.
"40%?"
"..."
"Dude. How did you even get out here? It's not like you..."
He looked at them with renewed interest.
"Did you just wait a really long time?" he asked.
The captain nodded somberly.
The two beings looked at each other again, this time with pity in their eyes.
"Well shit, come with us then, we can go way faster than the speed of light. We'll get you to that Jew wedding in no time."
___
/r/Periapoapsis. If that kind of thing appeals to you. | As distant stars made steady streams of light on every side of the small ship - colloquially named "Galileo" by Captain Keller - a soothing female voice spoke from all around the two passengers.
"Congratulations, gentlemen. We have reached the one light year mark. You two have made history. The first spacecraft to achieve faster than light travel. I am quite glad to have had played a part, however small."
An intentional, yet synchronized grin spread on both faces of the pilots. Keeping their professional composure, both their knuckles joined for a fist bump in the sizable space between them. The comfortably arched, black recliners contained their bodies - seemingly vibrating from excitement.
"Thank you, Daisy. Andrew and I couldn't have done it without you - Hell, humanity couldn't have done it without you," Captain Keller said.
"I am glad I could've been service to first mate Rickman and yourself, however I do not mean to be bashf- Captain, there seems to be an anomaly. A single flying unidentified object seems to be trailing the S.S. Gal-146."
Looking into the rear view mirrors, Keller saw a light - not the white and black they've seen for the past twenty minutes. This light flashed hues of blue, red, and light green.
"What on Dawkin's green Earth is that, Andrew?" Asked Keller
"Looks sort of like a space cop - we technically have hit more than 10x the speed of light," Rickman said jokingly.
"Shut up. I'm going to slow down out of it's path," Keller replied.
Pulling back the throttle, the constant stream of light that the ship outran went back to their seemingly normal spots on the landscape. The two, even along with the AI stood at a still inside the freezing, silent vacuum in space. Looking back again, the massive blob of contained light looked to be about twenty feet away. It wasn't just light - it was blinding their weak, non-augmented human eyes.
>Part 2-
Keller turns to see Rickman's pale, ghastly face. Their eyes share nothing but surprise and fear. The only sound in the chamber is the muffled heartbeats of the two, and the humming of the engine core. Nothing could be divulged between them - they knew they are both in literal "uncharted waters". They both turned their heads slowly, looking at their rear view mirror panes. The S.S. Gal-146 was basked in a certain combination of light that no human had ever seen.
"FUCK! WHAT IS THAT?" Keller screamed as he jumped up from his recliner.
Rickman kept silent with fright. They both saw it. An albino-white appendage resembling a tentacle. It stuck to the port side of the ship. The outline of the limb spread thin layers of frost on the glass. Like spilling drips of water on, and around your hand on freezing glass.
Breaking the silence, making the two jump, Daisy asked,
"Captain, I sense cortisol levels being excreted in the ship at dangerously high levels. Permission to release low levels of diazepam vapor into the cabin to avoid fight or flight response?
Rickman nodded feverishly. Rickman, not noticing his first mate, still uttered,
"Yes, please."
"Roger, Captain." Daisy replies, as a a low hiss materialized under the two seats.
Just as quickly as the noise became associated with ease and relief, vibrations got sent through the vessel. With two sets of eyes still on the ghostly white arm, the length of it rapidly compressed. Before either of them could react, a mass was hovering against the window. One would be challenged to describe it's form - much less it's color - based off of memories from Earth. It was spherical, with a few grouped and small appendages wriggling on it's exterior. Seemingly, the creature had a white, smooth exoskeleton. It wasn't too large, and it appeared to be floating in space.
"Capt-" Rickman started, as one of the small wriggling parts steadied, and hit against the window.
Light blue lines of text passed between the top of the creature and the ship. It appeared from thin air. With furrowed brows, Keller asked,
"Daisy, you getting this?"
"Affirmative, Captain. Storing camera footage for imminent cloud upload," the disembodied female voice almost cooed.
The symbols were of an unknown origin, and could have easily had no meaning. But, if they had meaning then why were they being shown this? All three of them studied this, and the stream of text stopped.
"Daisy, can you translate? This is this thing's language isn't it? Captain Keller asked.
Rickman stayed silent, knowing that what he witnessed would be too important to interrupt.
"No, I can not engage a cryptography program of this caliber with my allocated CPU. However, it does seem to be this being's language," she replied.
Continuing to stare into the chamber, the alien appeared to hover in space. It looked as if the wriggling center of the mass was meant to stabilize it, as well as the still attached arm. There were roughly four other parts of it's body similar to the size of the first tentacle. Oddly, the arms contained no apparent "suckers" like a cephalopod would have.
As the Captain and First Mate stared in bewilderment at the floating untranslatable message, something odd happened. The blue text slowly embedded itself into the glass - turning from a blue to a print black. Before the only two humans within five trillion miles understood what was happening, the alien disconnected from the ship and quickly shot back to the flashing lights. Within ten seconds, the lights zoomed past them.
After what felt like minutes, Rickman smiled. Keller looked to him, bewildered. The small crew on the Galileo had experienced not only the first FTL travel, but first contact as well. Yet, they were more clueless than from the start.
"What's so funny, Andrew?" Keller asked.
"I think we just got a speeding ticket," Rickman beamed.
>Thanks for reading, y'all. First post on r/writingprompts and I hope it was enjoyed. Any criticism is welcome. | |
[WP]Warriors from all ages have been gathered for a grand tournament, using the weapons of their time. You aren't sure why you were chosen, or why you are armed with a cellphone. | The stadium floor seemed to quake with the vibrations of the crowd's roar as I was ejected into The Battledome. Above, blocking the sky from view and trapping me with a thousand bloodthirsty spectators was a thick netting of barbed wire, hissing with electricity. The metal grating under my feet trembled with their maniac stomping and shouting - or maybe it was my own knees knocking together - and I realized the metal was stained red with blood.
Looking up from the slick floor below me, my eyes met with the fuzzy form of my opponent. Where, or even *when* he was from, was beyond me - In fact, I could hardly make him out through the fog in my head. I was from a time when this type of thing was a fantasy. I had been plucked from my simple reality and dropped into another, crueler time for the amusement of my very, *very* distant grandchildren. Or maybe I would never have grandchildren, seeing as how I would very likely die before reproducing.
"*LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND ALL OTHERS IN ATTENDANCE*," screeched a voice over a speaker system that, frankly, should have had much higher quality this far into the future. "*CONTESTANT 555-2368, FROM THE YEAR 2017, ARMED WITH THE PRIMITIVE CELL PHONE!*" The crowd roared in response, although briefly. "*AND CONTESTANT 420-001, FROM THE YEAR 11,984, ARMED WITH MODEL-900 ACIDIC THROAT IMPLANTS!*" Now, the crowd really freaked out - there was an obvious favorite here. I finally got a good look at my opponent - because it was only now that he fully materialized into view. Floating, oozing, and very green... How in the world could anyone from any time look like this? "*WHO WILL BRING THEIR CENTURY HONOR?*"
I hadn't even passed college algebra. The victor seemed pre-ordained to me. I pulled my phone from my pocket - it was on 48% battery. These assholes hadn't even bothered charging it since they had abducted me from my own time. I looked back up just in time to dodge a jet of steaming and stinking slime that my opponent had coughed toward me. The metal where it hit sizzled and fell away. Helplessly, I looked back down at the phone - at least in the future, there was still a signal. For all the good it did me. Or, maybe... Frantically, I unlocked the phone and dialed a number.
My opponent laughed, a sound deep in his... Ghostly form. He was toying with me. "*Little fool!*" I could hardly hear the words over the crowd's screams for blood. "*Who ya gonna call?*"
The phone flew up to my ear. It rang once... Twice... Thrice... Finally: "*Ghostbusters, what do you want?*" came the voice from the past.
I grinned. | We're each armed with a thing that came from our epoch
(I feel bad for the guy who's just armed with a rock)
The catch is, of each thing there can only be one,
And the chick from last century already picked "gun".
But I've found the loophole; there's no way I can lose!
"It's the Samsung Galaxy Note 7 I choose!" | |
[WP]Warriors from all ages have been gathered for a grand tournament, using the weapons of their time. You aren't sure why you were chosen, or why you are armed with a cellphone. | I
The hard-packed dirt rushes up to greet me as I'm shocked awake by a cacophony of light and sound, dust flies up my nostrils as I land heavily in the midst of a tightly packed group of strangely dressed individuals.
"Well would you lookie here! It's a new guy!"
Dozens of hands grab me, wrenching me upright and brushing the dirt from my clothes with such enthusiasm I feel thoroughly battered by the end of it. A quiet muttering ripples through the crowd, I sense their unease and glance nervously over my left shoulder.
"Where's your weapon kid?" A sympathetic voice -The same one which had proclaimed my entrance into this strange new world- asks from directly to my right. I whip my head around to face the spindly, bearded man smiling sympathetically at me. He appears, for some bizarre reason, to be clad entirely in clothes that would have been right at home in a movie about the Old West, his coat and broad leather hat, and, of course, a revolver strapped to his waist.
Weapon?? Why would I be carrying a weapon?? I check my pockets and come up empty apart from a week-old packet of 5-gum and my scratched and battered Nokia, which, -while, as per the stereotype, practically indestructible- hardly counts as a weapon. I take a brief glance around the room, taking in a wide array of weapons. Lances and sword sheathes clattering as they knock against futuristic-looking rifles which crackle with a sinister blue aura. I widen my field of vision and take in a room which seems to be equal parts historic, modern and futuristic, thatching clashing magnificently with Hello Kitty wallpaper which partially covers what looks like part of a castle wall on futuristic steroids with computers and steel bars criss-crossing in every direction, the wall behind me, however is dominated by a massive portcullis, which looks like it was torn straight from a medieval castle.
"Hey Kid, the man asked if you had a weapon!" a large man in a leather jacket barges to the front of the crowd surrounding me and glares down at me, his putrid breath made me want to comment, but something about the sawn-off shotgun by his side made me think twice. "Sorry dude, I..." I'm cut off by a loud gong which resonates through my skull and rattles my teeth, I close my eyes until the ringing stops, but when I open them I am somewhere else entirely, A wide open plain, no cover and several hundred warriors screaming blue murder as they hurtle across the plain towards one another.
II
I'm stood there for a good few minutes, dumbfounded by the bizarre nature of what I'm seeing, surely this is all just a bad dream, and in a minute I'll wake up and it'll all be over. No such luck. The cowboy dude from earlier collides with my midriff and we both tumble to the ground as a barbed arrow flies through the space that my head had been occupying a half-second earlier.
"Listen up Kid!" the cowboy grabs the front of my hoodie and yanks me round to face him. "In this arena, you fight, of you die, simple as. Ain't no-one here who knows why this is the way it is, but all these people are warriors not philosophers so those are your only two options."
He pulls me bodily up and starts trotting away towards a brawl between a Caveman, a knight and an Egyptian warrior "Oh, and don't be looking for any more help from me or anyone else in here. There's only a handful of us leaving here alive today and I intend to be one of them!".
I stumble to my feet dazedly and pull the Nokia from my pocket, hoping it will reveal some hitherto unknown powers, no such luck. I briefly consider lobbing it at a passing berserker, but stop myself before he phone leaves my hand.
And then, something entirely unprecedented happens.
My phone starts ringing.
I jam my finger into the answer button to receive the call from this unknown number.
The voice on the other end is barely more than a whispered growl.
"You are going to listen to me and do exactly as I tell you if you want to live. Now, here's what you've got to do..." | I looked around at all the warriors around me. Many shirtless. Holding spears and swords and maces that look brand new even though they must have been thousands of years old. I was different than all of these people surrounding me. It's not just because I was holding my iPhone instead of a murder device. It was because I was the only woman here. This meeting is sexist and whoever put it together is a misogynist. I start typing out on my blog how offensive this whole ordeal was. I am...a social justice warrior. | |
[WP] You walk into an elevator with a man looking at his watch, looking to be in a hurry. Once you step in, he mutters, "You don't matter much to the timeline", and grabs you. | *You don’t matter much to the timeline*
That’s what he said in the elevator just as he grabbed me. Then, the world sort of just streaked away. When everything resolved back to normality again, when all the streaks of light and color came back into focus, we weren’t on the elevator any more. There was nothing normal though. He danced away from me as though avoiding being hit. Probably wasn’t his first dance. He needn’t have bothered, I was too disoriented. Confused at finding myself standing knee deep in a lake whose edges were obscured by fog. I looked down and saw I was standing on dry dirt the water was whirling around me in my own personal space, keeping a respectable distance.
“I’m sorry.” He said and I looked over at him, the water similarly whirling around him as well. “ I know, this is all rather odd for you and I’m sorry but it’s going to get even more so very soon.”
“I… uh….” Not a very clever rejoinder so I tried again, “Say what?” Damn.
“From your ‘now’ a war began in three years and we’re behind the curve.” He said. “This isn’t normally how recruitment worked and for that I’m sorry.”
“I’m… okay, what the fu…”
“This is Time.” He said, quickly interrupting me. “Where we are is outside Time. You’ve been chosen because your existence, and non-existence, have no effect. You are completely irrelevant.”
“Now your getting personal.” I said taking a step toward him.
“We both are! Look!” he said pointing at the whirling water around us, “It completely ignores us, we’re perfect.”
He was making no sense whatsoever, “Who are you?” I yelled, my voice echoing back across the lake.
“There’s a war…”
“You said that… I think.”
“There’s a war and I’m sorry but you’ve been drafted.”
| I got in an argument with my wife that morning. I came home late that night prior, I was out with buddies just having a drink.
I flopped down on the bed at 2 a.m. My wife didn't say anything, but I knew she was awake. I laid awake all night, thinking of what will happen in the morning. I love my wife. She's all I have, she's all I've ever had. I lost my parents very young, and she was there to help me. I've known her my whole life.
We don't have kids. I'm infertile, it has something to do with the fact my mom was an addict during birth. The fact I'm alive today is a miracle. But sometimes I feel like it's a curse. I'm an alcoholic, who loves his wife but for some reason, can't show it. I'm a failure to society.
When I got up, she wasn't in the bed. I went downstairs, still drunk, and she wasn't there either. There was a note, it read:
"Honey, I can't do this anymore. I love you, but your hurting our relationship. I'm staying with my sister for a while. Please understand."
I cried. I yelled. I fell on the floor, and I laid there for hours. Time froze, nothing else existed but that note.
I got up an hour later, in a hurry, a furious rage almost, and called her. She picked up, and we yelled at each other. It resolved nothing. I hung up.
I started to drive to her sisters, she lives in an apartment. When I got there, I took the elevator.
There was a man, looking concerned. He looked at me, grabbed my arm, and right before I could retaliate, he said, "You don't matter to the timeline anymore, time to go."
And before I knew it, I was alone in a void. | |
[WP] "Never turn your back to the audience" is the first rule of theatre. Most people think it's so the audience can see the actors face, but the reality is completely different | "The stage play opens a window into another world.
I used to just think that was a corny saying of my theater professor, and it probably was, but I've come to appreciate, just how real it was, since then.
It happened to me when I was in college, after years of playing minor characters and supporting roles I had finally been cast as the lead in Macbeth.
We spent weeks practicing, and I threw everything I had into that production, making sure that everything was perfect. I remember opening night so vividly. My girlfriend was in the audience, I was planning to propose to her after the show, and I was ready to show our half filled auditorium the best Macbeth set in the 1930s Mafia that East Central State University had ever seen.
Everything was going perfectly at first, every line was delivered with perfection and passion, I felt like I was truly channeling the character of gangster Macbeth, then...it happened.
I walked on stage, having just slain Kingpin Duncan, when a loud crash shook the stage from a piece of the set being knocked over by a careless crew member. Instinctively, I spun around 180 degrees, just for a moment, before turning again, but it was already too late.
The audience was gone, and in its place was the wall of Macbeth's mansion, walls which were suddenly transformed from cheap cardboard and paint to fine mahogany.
You see, by turning my back, just for a moment to the audience, the Fourth Wall closed on me and I found myself trapped in the world of the play we had been performing.
I spent the first few days in disbelief, Lady Macbeth, my wife, thought I was still in shock about the murder, but with no other options, I resolved to play along in my role and hope that I might find a way out of it.
And so I have played this part for so many years. As certain as the play we were performing I have seen characters enter and depart. Banquo who I ordered gunned down for being a threat to my rule over Chicago, the Macduff family, murdered, and my own wife, a woman I have come to love in my time within this strange world, who leapt to her death from our mansion in guilt over that murder which I was not a part of, or at least, at the time."
Macduff looked in bewilderment at the crime boss.
"Oh, but I suppose you're wondering why I'm telling you this." Macbeth continued. He threw down his ciggarette and stamped it out on his expensive rug, then looked at the tommy gun he had casually pointed at Macduff.
"I had hoped that perhaps I could break the Fourth Wall tonight, that maybe if I acknowledge the play I am trapped in, I might break through to that life I should be living."
He looked off to the right, and Macduff saw a smile cross the face of the ruthless mobster just before the man spoke.
"Lay on, Macduff, And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough."
| "Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to introduce to you to Asher for his first appearance" the announcer spoke into the black and 80's styled looking microphone.
*clapping from the audience*
As the announcer walked off the small box "stage" painted in a dark color of grey, a young man looking to be in his 20's walked on the stage. He wore a bright red sweater, blue jeans, black dress shoes and had scruffy brown hair.
"Thank you, thank you"
"Jeez so where do I start; Lets go with a quick background on who I am."
I was born 23 years, in a small shack-like house on a very cold and windy day out in the mountains. I briefly studied computer science at UFT, but that only lasted while I had money which was not true for very long.
Now lets get to the body of this comedy show, **How many programmers does it take to change a light bulb?**
*pause for effect*
"**None - becuase thats a hardware issue.**"
*crickets can be heard from outside the bar*
"Tough crowd huh, lets try another one"
"**A programmer was sent to the grocery store with the instructions; Buy butter. If they have eggs, get ten.**
*Asher starts to tap his foot nervously and quite visibly on stage*
"**So he bought ten.**"
*again crickets*
"Well seeing as this is not going as planned I am just going to grab some stuff from my bag"
*Asher starts to turn around to reach for his bag*
**DARKNESS**
---------------------------------------------------
I am a crappy writer so please bear with me, and when your replying be constructive with your feedback.
Prompt Reply Count ---> **1**
Thanks for reading!
Havroth | |
[WP] A supervillain and superhero discover that their children are dating each other. | The Guardian was intrigued. An invitation sent to the Sentinel Tower from the Berserker? For a peaceful talk?
If it hadn't been for it including the name of her daughter as the first letter of each row, she would have brought all the Sentinels in with her to try to capture Berserker, the one villain they hadn't managed to put away once. Thankfully she was the only one that liked riddles and codes. She wasn't judging, but she was the only one that really thought things through among the Sentinels. If they had figured it out they would have wanted to charge in guns blazing.
It wasn't like Miss Incredible would ever stop to think before throwing a bus at Berserker, hadn't he shown that blunt force trauma just made him fight better every single time they fought him? But ever single time they fought him, without fail, Miss Incredible would find something large and heavy to wack the Berserker with.
Bunch of super powered idiots. But at least they were her idiots, Miss Incredible thought fondly.
------------
"Show yourself Berserker. Its late and I'd like to actually get to sleep at a decent hour."
"Tch, don't you like to enjoy life Guardian? Or should I say Shelby?"
"Yeah, yeah, its not like I don't know your secret identity either Conor Mcgregor. So what's the deal with using my daughter's name? I thought we agreed to keep the kids out of this."
"Well... that was before Junior decided that he liked young Sarah and asked her out."
"You're joking."
"Have you ever seen me joke? I mean I have a great one about a Rabbi, an Imam and a Priest walking into a bar..."
"Wait... so you called me out here to talk about our kids? No plot to rob a bank or take over a third world nation?"
Conor shrugged, "Hey, I just wanted to clear the air. Neither of us wants to involve the families in our tussles. How do you think you'd have reacted if your daughter randomly said she was going over to my house for dinner?"
"... I probably would have torn apart your whole neighborhood and tried to kill you."
"Exactly."
The Guardian sighed as she pinched her nose between her fingers. "So your son seriously asked out my daughter?"
"Yup."
"If the Sentinels find out about this I wont hear the fucking end of it."
"How do you think I feel about this? If my so called friends hear about this they'll either go behind my back and kidnap both our kids, or they'll start asking... questions... I like my mindless thugs to be mindless, thank you very much."
"Can't you just ground Junior?"
"Tch, the kid wouldn't break a rule if I told him to. Too much of his mom's good nature I suppose."
"Dammit."
"What, can't you just ground Sarah? Oh, wait, she's an even bigger goody two shoes than my boy."
"Not helping here Berserker."
"Yeah love, I know. So, want to come over for dinner this Thursday? I got some steaks to throw on the grill, and while they are cooking we can grill our kids."
"You're looking forward to this aren't you? Then again I don't have much room to talk, I've been waiting to embarrass Sarah in front of her first boyfriend sense she was 11."
"I knew there was a reason I liked you Guardian."
"Heh, ditto. I'll bring dessert, my husband makes the best Cheesecake."
-------
edit: spelling errors | "Daddy?"
I heard my daughter the first time she had asked for me, but I was in the middle of a critical repair on my best suit. It was taking more time than I had wanted, but if I was able to adjust it it in the right way, it'll be even better at -
"Daddy! I need to talk to you!"
Blast it all. "Just a moment, sweetheart!"
I had a loud click, and then the armor started to come back to life. The red light coursing through the 'veins' came to life, and I was back in business. Maybe even better, now. I got up, and turned toward DIG. "DIG, make sure this gets a full charge for the next hour."
"RIGHT. AWAY. SIRE." and he picked it up like it was nothing. I took a breath, and walked out of the armory, and into the command center. And paused.
Right there, in the middle screen, next to half a dozen smaller ones, was my daughter... next to a boy. She looked annoyed, but that's not new. The boy, though. Never seen him around. And yet, his face... somewhat familiar.
I took another deep breath. *She needs talk to me. And she's got a boy with her.* I heard myself sigh, and pressed a button to start putting the Base into standby mode. Everything will remain on charge, and should anything important happen, out there, DIG would let me know fairly quickly.
Only after the screens had gone dark did I notice how bright everything must have been. I flipped on a light, and the room was cast into light. Lots of computer equipment, and a stairwell, curving to the right. I walked up, and left the Base, making sure to lock the door I used to get into it. After walking away from it, the bookcase slid back into place, hiding it from the world.
I left my master suite, and walked down the stairs, to my waiting daughter and her possible new beau. Seeing him again, I got a flash of familiarity, but again I couldn't place it. It was maddening.
"Daddy, there you are! What were you doing?"
"Finishing with a project, Sara. Now, who is this young man?"
The kid looked afraid, and I had hoped he would be. Even without one of my suits, I'm pretty big. I was glad to put a little fear in him, without having to clean a shotgun.
"Daddy, this is Michael. Or Mike, for short. Mike Zayus, meet my father Franklin Kronis."
I nodded, and realization hit me like a brick to the chest. But I took it in stride. "You can call me Frank, if you wish. So Mike, how's your... father these days?"
Mike took a small breath. "Do you know my Dad?"
"Name sounds familiar. I might have met him a few times."
"Ah, he's been well, though he's out of town at the moment."
I smiled. "Oh, really? Too bad. I'll have to get in touch, when he's back."
"We were going to go to the park for lunch. Is that alright?"
"Oh, certainly. Let me know if you need a ride. Love you, sweetie."
Sara smiled and the two left the house. And as soon as I saw them cross the street, I ran back upstairs, into my lair.
"How's the charge, DIG?"
"43%. SIRE."
"Prep an older model, then. And where's Nebulae?"
"DARK. NEBULAE. IS. AWAITING. A. CALL."
"Call him, then."
I sat and waited for the screen to come back to life. "Ah, Lord Saturn. How're things?"
"Oh, they are well Nebulae. I've heard some interesting news. Lightning Phoenix is out of town, it seems."
Dark Nebulae hides his face in a hood, but you can always tell when he's pleased about something. His head lifted, and his demeanor changed. "Excellent news, Saturn. Shall we begin?"
"Wait a minute!" I heard a shrill voice say. And a new face had replaced Nebulae's."
"What is it, Nucleon?"
"How'd you come across this information, Frank?"
"Secret Identities in this channel, Nucleon."
"Insider trading," was all I answered.
"Insider trading, eh? That doesn't happen to be code for 'my daughter has started dating Lightning's son', does it?"
My face went slightly chilled. "How did you-"
"Oh, please. I keep tabs on all of you. I'm sure you'd do the same. Don't worry, no harm will -" but the audio was cut off as an alarm had started going off in the base.
An emergency message appeared on screen, and I opened it immediately. "Daddy? I don't know what happened, but they grabbed both of us as soon as we started to eat."
"Who, and where are you?"
"Were in a van. I'm not sure where we are. Please, call the police. Maybe they can get in touch with Lightning Phoenix! I bet he can save us!"
"I've got someone in mind. I'll be there shortly, just hang tight," and I cut the feed. "DIG, where is she?"
"POINT. FIVE. MILES. TOWARD. EAST. DOCK." The screen started to show the van in motion on a map.
"Get me my suit. Now!"
|
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