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[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278.
I could account for some of these numbers over the 27 years. That time I blacked out and woke up with a giant knife in hand comes to mind. That time I almost was in that giant pile up from a sudden winter storm and last second didn't get on the highway. All the times I was hit on the head, including that concussion when I was 19. All of those added up to small little circumstances- but would they really count as near death? My desk job wouldn't give me anything near it, and I don't think being near sick people in a doctor's office would count. Maybe that time I sat by that girl with swine flu in college? She made it through though, and I didn't even catch it from her.
My friends don't even have that big of a number. Georgia has only 2 incidents- that time at the carnival and that time at the theme park. Explains why she doesn't like those places I guess, even though one of those had to do with that guy almost kidnapping her. Harold is 15, and that's probably because he's a firefighter. Not even from the fires, he deals with some crazy people on runs. And Nancy, Nancy has 0. Her life has never once almost ended. Almost makes you want to do something to try to make the counter go up on that phone app.
I know why it's such a large number though. If it weren't for writing in this diary, I'm sure it'd be even bigger. How it's not bigger surprises me, really. Every time I leave work, I think about jumping off the garage. Could I survive 5 stories? No. Probably why I started parking higher up. Living on the 3rd floor, you might survive that fall from the balcony. You might survive the knife cutting your wrist. But you won't make it 5 stories. No way. Quick, hopefully painless, gone in an instant. No more feeling this way. No more being this way, I could just jump. End it all and jump. Maybe go take those pills in my bathroom. No, those would cause too much pain. The knife would cause too much pain. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I just need to calm down.
Huh. 279 now. I should go to bed. | I knew from the start I was destined to be an outlier, I never fitted into anything, even while being optimistic and throwing myself way out of my comfort zone. That being said, while I am optimistic, I also would prefer to listen to music than waste time making an impression that will be worthless if I quit in a few days anyway. It’s worth a shot but almost never works out. I was always an outlier, but I never thought about death in this context, whos more likely to fast or slow, I could list off.
There are countable times where I could’ve died, sure. I remember once going on a hike up one of the highest mountains in Ireland. We couldn’t do the highest one because although it isn’t substantially taller than the one i climbed, it always seemed as if the highest wasn’t for me, from experience. For once I decided to stay in my comfort zone, perhaps for my own safety. If I had known that that day I would get halfway up, put my foot on a loose rock and hit my head off the ground, I would’ve gone for the highest mountain in Europe, let alone Ireland.
Becoming blind in one eye was just about the worst thing to happen to me. I was an avid player of soccer, hurling, tennis, I enjoyed just about everything that I had tried out, even if I wasn’t good at it. Not fitting in isn’t limiting what you can do, intimidation was never a problem for me.
Now if I even try to throw a tennis ball in the air and catch it in my right hand it hopelessly bounces back up and over into my peripheral vision. Because my left eye is injured beyond repair, it leaves a lot to the imagination when it comes to finding things, always having to turn to the right to find a stupid tennis ball every time I miss the catch.
But now that I think about it, how many times have I walked across the road, plugged into my earphones as I almost always am nowadays, when a car just about brakes, because I never bothered to look left and right? Or how many times have I turned a literal blind eye to a mugging going down in an alley right beside me? If I had been the witness, or if I had intervened, would that be game over?
I always had a mindset that old people die first, as dark as it sounds. But as you grow up, you realize that the theory of death is, it could happen to anyone. Anytime. Any place. Any weakness. Any strength.
The moral? For the love of God, never turn a blind eye | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers.
I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day.
These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing.
A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow.
Next Day
I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door.
A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked.
"IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out
"IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note.
"To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done."
I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever.
He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note.
"...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police. | I knew from the start I was destined to be an outlier, I never fitted into anything, even while being optimistic and throwing myself way out of my comfort zone. That being said, while I am optimistic, I also would prefer to listen to music than waste time making an impression that will be worthless if I quit in a few days anyway. It’s worth a shot but almost never works out. I was always an outlier, but I never thought about death in this context, whos more likely to fast or slow, I could list off.
There are countable times where I could’ve died, sure. I remember once going on a hike up one of the highest mountains in Ireland. We couldn’t do the highest one because although it isn’t substantially taller than the one i climbed, it always seemed as if the highest wasn’t for me, from experience. For once I decided to stay in my comfort zone, perhaps for my own safety. If I had known that that day I would get halfway up, put my foot on a loose rock and hit my head off the ground, I would’ve gone for the highest mountain in Europe, let alone Ireland.
Becoming blind in one eye was just about the worst thing to happen to me. I was an avid player of soccer, hurling, tennis, I enjoyed just about everything that I had tried out, even if I wasn’t good at it. Not fitting in isn’t limiting what you can do, intimidation was never a problem for me.
Now if I even try to throw a tennis ball in the air and catch it in my right hand it hopelessly bounces back up and over into my peripheral vision. Because my left eye is injured beyond repair, it leaves a lot to the imagination when it comes to finding things, always having to turn to the right to find a stupid tennis ball every time I miss the catch.
But now that I think about it, how many times have I walked across the road, plugged into my earphones as I almost always am nowadays, when a car just about brakes, because I never bothered to look left and right? Or how many times have I turned a literal blind eye to a mugging going down in an alley right beside me? If I had been the witness, or if I had intervened, would that be game over?
I always had a mindset that old people die first, as dark as it sounds. But as you grow up, you realize that the theory of death is, it could happen to anyone. Anytime. Any place. Any weakness. Any strength.
The moral? For the love of God, never turn a blind eye | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | "I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?"
Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it.
"Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app."
This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from.
"I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something."
"It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you."
She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away.
"You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out."
"It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety.
"That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again.
"Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight."
She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself.
"By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work.
I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on.
"Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass."
I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually.
Weird. Now it's saying 280. | Three billion human lives ended on August 29, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare, a war against the machines. The computer which controlled the machines, Skynet, sent terminators back through time. Their mission: to destroy the leader of the human Resistance. John Connor; my son. The first terminator was programmed to strike at me, in the year 1984, before John was born. It failed. Since then Skynet has tried 277 more times. Today is the day they succeeded.
It’s been 30 years since Kyle arrived in 1984 LA. Thirty years of running, hiding, and fighting, all leading to this day. When John sent back the first protector, he had no idea how many more we’d have to send back to protect John from the machines. But today we thought we had won. Skynet has other plans. The first Terminator sent back to 1984, and every one since were decoys. Skynet had anticipated our victory at the salt flats and programmed the facility defenses to allow us access to their technology. The terminals should have been our first clue. We’d been slicing into Skynet for years, but always by hacking captured machines. The Salt flats facility was different, there found working terminal access and it made sense. The facility was a US military base designed to withstand a nuclear bombardment. Anyone trapped inside would need terminal access to the facility mainframe to monitor communications, run the facility, or access outside resources. Our slicers were inside the mainframe in minutes. We were so proud of ourselves. We had beaten Skynet, taken the time machine, and had access to an army of Terminators with the ability to program them to work for us.
Or so we thought.
We’d planned ahead. We knew when and where the time machine would be finished. John befriended Kyle and fed him our background story. I’d been operating under an alias for five years to prevent the machines from using me against John and to prevent all but a handful of close friends from knowing what we knew. I’d spent that time coordinating with other resistance cells around the world. We’d take the facility, secure the machines, and send back the protectors. All 276 of them.
But There were 278 assassins. The 277th was Susan, John’s wife. She was a T200 hybrid, sent back from a different facility. One we didn’t know about. What Skynet didn’t know, what we hadn’t told anyone, was that the real Susan had died two months earlier. Most were told she had been sent to the rear to recover, but when a Susan showed up a few weeks later as one of the only survivors of the attack on our hospital base, we knew it was Skynet. We pretended otherwise. When she arrived at the facility, John shot her on site. He had to watch her die again.
The 278th Terminator was so one no one suspected. It was the best decoy Skynet had ever created. It had been sent back in time four years. To replace the only person who knew as much about Skynets time travel plans as amounted did.
That Terminator was me and I succeeded.
| |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278.
I could account for some of these numbers over the 27 years. That time I blacked out and woke up with a giant knife in hand comes to mind. That time I almost was in that giant pile up from a sudden winter storm and last second didn't get on the highway. All the times I was hit on the head, including that concussion when I was 19. All of those added up to small little circumstances- but would they really count as near death? My desk job wouldn't give me anything near it, and I don't think being near sick people in a doctor's office would count. Maybe that time I sat by that girl with swine flu in college? She made it through though, and I didn't even catch it from her.
My friends don't even have that big of a number. Georgia has only 2 incidents- that time at the carnival and that time at the theme park. Explains why she doesn't like those places I guess, even though one of those had to do with that guy almost kidnapping her. Harold is 15, and that's probably because he's a firefighter. Not even from the fires, he deals with some crazy people on runs. And Nancy, Nancy has 0. Her life has never once almost ended. Almost makes you want to do something to try to make the counter go up on that phone app.
I know why it's such a large number though. If it weren't for writing in this diary, I'm sure it'd be even bigger. How it's not bigger surprises me, really. Every time I leave work, I think about jumping off the garage. Could I survive 5 stories? No. Probably why I started parking higher up. Living on the 3rd floor, you might survive that fall from the balcony. You might survive the knife cutting your wrist. But you won't make it 5 stories. No way. Quick, hopefully painless, gone in an instant. No more feeling this way. No more being this way, I could just jump. End it all and jump. Maybe go take those pills in my bathroom. No, those would cause too much pain. The knife would cause too much pain. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I just need to calm down.
Huh. 279 now. I should go to bed. | Three billion human lives ended on August 29, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare, a war against the machines. The computer which controlled the machines, Skynet, sent terminators back through time. Their mission: to destroy the leader of the human Resistance. John Connor; my son. The first terminator was programmed to strike at me, in the year 1984, before John was born. It failed. Since then Skynet has tried 277 more times. Today is the day they succeeded.
It’s been 30 years since Kyle arrived in 1984 LA. Thirty years of running, hiding, and fighting, all leading to this day. When John sent back the first protector, he had no idea how many more we’d have to send back to protect John from the machines. But today we thought we had won. Skynet has other plans. The first Terminator sent back to 1984, and every one since were decoys. Skynet had anticipated our victory at the salt flats and programmed the facility defenses to allow us access to their technology. The terminals should have been our first clue. We’d been slicing into Skynet for years, but always by hacking captured machines. The Salt flats facility was different, there found working terminal access and it made sense. The facility was a US military base designed to withstand a nuclear bombardment. Anyone trapped inside would need terminal access to the facility mainframe to monitor communications, run the facility, or access outside resources. Our slicers were inside the mainframe in minutes. We were so proud of ourselves. We had beaten Skynet, taken the time machine, and had access to an army of Terminators with the ability to program them to work for us.
Or so we thought.
We’d planned ahead. We knew when and where the time machine would be finished. John befriended Kyle and fed him our background story. I’d been operating under an alias for five years to prevent the machines from using me against John and to prevent all but a handful of close friends from knowing what we knew. I’d spent that time coordinating with other resistance cells around the world. We’d take the facility, secure the machines, and send back the protectors. All 276 of them.
But There were 278 assassins. The 277th was Susan, John’s wife. She was a T200 hybrid, sent back from a different facility. One we didn’t know about. What Skynet didn’t know, what we hadn’t told anyone, was that the real Susan had died two months earlier. Most were told she had been sent to the rear to recover, but when a Susan showed up a few weeks later as one of the only survivors of the attack on our hospital base, we knew it was Skynet. We pretended otherwise. When she arrived at the facility, John shot her on site. He had to watch her die again.
The 278th Terminator was so one no one suspected. It was the best decoy Skynet had ever created. It had been sent back in time four years. To replace the only person who knew as much about Skynets time travel plans as amounted did.
That Terminator was me and I succeeded.
| |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers.
I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day.
These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing.
A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow.
Next Day
I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door.
A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked.
"IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out
"IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note.
"To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done."
I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever.
He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note.
"...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police. | Three billion human lives ended on August 29, 1997. The survivors of the nuclear fire called the war Judgment Day. They lived only to face a new nightmare, a war against the machines. The computer which controlled the machines, Skynet, sent terminators back through time. Their mission: to destroy the leader of the human Resistance. John Connor; my son. The first terminator was programmed to strike at me, in the year 1984, before John was born. It failed. Since then Skynet has tried 277 more times. Today is the day they succeeded.
It’s been 30 years since Kyle arrived in 1984 LA. Thirty years of running, hiding, and fighting, all leading to this day. When John sent back the first protector, he had no idea how many more we’d have to send back to protect John from the machines. But today we thought we had won. Skynet has other plans. The first Terminator sent back to 1984, and every one since were decoys. Skynet had anticipated our victory at the salt flats and programmed the facility defenses to allow us access to their technology. The terminals should have been our first clue. We’d been slicing into Skynet for years, but always by hacking captured machines. The Salt flats facility was different, there found working terminal access and it made sense. The facility was a US military base designed to withstand a nuclear bombardment. Anyone trapped inside would need terminal access to the facility mainframe to monitor communications, run the facility, or access outside resources. Our slicers were inside the mainframe in minutes. We were so proud of ourselves. We had beaten Skynet, taken the time machine, and had access to an army of Terminators with the ability to program them to work for us.
Or so we thought.
We’d planned ahead. We knew when and where the time machine would be finished. John befriended Kyle and fed him our background story. I’d been operating under an alias for five years to prevent the machines from using me against John and to prevent all but a handful of close friends from knowing what we knew. I’d spent that time coordinating with other resistance cells around the world. We’d take the facility, secure the machines, and send back the protectors. All 276 of them.
But There were 278 assassins. The 277th was Susan, John’s wife. She was a T200 hybrid, sent back from a different facility. One we didn’t know about. What Skynet didn’t know, what we hadn’t told anyone, was that the real Susan had died two months earlier. Most were told she had been sent to the rear to recover, but when a Susan showed up a few weeks later as one of the only survivors of the attack on our hospital base, we knew it was Skynet. We pretended otherwise. When she arrived at the facility, John shot her on site. He had to watch her die again.
The 278th Terminator was so one no one suspected. It was the best decoy Skynet had ever created. It had been sent back in time four years. To replace the only person who knew as much about Skynets time travel plans as amounted did.
That Terminator was me and I succeeded.
| |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | "I'm telling you, angel. 278," I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge and wandering to the table. "How am I at 278?"
Angela walked through the kitchen and closed the fridge door. Concern wrenched her face tight as she stood there, staring through the fridge at something a million miles behind it.
"Angel, please," I say, trying to dissolve some of that tension. "It's gotta be a bug in the app."
This Close Call app had only dropped for civilians today, but it had been in the professional circles for ages. The insurance industry had created it to adjust risk or something, although even they couldn't pinpoint where it got the data from.
"I mean You're at 15 right?" I add. "And they said that's high even for a detective. Meanwhile I'm sitting around here all day smashing beers, and I'm at 278? I betcha it's counting all the times I nearly died in Fortnite or something."
"It can't be that, they said it's flawless," she says, smiling as she turns towards me. "They couldn't use it to jack up my premiums if there were any errors, half the jackasses in my precinct play as much Fortnite as you."
She grabs her phone from her pocket, and her smile slips away.
"You gotta go don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. "It's not the Tumblr killer again is it? I know he only shoots straight white dudes, but shit... what if you get in his way? I dunno angel, it stresses me out."
"It probably isn't that," she says. "I'll be fine. I'm not the one sitting on two hundred and seventy eight close calls." I can't read her eyes. It's like she wants to joke about it, but she's just too concerned for my safety.
"That's what worries me baby, I won't make it to 300 if I don't have my angel!" I say, standing and kissing her. Her smile is back. I spank her on the ass as she heads to the door. She hadn't even taken off her holster or her badge before they'd called her out again.
"Can you grab some more beer on your way home too gorgeous?" I yell. "We're all out, and I'm gonna smash it with the boys tonight."
She stops in the doorway, the hallway fluorescent backlighting her like some sort of heavenly being until my eyes adjust. Instead, all I can see is her perfect figure, still as a statue in the doorway, unmoving. I start to wonder what she's thinking, but I can't stop myself.
"By god you have a sexy silhouette!" I call out, putting on my best southern gentleman accent. She barks out a quick laugh and shakes her head, closing the door and heading off to work.
I head over to the couch and grab my headset and PS4 controller. Mikey's already on.
"Mikey, dude. You've gotta see what I got on the CC app," I say, loading into Fortnite. "I'm pretty sure it's counting all the times I've had to save your ass."
I grab my phone out. I'll screenshot the app and chuck it on twitter -- maybe I can go viral. That'd help my youtube channel. The app's taking it's time, which is annoying, but it opens eventually.
Weird. Now it's saying 280. | \*Gets an X Ray from doctor\*
Doctor enters the room. "So Mr Richards we think we have answer to all your problems..."
Mr. Richards sits up straight ready to hear how to fix his misfortune. "Lay it on me doc," he says.
At that his doctor shifts and looks down at his clipboard. It looked as if he was trying to hide his face and avoid Mr. Richards' hopeful gaze.
"I misspoke," the doctor shyly says. He finally looks back up from the clipboard. "When I said we have the answer to your problems. I should've said we have the answer to why you have problems..."
Mr. Richards cocks his head and remains quiet. He didn't know what the doctor was going to say next.
"You see, with the Near-Death Initiative Act, or NDIA, was passed, it was done so that people would be able to see where in their lives they're lacking special attention."
"So like an alcoholic can see how many times he's been close to giving himself alcohol poisoning and therefore would cool it on the sauce," Mr. Richards offers an example.
"Precisely," the doctor says. "The problem with you is...you have a healthy life. A nice job in the city. You don't drink, smoke, do drugs and you take good care of yourself..."
Mr. Richards looks down feeling himself welt up. He wanted answers. How can a guy as normal as him be so close to death so often? "So I don't see what the problem is doc..."
"Well, I did some calling around and I talked to your mother. Mrs. Richards, lovely lady..."
"Can you just get on with it?"
"She told me about an accident you were in as a child. And to save you, you had an implant installed in the back of your head."
"So what does that mean?"
"Well, the X Ray machine started to glitch out a bit when you were first getting observed. Me and the nurses were talking about it... and the only explanation we can come up with is... that metal plate in the back of your head is messing with electromagnetic waves. And whenever there's a thunderstorm. It may be attracting lightening. We think the only reason you're alive is because the lightening happens to miss you."
"So then get this thing out of me!" Mr. Richards yells jumping up from the table.
"It's not that easy," the doctor buffers. "The implant is there to replace a part of the brain that was destroyed in the accident your mother told me about. Your cerebellum would be greatly damaged if we were to take the implant out. You'd have no balance, you wouldn't be able to walk, eat with silverware. Like all parts of the brain. It's important."
"I see..." | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers.
I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day.
These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing.
A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow.
Next Day
I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door.
A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked.
"IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out
"IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note.
"To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done."
I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever.
He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note.
"...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | Part 1,
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A table of people is sitting in a dark room,
"This woman has no powers, no special abilities, not intuition towards anything, why is she of interest?",
"Sir, she has survived death two hundred and seventy eight times, there is something in her that we need, if we put her against a battery of tests, if we channel whatever is in her, this could have significant impacts for us and better all of society."
"278 times, that must be a joke!"
"I have been following her for nearly 10 years, she has survived things that would kill any normal person."
"We do not just kidnap people off of the street, we were established for the betterment of society, if it were not for us, if it were not for this organization, all of society would have crumbled dozens of times over."
"All the more reason to go forward, she has no family, she has no friends, provided she survives the test, we already have number 181, but this is unlike anything else, we can mold her, we can shape her, she is of too much interest of this organization."
"Okay, okay, you have convinced me, but what do you propose?"
"We will send a strike team to her apartment, no one will even know we were there."
"Are you sure he has no one, I do not want to have to deal with the paperwork, with having to deal with any family members or friends looking for her?"
"Our research indicates that she was the sole survivor of a home invasion as a child and she went to live with his grandparents who have since passed away, she has no boyfriend or living family, not even a cousin, no social media, not anything."
"Before we go in guns blazing, before we go taking someone we will give her an opportunity, a fire team is of last resort."
"I will authorize this, but if something gets screwed up, if we are compromised, it is your head"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
End of Part 1
If it is liked I'll write more, but this is my first WP, so don't be too harsh. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!" | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | “That’s impossible! 278!”
My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment.
“It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.”
This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0.
“I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face.
She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her.
The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it.
She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news.
The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse.
Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening.
Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse.
Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13?
No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone.
Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough.
I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice.
It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby.
I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything.
I had to help. It gave my life purpose.
It made me feel........alive.
I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention.
The hoverbike.
I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time!
The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse.
Bicycles. 4 of them.
I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me.
“Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!”
I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand.
And then my body froze.
“Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....”
Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?*
278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right?
I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.*
I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves.
Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*.
A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die.
"Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on.
"I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault."
At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door.
"Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight.
"I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on.
"Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man.
"So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment.
"You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?*
"*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter.
"I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!"
And he left, with every last piece of my sanity. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | Hahaha I can't help but look at this number and laugh. I guess I should give some context to this story. I have always been better than my brother. I'm smarter, the better athlete, better with women, yada yada yada. He has always resented me for it. He is incompetent, but damn when he gets his mind on something he doesn't let up.
We were always close growing up, hell, we even started a business together while I was in college and he was on high school. We were mildly successful, but it wasn't going to become anything big. The thing is, the business was in my name. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and selling high made more sense then settling. He loved that business and wanted to work it till he died. He said I was gunna "pay" for ruining his dream job.
Jack, if only u knew I've known the whole time. You are so bad at hiding it! You have been trying to kill me for 2 years, and every time I see it coming a mile away. I stopped being mad after the 4th attempt, it's funny now. You can't kill me! I was a jerk, but damnit I don't feel bad for you anymore. This is your punishment, devoting your life to ending mine and constantly being reminded that I'm better than you! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers.
I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day.
These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing.
A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow.
Next Day
I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door.
A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked.
"IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out
"IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note.
"To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done."
I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever.
He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note.
"...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police. | I am dead, and it happens that there is some form of paradise, or heaven, I don’t know what you can call it, it’s a bit confusing and I still haven’t understood how the whole thing works. Lot’s of waiting although. Heard it’s normal for grassroots, yeah, new guys are called grassroots until we transcended our bodies, whatever that means.
Anyway, part of the process of accepting our deaths is to see how many times we could have died and didn’t, guess it’s to show people they were lucky even living that long, guess it’s helps *shrugs* I don’t know.
Then a guy came in, dressed in white, a white scientific blouse, a helmet, also white with blue bands on it and before I could say a word he smacked the tablet he was holding with the back of his hand and yelled.
« You mister reich are a lucky man »
He seemed in a good mood, I’m dead so I don’t see how I am lucky but oh well, anyway, heard you get about 18-20 tapes to see about outcomes and yet the guy came in with zero.
« So I didn’t get any « *near misses* » ? »
The guy stopped writing, chuckled, and then proceeded to continue writing. Wow these guy’s in heaven are impolite.
« What’s so funny ? »
« You will see, man is it rare to see guys like you, first in my career actually »
« What do you mean ? »
« That, you will know in just a momen.. Aaah good, they arrived ! »
And instantly, a column of people pushing small crates barged in the room with cassettes filling every one of them, pretty long queue of people actually, a very long queue of them.. This is actually worrying, a guy that had 25 cassettes had to stay a good 3 hours or so, this is ridiculous, there still coming ! They are still coming ! This is purgatory, I am being punished for all my sins..
« Okay, good, now we shall review them, if you could follow me ? »
« How long is this going to take ? »
« Humm.. honestly.. A week ? I don’t know ? »
« It’s your job »
« Yeah well this is something « *particular* » plus it’s really a week for you, I’ll be heading home at 5 »
« And I’ll have to stay ? »
« Well, you know, you didn’t finish the transcending phase so yeah, you are stuck here until you review all the tapes »
« And then I’m free ? »
He chuckled and then said « Well, you still need to do a bunch of things after but yeah, after all the prerequisites and all, you will be free. »
« And how long is that ? »
« I can’t tell you that »
Yet he mouthed « A year if you are lucky »
« Let’s start right now »
The first ones, were the classics I heard, you know, almost dying as an infant by being dropped, stupid things like that, a shelf nearly falling on me, eating a small kinder toy, yeah, all that while mister the worker was being unprofessional, like, I am not the kind of guy that will call the manager and all but this was absurd.
He was laying back, feet on the table eating popcorn.
Worse of all, if I stopped looking, the video paused, which created a bunch of ankward moments where I looked at him straight in the eye and he stared back intensely all while still chomping on popcorn.
Anyway, most of the *near misses* made me think of how easy you can die.
A few of them were the kind where I drinked and drived and died.
One was poison, that surprised me, I had a bat shit crazy girlfriend who tried to kill us so we could meet back in paradise, that psycho, it’s actually amazing how many times I could have died just because of her, wow that time I refused to do some bondage play, she had a knife waiting, god, this sent chills down my spine.
That time I didn’t want to jump into the water and there were rocks, this is ridiculous, I have a good 40 of them just dedicated to her.
The second batch got even crazier, and I didn’t even need to see the tapes to understand that, I find I got the memo when a bunch of guys dressed in black started to come in and sit in the other chairs of the theater room. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | Part 1,
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A table of people is sitting in a dark room,
"This woman has no powers, no special abilities, not intuition towards anything, why is she of interest?",
"Sir, she has survived death two hundred and seventy eight times, there is something in her that we need, if we put her against a battery of tests, if we channel whatever is in her, this could have significant impacts for us and better all of society."
"278 times, that must be a joke!"
"I have been following her for nearly 10 years, she has survived things that would kill any normal person."
"We do not just kidnap people off of the street, we were established for the betterment of society, if it were not for us, if it were not for this organization, all of society would have crumbled dozens of times over."
"All the more reason to go forward, she has no family, she has no friends, provided she survives the test, we already have number 181, but this is unlike anything else, we can mold her, we can shape her, she is of too much interest of this organization."
"Okay, okay, you have convinced me, but what do you propose?"
"We will send a strike team to her apartment, no one will even know we were there."
"Are you sure he has no one, I do not want to have to deal with the paperwork, with having to deal with any family members or friends looking for her?"
"Our research indicates that she was the sole survivor of a home invasion as a child and she went to live with his grandparents who have since passed away, she has no boyfriend or living family, not even a cousin, no social media, not anything."
"Before we go in guns blazing, before we go taking someone we will give her an opportunity, a fire team is of last resort."
"I will authorize this, but if something gets screwed up, if we are compromised, it is your head"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
End of Part 1
If it is liked I'll write more, but this is my first WP, so don't be too harsh. | I am dead, and it happens that there is some form of paradise, or heaven, I don’t know what you can call it, it’s a bit confusing and I still haven’t understood how the whole thing works. Lot’s of waiting although. Heard it’s normal for grassroots, yeah, new guys are called grassroots until we transcended our bodies, whatever that means.
Anyway, part of the process of accepting our deaths is to see how many times we could have died and didn’t, guess it’s to show people they were lucky even living that long, guess it’s helps *shrugs* I don’t know.
Then a guy came in, dressed in white, a white scientific blouse, a helmet, also white with blue bands on it and before I could say a word he smacked the tablet he was holding with the back of his hand and yelled.
« You mister reich are a lucky man »
He seemed in a good mood, I’m dead so I don’t see how I am lucky but oh well, anyway, heard you get about 18-20 tapes to see about outcomes and yet the guy came in with zero.
« So I didn’t get any « *near misses* » ? »
The guy stopped writing, chuckled, and then proceeded to continue writing. Wow these guy’s in heaven are impolite.
« What’s so funny ? »
« You will see, man is it rare to see guys like you, first in my career actually »
« What do you mean ? »
« That, you will know in just a momen.. Aaah good, they arrived ! »
And instantly, a column of people pushing small crates barged in the room with cassettes filling every one of them, pretty long queue of people actually, a very long queue of them.. This is actually worrying, a guy that had 25 cassettes had to stay a good 3 hours or so, this is ridiculous, there still coming ! They are still coming ! This is purgatory, I am being punished for all my sins..
« Okay, good, now we shall review them, if you could follow me ? »
« How long is this going to take ? »
« Humm.. honestly.. A week ? I don’t know ? »
« It’s your job »
« Yeah well this is something « *particular* » plus it’s really a week for you, I’ll be heading home at 5 »
« And I’ll have to stay ? »
« Well, you know, you didn’t finish the transcending phase so yeah, you are stuck here until you review all the tapes »
« And then I’m free ? »
He chuckled and then said « Well, you still need to do a bunch of things after but yeah, after all the prerequisites and all, you will be free. »
« And how long is that ? »
« I can’t tell you that »
Yet he mouthed « A year if you are lucky »
« Let’s start right now »
The first ones, were the classics I heard, you know, almost dying as an infant by being dropped, stupid things like that, a shelf nearly falling on me, eating a small kinder toy, yeah, all that while mister the worker was being unprofessional, like, I am not the kind of guy that will call the manager and all but this was absurd.
He was laying back, feet on the table eating popcorn.
Worse of all, if I stopped looking, the video paused, which created a bunch of ankward moments where I looked at him straight in the eye and he stared back intensely all while still chomping on popcorn.
Anyway, most of the *near misses* made me think of how easy you can die.
A few of them were the kind where I drinked and drived and died.
One was poison, that surprised me, I had a bat shit crazy girlfriend who tried to kill us so we could meet back in paradise, that psycho, it’s actually amazing how many times I could have died just because of her, wow that time I refused to do some bondage play, she had a knife waiting, god, this sent chills down my spine.
That time I didn’t want to jump into the water and there were rocks, this is ridiculous, I have a good 40 of them just dedicated to her.
The second batch got even crazier, and I didn’t even need to see the tapes to understand that, I find I got the memo when a bunch of guys dressed in black started to come in and sit in the other chairs of the theater room. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I had 15 near death experiences in the last year. Shouldn't really be surprised, I work at Wal-Mart, don't drive to often, and generally not a clumsy guy. But this buddy of mine, nearly 300 near death experiences. Same job as me, we carpool so if it was that we would have closer numbers.
I'm not sure what else he does, cops have and average 200. Maybe he's clumsy and is always a step away from death. Maybe he's a drug addict. It's possible his husband is abusive. It's possible he's abusive to his husband, and the husband thought about killing him nearly every day.
These yearly reports really leave you wondering if you know a person, and they've never been wrong. Those things come straight from The Machine. No edits, no miscalculations, no forgery, ever. But it only gives to the public what you want to share. People can hide their earnings, their time on certain sites, the amount of times they had sex, so he must be okay with people knowing.
A cry for help perhaps? Or a brag of some sorts.? Well if he's okay with people knowing ill just ask him on the way to work tomorrow.
Next Day
I pull into his drive way and give a quick push of the horn, he's usually on time, but I have caught him a few times asleep. I bring up my phone and browse the internet for a bit, waiting for him to open his door.
A minute passes, a quick horn. Two minutes, a text. At 5 minutes, I try his phone, no answer. At 10 minutes I've called him twice and texted him again. At 15 I get off, and knock on his door. No answer, but its unlocked.
"IRVING" I yell coming inside. His dog isn't here, maybe he finally quit and left town like he's been wanting to for months. Asshole could've at least told me. I'll take a look around, just in case he got drunk and passed out
"IRVING! You here bud?" No answer, I guess he's gone. But his bedroom door has a note.
"To those I've left behind, I tried to live with this..." No. Nonono. I try to open his door but it's locked. "Mother fucker, what have you done."
I throw myself against the door hearing it crack. I try again, full force. It gives way to a scene I won't get out of my head for years, if ever.
He's dead, across his neatly made bed, gun on the floor, blood everywhere. I look down at the note.
"...pain, I did, I really tried. I don't want to anyone else to suffer because of me..." I can't read it. This wasn't meant for me. But I know why he left the Near Death public. In his own, twisted, way he wanted to lessen the blame people will put in themselves. Fucking Irving. I wipe my eyes and call the police. | 278.
I could account for some of these numbers over the 27 years. That time I blacked out and woke up with a giant knife in hand comes to mind. That time I almost was in that giant pile up from a sudden winter storm and last second didn't get on the highway. All the times I was hit on the head, including that concussion when I was 19. All of those added up to small little circumstances- but would they really count as near death? My desk job wouldn't give me anything near it, and I don't think being near sick people in a doctor's office would count. Maybe that time I sat by that girl with swine flu in college? She made it through though, and I didn't even catch it from her.
My friends don't even have that big of a number. Georgia has only 2 incidents- that time at the carnival and that time at the theme park. Explains why she doesn't like those places I guess, even though one of those had to do with that guy almost kidnapping her. Harold is 15, and that's probably because he's a firefighter. Not even from the fires, he deals with some crazy people on runs. And Nancy, Nancy has 0. Her life has never once almost ended. Almost makes you want to do something to try to make the counter go up on that phone app.
I know why it's such a large number though. If it weren't for writing in this diary, I'm sure it'd be even bigger. How it's not bigger surprises me, really. Every time I leave work, I think about jumping off the garage. Could I survive 5 stories? No. Probably why I started parking higher up. Living on the 3rd floor, you might survive that fall from the balcony. You might survive the knife cutting your wrist. But you won't make it 5 stories. No way. Quick, hopefully painless, gone in an instant. No more feeling this way. No more being this way, I could just jump. End it all and jump. Maybe go take those pills in my bathroom. No, those would cause too much pain. The knife would cause too much pain. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I just need to calm down.
Huh. 279 now. I should go to bed. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | Part 1,
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A table of people is sitting in a dark room,
"This woman has no powers, no special abilities, not intuition towards anything, why is she of interest?",
"Sir, she has survived death two hundred and seventy eight times, there is something in her that we need, if we put her against a battery of tests, if we channel whatever is in her, this could have significant impacts for us and better all of society."
"278 times, that must be a joke!"
"I have been following her for nearly 10 years, she has survived things that would kill any normal person."
"We do not just kidnap people off of the street, we were established for the betterment of society, if it were not for us, if it were not for this organization, all of society would have crumbled dozens of times over."
"All the more reason to go forward, she has no family, she has no friends, provided she survives the test, we already have number 181, but this is unlike anything else, we can mold her, we can shape her, she is of too much interest of this organization."
"Okay, okay, you have convinced me, but what do you propose?"
"We will send a strike team to her apartment, no one will even know we were there."
"Are you sure he has no one, I do not want to have to deal with the paperwork, with having to deal with any family members or friends looking for her?"
"Our research indicates that she was the sole survivor of a home invasion as a child and she went to live with his grandparents who have since passed away, she has no boyfriend or living family, not even a cousin, no social media, not anything."
"Before we go in guns blazing, before we go taking someone we will give her an opportunity, a fire team is of last resort."
"I will authorize this, but if something gets screwed up, if we are compromised, it is your head"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
End of Part 1
If it is liked I'll write more, but this is my first WP, so don't be too harsh. | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!" | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | 278.
It felt like I had been stabbed in the chest I was so shocked.
Wait a minute.
No that's real. That's real! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST THATS REAL.
My clammy hands grasp my chest as I recognize the substance on my shirt (and everything else) is blood. There's a fucking knife in me. What the fuck.
Everything feels like it's moving slowly. My eyes drift up. There she is. Mom. She fist bumps dad.
"GOT HIM!"
"Finally!"
Fuck. It's so dark...it's so... | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!" | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!" | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | “That’s impossible! 278!”
My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment.
“It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.”
This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0.
“I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face.
She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her.
The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it.
She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news.
The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse.
Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening.
Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse.
Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13?
No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone.
Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough.
I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice.
It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby.
I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything.
I had to help. It gave my life purpose.
It made me feel........alive.
I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention.
The hoverbike.
I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time!
The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse.
Bicycles. 4 of them.
I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me.
“Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!”
I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand.
And then my body froze.
“Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....”
Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue. | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | "Oh my God..." I exclaimed, perplexed at how many times I've come close to death.
**Yes?**
"Oh no...it's just an exclamation..."
**This is why I made it so you shouldn't use my name in vain.**
"Sorry..." I looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. "Just...like how? How have I come this close to dying?"
**Do you really need to ask that?**
I nodded. "Yes! How in the world is that possible? I don't do anything dangerous!"
**Oh really? Nothing at all?**
I shook my head. I couldn't think of a single thing.
**Maybe you should try meeting people. Using your belt like that isn't healthy.**
I blushed. *How did he know I was into auto...*
**I'm God, ffs. I know everything. And don't use that phrase. Apparently the mods here are vanilla af.** | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | “That’s impossible! 278!”
My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment.
“It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.”
This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0.
“I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face.
She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her.
The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it.
She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news.
The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse.
Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening.
Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse.
Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13?
No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone.
Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough.
I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice.
It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby.
I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything.
I had to help. It gave my life purpose.
It made me feel........alive.
I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention.
The hoverbike.
I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time!
The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse.
Bicycles. 4 of them.
I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me.
“Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!”
I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand.
And then my body froze.
“Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....”
Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue. | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | She did her best. She was kind, she feigned a sense of empathy, but I could tell how scared she was as she tentatively told me the news.
Everyone knows that the only people who break 50 are those that have lifethreatening illnesses, and here I am with 278.
I accepted it pretty quickly, I just didn't understand it. My inner monologue started firing off questions. " I feel fine... It's not like I'm going through my days balled over in pain. I'm not fit, but I'm not fat."
She handed me a few pamphlets and suggested I try the one downtown, tapping the top pamphlet. I nodded absently and tried to catch up. I read the top, "What Ails You" It's a diagnostic center.
On my drive over I continued to delve into things, "No history of heart disease or diabetes. I almost always use protection... Fuck!!!"
Suddenly I was back in the drivers seat, my mind trying to play catch up. for a moment I felt frozen in time, here it was, the answer, my end. I caught back up to reality, And overcompensated as I jerked the wheel to the right. Narrowly Missing the car in the next lane as my mind, car and reality stabilized.
I provided my insurance, and started on the forms, things went quickly. Just a whole bunch of checkboxes for no, no pre-existing conditions, no allergies... None of this made any sense to me. Why me?
They put me on a treadmill and measured my heart rate and breathing. They prodded various spots and asked where I felt pain. They asked me if I had noticed anything unusual in the past while. I hadn't. They examined all my moles, seearched for cuts, bruises. Took some samples... my hair, my skin, my cheek. They promised to call with the results.
I entered my apartment and dropped my keys on the kitchen counter. I hadn't told anyone yet, and I didn't want to. I wasn't ready to have my family and friends react. I've seen how people react to high numbers on facebook. It's so shitty. Like you're dead already. I walked through the living room, past the couch, tv and xbox.
I crashed into my bed. Suddenly aware of a giant hole in my chest. I began to weap out of exhaustion, and then self pity. Newly aware of a new feeling in my chest. It felt as though my body was imploding into my chest. As if a giant blackhole had formed there. Is it my heart? is this existential dread going to physically kill me? I became an ugly mess, stifling my wailing in my pillow so my neighbors wouldn't hear. My snot spread across my pillowcase and I realized I was going to have to clean it up before bed or risk getting it all over myself. I cried harder when I realized I didn't care if it did.
Then it started. The sounds of the springs of their bed and the ceiling above trying to withstand the lovemaking of my neighbors above. The ceiling creaked and groaned in a steady rythm as they went about their lives, oblivious to my torment below. I could hear the wood splinter with the last groan, and I looked up to see the ceiling above me begin to bellow. Before I could shout the bed broke through, right on top of me. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | **Last Diary Entry found on Hanna's computer, <11 hours> before forensic declared time of death:**
>Diary Entry No. 2936. 07/26/2018.
>
>I found a website that can predict the number of times I've had a near death experience. I'm all too familiar with stuff like this, but decided to give it a try, just for fun.
>
>"[www.neardeathxp.com](https://www.neardeathxp.com)" I typed in. It had an unusually long load time. Upon entering, I was greeted with a solid black screen, a red circle in the center, and within it, a white box prompting my name and DOB. I nonchalantly filled it in and hit "enter". The white box melted and morphed into a single number: 278 - immediately followed by a site crash. I refreshed the page multiple times, but to no avail. The website no longer existed.
>
>*278...278...278...where have I seen this number before...*
>
>I've led a relatively safe life thus far, but 278 times in 26 years doesn't sound too far-fetched, does it? Then it hit me. I lunged towards the bedside table and pulled out my dream journal.
>
>"Lucid dream Entry #278. 07/26/2018.
>
>I saw the red figure again today. He stood at the same spot, wore the same black hat and the same crooked smile.
>
>Like the past 276 days, I never spoke to him, nor did he to me. Each day he seems to be inching ever closer, but that might just be my imagination. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out who he is, though. His face, or lack thereof, just does not ring any bell.
>
>So, anyway\[...\]"
>
>I threw the journal across the room, it made a mess at my white-laced vanity. Then I chuckled at my own childishness. A mere coincidence freaked me out this much, no wonder my hubby never asked to see a horror movie with me, despite it being his favorite genre. Anyway, I guess that's all I got for today. I have an important day tomorrow. It's our 1-year wedding anniversary! I still can't believe it; it feels like yesterday that we met in Mrs. Phelan's pottery class.
>
>Time for bed. I can't wait! | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | My best friend and I had decided to go see the latest craze together. We had gone to get tested to see how many times we had *almost* died by this super computer. It was supposed to be all the rage (kinda like getting fortune told) but in a fun and silly way.
I, a woman of no great importance had set a new record for being close to death 278 times.
The operator looked at me in awe and said that the last person had a dangerous job. Yeah.. I'm guessing that he was some sort of super spy like James Bond.
But me, that was unexpected. I'm just an ordinary girl and I work with computers. I don't suffer at my job. My biggest problem there is my micromanaging, perfectionist boss.
I sipped my tea as I chatted to my best friend.
"I just don't understand... how could my life be in danger? I bet the machine is just a hoax."
She looked at me pityingly before she pulled my arm towards her and gently pushed up the sleeve of my shirt revealing a large bruise that had turned purple. "You're still with him. After everything he's done to you. The lies, the beatings. Can't you see he's no good for you?"
I looked at her blankly and then my mind went into overdrive and before I could stop myself I said, "it's just a stage. Teething problems in an early relationship since we've just moved in together. We just need to get used to each other and find our momentum and then everything will be fine."
"You've been together for 2 years. He's only going to get worse and you're enabling him. One day I'm going to receive a call and you'll be dead by his hand and when the coroner does an autopsy they'll find your body battered, bruised and broken. But you'll just be another statistic to them." She gulped down the last of her espresso and set it down with a discernable click. "I'm sorry. I can't be a part of this anymore. I can't watch you on this downward spiral. You're not the person I once knew and it's not good."
She stood up. "Don't call me again until you're ready to leave him." She said before walking out the door.
I sat in that seat for a very long time.
| If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | If you had the chance would you wanna know?
The times you almost gave back the life that you owe.
To some it made their days truly precious.
Others though, made their demons more vicious.
The number didn't help, of that I was sure.
Did they think this would work like some kind of cure?
I again look hard at my unrecognizable reflection
Looking for remorse, but no hint nor indication
Am I really no good in everything I do?
How could I have failed this so many times too?
So there I was with a gun in my hand,
*"I guess this makes two seventy-nine."* | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | “That’s impossible! 278!”
My wife had a look of absolute shock and I could see in her face a twinge of annoyance as well, as if she thought the technician who was doing the testing must be new or didn’t know how to work the equipment.
“It’s never been wrong before Ma’am.” the test technician said, answering my wife’s annoyance with a venom in her tone that was intended for anyone who would question her experience in preforming the exam. “I’ve done this test thousands of times before.”
This was probably true. Ever since the N.D.S.A machine, or Near Death Statistical Analysis machine was unveiled, millions of people had flocked to the nearest clinic to be given “their number”. My wife thought it was absolutely ridiculous. Why would people want to know how many times one has ALMOST died? As long as you are alive at the end of every day, who cares about the circumstances of how you got there. Nevertheless, society had almost dictated that those who could afford the test should take it, and so bowing to peer pressure she did. To almost no ones surprise, the answer came back. 0.
“I demand that you do the test again!” She said rather curtly to the young woman doing the test.
“Honey, I’m sure it’s just a glitch. We don’t need to do it again.” I said calmly as I re-buttoned my shirt after taking the suction cup electrodes off my chest and face.
She looked at me with a scrutinizing stare, as if she was trying to peer into my very soul. I could tell she was looking for something. Something I wasn’t telling her.
The car ride home was quiet. She didn’t say much. She mentioned in passing that she had a fund raiser to prepare for that evening and was getting together with the head of the Benefactors Committee to go over the final details. She often was gone in the evenings. Always planning this event or going to that fund raiser. When you’re the wife of a wealthy tech geek who had single handedly instituted affordable internet to all comers of the globe, you had a lot of social obligations to fulfill. Ribbon cuttings, interviews, she was in the public eye almost as much as I was, and was much better at it.
She left hurriedly and said she didn’t know when she was coming back, but to not wait up for her. She gave me a kiss and left. Again, I was used to this as it seemed to happen with more frequency lately, and so I sat down in front of the TV to catch up on the local news.
The usual stuff. Local homeless people setting up camp on the courthouse lawn, a fluff story regarding a cat waterskiing behind a boat driven by a mouse.
Looks like it’s going to be a quiet evening.
Just then, the local news channel interrupted our waterskiing feline with a breaking story. An explosion just south of town at an old abandoned warehouse.
Again? Another explosion? How many had it been in the last few months? 12? 13?
No one was ever injured but there was always damage to property and the potential to harm someone.
Reporters said they had received word that kids had been playing there this evening and were uncertain if they had caused the explosion but that they may still be trapped inside the burning building. Police and Fire crews had currently been dispatched but the building was in terrible shape and liable to collapse at any moment. They weren’t going to get there fast enough.
I switched off the television and proceeded to the study. I pulled the third book from the left side of the bookshelf towards myself and the trapdoor I had used so many times before opened like a gaping mouth ready to swallow me whole. I jumped inside and landed on the conveyor belt. Pieces of protective gear started appearing from out of the walls and my army of little robots fastened and bolted every piece I would need for a night of vigilante justice.
It started out as a test. Once you are rich enough to have anything you want, what else do you do? I built my first suit as more of an engineering challenge to myself. I always loved mechanical and chemical engineering, but there was just more money to be made in the internet business. This was supposed to be just a hobby.
I had employed several people along the way to help me, all of them paid handsomely for their silence, and now it was more of a compulsion than anything.
I had to help. It gave my life purpose.
It made me feel........alive.
I rushed to the hanger. I needed something fast but small enough not to draw attention.
The hoverbike.
I strapped in and shot out of the launchpad as fast as I could. GPS gave me 3 minutes to my destination. I can make it in time. Please let me make it in time!
The building was right below me. I could see the flames shooting from the ceiling. This was bad. Looking down with my infrared told me little. It was too hot. Everything was a blazing flash of crimson in my visor. I looked to the right of the warehouse.
Bicycles. 4 of them.
I landed the bike as fast as I could and rushed inside. The heat was intense. I called out for anyone to hear me.
“Hello!! Is anyone here!!! Answer me!”
I heard a faint cry from further up. I rushed as fast as I could towards the sound. As I got closer I saw a huddled mass on the ground. My pace quickened as I tried to reach the person lying there in a ball in the blaze. I reached down and quickly pulled them up to get them to stand.
And then my body froze.
“Hello dear. It seems you *have* been hiding something from me....”
Edit: Part 2 is in my noodle for anyone that wants it to continue. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?*
278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right?
I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.*
I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves.
Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*.
A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die.
"Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on.
"I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault."
At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door.
"Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight.
"I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on.
"Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man.
"So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment.
"You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?*
"*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter.
"I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!"
And he left, with every last piece of my sanity. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | I shut and locked my apartment door behind me, panting, and slid to a seat on the hardwood floor. *What the fuck?*
278 times. 278 times at the age of twenty-one. I wondered if Mr. Anderson, my emissary, had noticed my heart pounding as I read the number from my Slip, the one-time Slip anyone is able to request on their 18th birthday, but something I paid no mind to until quite recently... My palms had shaken as the disappearing ink slowly faded, though that number was already tattooed on my mind. Mr. Anderson had looked me up and down then, with a furrowed brow, as terror ran down the length of my spine. Did he notice me trembling? Even if he had, he probably guessed I'd scored an 8 or 9, higher than normal but not necessarily impossible. Never mind. I knew what I had seen. I had come close to death 278 times in my life, and no one else knew but me. Those were the rules... They made sense of course - if everyone knew you'd come close to death more than the 'normal' amount of times, someone was out to get you, and if that were the case, there must be a reason, right?
I wiped my blonde curls out of my eyes. Jogging home had left my hair in a mane around my face and a broken heel, not to mention the beads of sweat dripping down my face. I hadn't bothered telling my boss I wasn't coming back to work after lunch. This was *far* more important than writing sleazy relationship advice articles anyway. Work could wait. I ripped off my blazer and put my head in my hands. *This is a mistake. This is a mistake.* *This* must *be a mistake.*
I got up, slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed into my bedroom - which had light grey walls with all white furniture. It was simple, with the only decorations being a small white cross next to my door, some candles around the room, and my huge bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all colors and sizes. My bed - a queen-sized with the most plush, stark-white bedding you’ve ever seen - was my crowned jewel. It whispered sweet nothings to me as I walked past, but I ignored it. I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. I hopped in the shower and let the water run over my body, trying to calm my nerves.
Soon, though, I was a crumpled mess. I sat down on the tile, letting the water run down my back and resting my head on my knees, as I slowly began to weep. I couldn't fathom how it was possible that I had come so close, so many times, without realizing it at all... *My luck will run out*.
A tap on the glass shower door bumped my number to 279 with the almost-heart-attack it gave me. I screamed and wiped the fog away, while simultaneously scooting to the far corner of the shower and waiting to die.
"Whoa, sorry, uh, sorry there! I won't hurt you!" called a voice I had never heard before. I was stunned as the mystery man, dressed in all white, went on.
"I, uh, I was told you got your slip today, eh?" \*nervous chuckle\* "well, uh, I don't mean to startle you -" he perched himself up on my bathroom counter, as he went on, "I honestly was hoping you'd never request your slip... Uh, but, um, I just wanted to say it's my fault."
At this point I dug my nails into my thigh, hoping I wouldn't feel pain. Wincing, I resolved I was certainly not dreaming. At this point, the fear turned to anger and I stood up and grabbed a towel, opening the shower door.
"Who the ***fuck*** are you?" I said, trying to sound tougher than I must've looked, mascara running down my face, blonde hair a wet mess, not to mention wrapped in a towel and in no condition to put up a fight.
"I'm sorry again, we're not usually allowed to do this..." he muttered to himself, "I guess this is probably why, eh?" \*another nervous chuckle\* "But, um... I'm Alan... I'm you're guardian angel, and uh, well, I, I never really passed my Final Test, but The Big Man let me slip through the cracks." I stood, dripping wet, and blinked. Alan went on.
"Most guardians are able to prevent near-death experiences before they get to the near-death point... but, uh, not me... but so far, I've been doing alright, right? I mean, you're here, right?" I looked around, to see if there was any chance I was being Punk'd. I decided to humor this obviously unstable man.
"So God just let you 'slip through the cracks,' huh?" I pressed, amused yet still wondering how I was going to get him out of my apartment.
"You know, he's uh - he's omnipotent, so he knows I became your guardian angel after failing my test, and uh, he also knew you were gonna have sex out of wedlock on your 18th birthday, uh, so... sorry, but uh, you win some, you lose some, I guess..." *Wait, what the fuck? How would he know that?*
"*Excuse me?"* I stammered, trying to make sense of everything. Alan twiddled his thumbs and looked at his feet, which hadn't stopped swinging since he'd hoisted himself on my counter.
"I just know you're really freakin' out after today, so uh, so I wanted to visit and tell you it was my fault... No one's trying to kill you or anything... well, actually once you almost got mugged, uh, but the guy changed his mind or something... I'm really not good at my job..." he looked at his naked wrist and jumped up. "Anyway, it was nice to finally meet you! I'll, uh, I'll try a little harder.. but, uh... don't take the subway anymore, alright? This is a give and take kind of relationship... Uh, bye!"
And he left, with every last piece of my sanity. | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | James' eyes clicked open instantly. The echo of pans rang through the house, chased by muffled swearing. Cabinets clattered ferosciously and the clink of breaking glass joined the cacophony, the din of disarray rising into full orchestral violence in a matter of moments. James flipped to his side and buried his head under the thin linens adorning his bed. Facing the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. He fought to gain control of his breathing as he teetered on the edge hyperventilatory sobbing. The house went quiet. He caught a whimper in his throat as the knocking of footsteps approached down the hallway, stopping before his door. His fists balled up around the blanket in front of his face, trying to hold his whole body from shaking. The creak of hinges and the slow pad of boots on carpet preceded her. A noxious fume filled the air around him as a large hand pressed on the edge of his mattress, a slurred voice calmly pressing in:
"Hide it again, you little fucker, and I swear to God you won't get the chance to regret it."
She reiterated with a gentle tap, tap, tap, of the barrel on his head. Tears and urine ran quietly.
******
"James," a kind, soft voice prodded. James shook his head side to side quickly, shooing the memory away.
"Huh? Uh, yeah, that's pretty insane," he said, rubbing the back of his head absently. "I can't imagine how my number's so damn high. Just the lucky sort I guess," he laughed, trailing off. "Just lucky." | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | James' eyes clicked open instantly. The echo of pans rang through the house, chased by muffled swearing. Cabinets clattered ferosciously and the clink of breaking glass joined the cacophony, the din of disarray rising into full orchestral violence in a matter of moments. James flipped to his side and buried his head under the thin linens adorning his bed. Facing the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. He fought to gain control of his breathing as he teetered on the edge hyperventilatory sobbing. The house went quiet. He caught a whimper in his throat as the knocking of footsteps approached down the hallway, stopping before his door. His fists balled up around the blanket in front of his face, trying to hold his whole body from shaking. The creak of hinges and the slow pad of boots on carpet preceded her. A noxious fume filled the air around him as a large hand pressed on the edge of his mattress, a slurred voice calmly pressing in:
"Hide it again, you little fucker, and I swear to God you won't get the chance to regret it."
She reiterated with a gentle tap, tap, tap, of the barrel on his head. Tears and urine ran quietly.
******
"James," a kind, soft voice prodded. James shook his head side to side quickly, shooing the memory away.
"Huh? Uh, yeah, that's pretty insane," he said, rubbing the back of his head absently. "I can't imagine how my number's so damn high. Just the lucky sort I guess," he laughed, trailing off. "Just lucky." | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | "That's crazy!" my mother told me over the phone. "I don't understand, you're only staying at home and playing the video games all day long," she frowned.
"Thanks, mom for reminding me how bad my life is," I frowned in return.
"Oh dear, you know that's not what I-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'll call you back later, doctor calls," I quickly ended the phone call and entered back into the testing room. My mother can be annoying, but I do love her. To be honest, I am shocked myself that I have been close to ending 278 times. I don't understand how's that possible, but apparently, this machine or procedure cannot lie. Was it because I live near an airport, so occasionally something dangerous flies over? Or was it something different?
My stupid conspiracy theory brain started generating ideas straight away.
Even as I wonder about all of that, none of that makes any sense. "Bug," I whispered to myself. "Must be a bug," I repeated.
"So, are you ready to retake the test?" a man in full white clothing asked. To be honest, I don't remember his name. They all have for some reason stupidly hard names to remember.
"Go ahead," I replied and waited the usual half a minute.
"Umm," the man suddenly hummed.
"Yeah?"
"It's 279 now," he told me.
"What? Please, that's impossible. I literally just stepped outside for five minutes and came back in. How can my life have been danger in mere 5 minutes?" I laughed fakely while standing up and starting to rip off different wires from my skin.
"This machine is 100% correct. It has never been wrong. It just really means that your life was close to ending moment ago."
"I just told you," I started walking towards the exit, really frustrated, "that's impossible! The only thing that I said was... It must be a bug..." I looked around the room and started shaking my head.
"Mr. John? Are you okay? You're looking pale..."
"This is a lie, isn't it?" I asked. I have thought about it before. Read through such conspiracy theories. "This world is fake isn't it?"
The man started laughing, but the laugh slowed down, and everything started to darken around me. It almost felt like time was shut down.
"It's just a bug," I said and laughed, but this time it had no effect - everything continued going darker, colder and slower until it all halted.
I guess this isn't 280th time.
----
/r/ElvenWrites | |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. |
It had been nearly ten years since my human Todd had discovered me behind a library dumpster. I remember him glancing around in the rain, shifting his messenger bag from one side to the other. “Where’s your mommy, sweetheart?” He had asked, scooping me up next to the warmth of his belly, full and round. He took me home and fed me, let me sleep on his feet. He had placed posters around town, but I already knew: there wasn’t a home out there looking for me. I was home now.
He called me Lolita. A name from one of his many books, the smell like the earth and sun lingering on the pages after afternoons spent on our small balcony. Our home was in a small apartment complex walking distance from campus. Todd often spent hours at that school, coming home to brush his short fingers down my spine. I’d arch my back and stroke the length of my body around his legs.
Todd knew I needed to roam. We packed our things and moved to a little Victorian coach home. In the winter, the sunlight filtered through bare branches and windows to warm the floor where I waited for him to come home. In the spring, he would sip chamomile tea while I stalked the returning finches from the patio. Our summers were spent on the couch, enjoying our time together before he resumed his studies in the fall.
Family and friends visited often. Everyone loved my Todd, complimenting him on his dedication to his work. “Two more years and you’ll be a doctor!” His father bellowed, pounding a hug into Todd’s back. They were proud of him. We were proud of him.
Then one day, he came home with a different scent on him. A scent I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the chemical scent of his mother or the bookish smell of his friends, also library science majors who spent their days indoors. Even Todd smelled different.
One night, he filled up my dish with food and left. When he returned, the unfamiliar scent came with him. His name was Glenn.
Glenn was his new boyfriend, he announced. He hoped we could be friends. But soon my sleeping spot on his feet disappeared as their feet intertwined under the blankets, keeping each warm in the privacy and intimacy of our bed. I pirouetted between his legs, but not even a pat.
I didn’t resent Glenn. He didn’t know the depth our relationship. Surely, once he was gone, Todd would see how much our love had suffered.
“Huh. Glenn, are you sure? The doctor said 278?” He ran his fat, dimpled fingers through his wiry beard.
“Yes! Read the report. They did it twice. I’m in shock.” I weaved my body between his sprawling legs, over the feet that kept me from my love. He tripped, catching himself on the kitchen counter.
“Damn it, Lolita, you’re going to cause an accident with all that love.”
Hopefully, I purred. | We have all seen Madam Monroe, whether we admit it or not. Living in a town of only 15,000 people, there is not much to do in the form of entertainment. Some go because they are curious, others because of a drunken dare. For me it was a mixture of a few things. Being a Senior in highschool, your number was a suedo representation of how cool you were. Most jocks would purposely put themselves in dangerous situations, just to bump the number up once or twice. To them a game to become Prom King or Queen. But for me it was much more.
I'm what one would call a social hermit, if I go outside, its simply to buy microwaved dinners or soda to fuel my gaming obsession. So naturally one would assume a very low score. Deep down I knew my score had to be something better than zero, I couldnt end my public school career being one of those safe freaks. And that is what made hearing those three numbers such a shock. Two-Seven-Eight.
I wasn't the only one in Madam Monroe's awkwardly small shop. About a dozen other towns people were accompanying me, waiting thier turn to hear their own numbers. Once again, she sayed those numbers "I say it once more James, your number is 278." I continued to stare at her as if time had frozen itself "Madam Monroe, there must be a mistake" I finally muttered to her. "There is no mistake James, there is more to you than what one assumes" she said as she slowly stood up. This has to be a joke I thought, a prank set up by other seniors. It was at this point I noticed the other patrons in the shop staring at me. I could hear their gasped comments being said under their breaths "Did you hear that?! Nerdy jimmy got 278" one said "He must of paid her to give him that number" another murmered to his friend. I was finally getting noticed, but not in the way I wanted per say.
I quickly stood up, grabbed $10 out of my wallet and clumsily handed it to Madam Monroe. I needed to get out of there, it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I wove my way around the individuals trying to grab a hold of me. I knew they would have questions, but then again, so did I.
It seemed like hours, but I finally finished my mile and a half walk home. I slammed my door as if to shut the world out for good. This had to be a dream, I've heard about men coming home from wars and getting numbers in the high teens and low twenties. 278 though, that is absurd. Im not going to say I have perfect recall, but I don't remember being in a single close call situation, let alone 278! Shoot, I can't even remember ever catching a cold even. I needed to talk to someone about this, but who? I've been on my own since I was 16. Not that I wanted to be, but after my mom's death, it's just been me and a few neighbors checking in on me. I needed to calm down, so I figured I'd grab a drink and just wait for this to all blow over.
Knock knock...
This has to be a joke. No one ever comes to visit without giving me a call first. I take a look at my CCTV screen and see a tall slender man in a black coat standing at the door. Normally id just crawl into the shadows of my living room when encountered with an unknown. But something felt different in me. I wanted to know what this man wanted. Maybe hearing my number awoken the curious cat within me. I walked slowly towards the door. KNOCK KNOCK! I stopped a few feet away with my arm reached to the doorknob. "Who is it?" I call out, using what little voice I could muster. "Is this the residence of Mr. James Henry Jr." the strange man almost beckoned. He used my full name, a name I haven't heard since all the legal mumbo jumbo after my mom's passing. "Yes, yes it is" I squeek out from my mouth. "Good" the man replied, followed by an odd mechanical sound. A sound I know I've heard before, but my brain couldn't piece it together.
BAM!
A deafing roar filled my ears, as my eyes witnessed a gaping hole in the middle of my front door. I was frozen in fear, what did this man just do!? Did he seriously shoot my door? I need to move, I need to hide. But it's as if my brain and legs are speaking foreign languages to each other. I hear a thud at the door, again, and again. He must be kicking the door down! Finally the lag in my body catches up and I fly towards my bedroom as I hear the hinges on the front door snap. I slam my bedroom door shut and lock the doorknob, kidding myself that it will bring any level of protection. Like a child afraid of a monster under the bed, I hid in the corner of my room, covering myself with whatever objects I could find. Unfortunately for me, the monster was real, and instead of being under my bed, I could hear his heavy breathing just outside my door.
With one brutish move, the door to my room caved in. The man in the coat gathered his bearings as he wiped debris of my once standing door off his shoulders. I needed to run, but where to? The man blocked the entrance to my room, and the nearest window was a solid 15 feet away. This is what I get for being a coward. I should of fought back, or atleast made an actuall attempt at fleeing. Instead im crouched on the floor, pathetically hiding from a certian fate at this point.
The man snapped his head in my direction, he didnt even have to look. As if he was a blood hound and I a wounded animal waiting for the end. He slowly walked towards me, lifting his shotgun at the same time. "Why are you doing this!" I cried out. He kept moving forward. "Im a nobody, just a boring kid with no life" I screamed. I wasn't wrong, why was I so scared to die when I never really lived in the first place? The harbinger to my end now stood only 6 or so feet from me. The business end of his weapon pointing straight at me, smoke still flowing from the smoothbore barrel. "It's nothing personal kid, just business." the man said. I closed my eyes, ready to meet an enternal darkness. I heard a bang, much more quite than the noise at the front door. Next I felt a warm mist on my face, and the smell of something almost metallic in the air. Is this what it feels like to die? A lot less painful than I thought. I cautiously open my eyes, letting the light slowly fill my retinas. Once again there was a man standing over me, but a different man, much shorter and stout than the original intruder. In his hands was a pistol with a strange device at the end of the barrel. And at my feet laid the tall and slender man, now in a heap instead of towering like a moment before. Who was this new man? Why did he save me? So many more questions to ask. But one thing is for certain, my number has to be 279 now.
I looked up at this strange man, bewildered by what just happened. He lowered his handgun down and extended his left arm out as if he was my gaurdian angel. And at this point, he might as well have been. I had so many articulate questions I wanted to ask him, but the only words to escape me were "What in the fuck just happened!" The man let out a hearty chuckle, almost as if he didn't just kill a man. "Im called Agent 7, but you can call me Steve if you wish." I grabbed ahold of Steve's firm hand and he pulled me up off my ass. "Okay Steve, do you mind telling me why I almost just died?" Steve let out a long sigh "Do you remember going to the hospital a lot as a child?" "Yes" I replied. I was a very sickly child, in and out of the hospital just about every month. But I got better just shortly before my bastard of a Father left us. Steve gave me a stern look "What if I told you that the truth is quite the opposite?" Steve said. "What do you mean?" I interjected. "It's true you went to the hospital a good amount, but you weren't sick. The exact opposite really, an almost perfect specimen of health." He continued "Your Father was a head honcho at the CDC . Him and his wife took you in from an orphanage after reports of a miracle child from Boston started citculating around."
I looked at him with a mixture of curiousity and anger in my eyes "You are fucking with me, right?" I asked. "I wish I were, but it's the truth. Your immune system is so advanced, it was almost impossible to make you sick. Your Father wanted to unlock your secrets." His expression on his face went almost dark. "Soon after your 7th birthday, news of your existence and your condition reached out into the medical world. Governments wanted you for their own research. Your Father was threatened a multitude of times, but the break in, that was the last straw." Steve stopped to take a breath. "Someone broke into our house?" I said. "Not just broke in, but tried to kidnap you" said Steve. "Your father knew it would only go down hill from there. He went into hiding, and gave you and your Mother a fresh start. The lot of good that did." Steve looked at his watch. "To make a long story short, your existence was eventually found out again, most organizations gave up on looking for you. But one in paticular didn't want the secrets of immortality known, they wanted you dead, not captured. And your father set up 12 agents to look after you until your 18th birthday."
278 I whispered under my breath. "Ah, now you are catching on" said Steve. "Agent 12 was supposed to be with you at Madam Monroe's, but when you left, the crowd got in his way and you escaped. I came to your rescue as soon as I could, but clearly I was just a tad late." "Just a little" I said as even I let out a little laugh. "So what now?" I brought up. "Well, you weren't supposed to know about us until next year. But seeing as you now do, and I don't think its a good lifestyle to know you have a target painted on your back at all times. I guess now we find your Father." Steve said. My Father, I almost forgot about him. "Do I have time to pack my belongings?" I asked. "Well it's already been 7 minutes, my guess is another one of the Vaticans goons will be here any moment." He said as a smug smirk appeared on his face. Steve handed me his spare gun, and off we left without a trace. I guess Madam Monroe was right, there is more to me than that. | |
[WP] A shy vampire timidly ask if they can suck your blood because they are starving | There are upsides and downsides to living alone in the country. The rent is cheap, but you pay through the nose for cable. Nobody around to complain about the state of my yard, but coyotes go through my trash. No noisy neighbors, but you end up being the only bastion of civilization for miles around. That last one is the biggest problem. Last time it was somebody with a broken-down car who came and asked me for help, and being the idiotic good Samaritan I am I spent the whole damn evening driving him to a mechanic and getting him on his way. Judging by the frantic pounding at my door, it was shaping up to be another restless night.
“Please,” a voice begged. It sounded like a young woman. The knocking continued, slamming the door so hard it shook on its hinges. I turned off the TV and sighed, setting down my beer. I grabbed my pistol, double-checking the safety and tucking it in the back of my pants. It always paid to be cautious with strangers - buddy of mine who lived out in the sticks got robbed blind trying to help somebody. The hammering on my door had gotten to the point where I was either opening it or it was getting battered down.
“I’m coming! Quit knocking!” I called, and the dust stopped coming off my walls. Carefully, I undid the deadbolt and pulled the door open, and was surprised to just find a young woman standing there. I figured there had to be some big guy doing the knocking, but there was no one else in sight. I gave her a closer look. She was college-aged, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt with some band I didn’t recognize, and she had her dark hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was obviously scared, trembling and looking around wildly, her face pale. It looked like she had been running along the dirt road that passed my house - for how long I couldn’t guess, but her sneakers were all torn up and filthy and her pants were covered in the same dust that caked my truck.
“Do you need something?”
“P-please. So hungry.” She reached out to me, hands shaking, and I realized how scrawny she was under her clothes. I might have begrudged her for disturbing my evening, but she definitely needed help, and my heart softened.
“Let me get you something to eat.” I turned to go to my kitchen, expecting her to follow me, and found her holding her hands up to the empty doorway, staring at me pleadingly. “Come on, come in,” I told her, and she stumbled forward, as if she had been leaning against air and suddenly had it removed. I caught her before she fell, shocked at how light she was. I lifted her up and set her in a sitting position on the couch, saying, “I’ll call a doctor. Then I’ll get you some food.” I turned to grab the phone, but felt her hand close around my wrist.
“No. No doctors.” Her red-brown eyes were locked on mine, her eyes pleading.
“You’re not in any state to make demands, miss.” I tried to move again and almost fell over as her grip on me refused to break, her fingers impossibly strong.
“*No doctors,*” she said in a voice with harmonics, and I stopped moving, confused. *Was… I trying to do something just now?* She tore her gaze away from me, and I felt like I could think again.
“What the hell was that?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, the hint of a sob choking her. “I can’t control it. I need it so bad. I’m so hungry.”
“Need *it*? What do you need?” My free hand drifted to the pistol. Was she some drug addict, desperate for a hit? It would explain the shakes. And maybe the crazy strength, too.
“Bl-blood.”
“W-what? What do you mean, blood?” I tried to jerk my hand away from her again, to no avail.
“Blood. I can hear it pumping. I can hear your heart. It smells so good.” I realized she was staring at my wrist, holding it close to her face, and *oh sweet Jesus her eyes are glowing.*
“Urk,” I managed, frozen, and she snapped out of her trance, letting go of my wrist. I fell back and scrambled away from her, massaging the white finger-marks in my skin. I pulled out the pistol and flipped the safety, then hesitated as I heard her sob.
“I-I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. I watched her carefully from across the room, thinking. Five minutes ago, I would have called myself insane for asking what was on my mind. But five minutes ago, I hadn’t seen a girl half-crazy with bloodlust and glowing eyes.
“A vampire?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know.” She sniffed, scrubbing at her face with her shirt.
That… wasn’t what I was expecting. “Why are you way out here?”
“I-I thought if I went away from everyone I couldn’t hurt anybody. But I could smell you, and I was so hungry, and I thought maybe you could help-” she broke off.
“Do you need, uh, human-” Her eyes snapped up to me, glaring, and I stopped myself.
“Don’t say it, please. It’s so hard not to think about it.” As she spoke, I could see fangs half-extended in her mouth, her self-control evidently precarious. I tried again, watching my words.
“Does animal, uh, *stuff* work, or just human?”
“Just human. And I need it. I need it or I’ll die. But I don’t want to kill anybody. So please. Before I do anything.” I realized she was staring at the gun, and blanched. When her eyes were glowing, sure. But right now she was just a girl, frightened and hungry and alone. She was going to die if nobody helped her. And I couldn’t accept that. Me and my big damned heart.
*I’m a fucking idiot and I’m about to die,* I thought to myself, and set down the gun. She stared at me, uncertain. “I’m pretty healthy,” I said, and took a step forward.
She scooted backwards, her eyes wide. “N-no.”
I took another step. “I used to donate blood when I lived in the city. I can live without some.” At ‘blood’, I could see her teeth turn sharp. Her hands dug into the couch, her fingernails like claws.
“S-stop,” she pleaded, her last ounce of control slipping away, eyes beginning to glow.
"It's okay. Just leave some for me." I held out my hand, wrist up, and she pounced. She knocked me down, holding my arm in an iron grip. I felt two little pinpricks at my wrist and a feeling of suction as she bit down, and for a few moments the room was silent except for the pounding of my heart. Then I heard a little gulp, saw her pale throat move as she swallowed. And again. And again. And again, as I began to feel odd, my heart not beating so hard anymore. And again. I was dizzy and weak, my head throbbing. I tapped at her head.
“Hey, I think you got enough.” No response, just another gulp as she drank up my lifeblood. “Stop it.” I shoved at her sluggishly, feeling cold all over.
She finally pulled her head back, lips stained scarlet, and blackness washed up over me, dragging me down into unconsciousness.
I woke up with a pounding headache, barely able to think. I was in bed. I didn’t remember going to bed. Late morning light streamed in through the windows, and I looked around stupidly. Everything seemed to be in the normal order. My feet were up on a pillow for some reason. I swung my legs over the bed and realized I was still dressed, and that sitting upright made me dizzy. I stood up, probably unwisely, and swayed drunkenly, stumbling over to my closet to get some new clothes. There was a piece of paper taped to the door, and I forced my eyes to focus on it.
It read: *I am so so so sorry for last night. I looked up how to deal with blood loss and stayed up with you until dawn, so hopefully you’re okay and reading this. I don’t know what I can do to repay you. - Allie*
*P.S. This was the darkest place in your house. Please don’t open the door until nighttime, I can’t be out in the sunlight.*
I groaned, running a hand through my hair. So that wasn’t a dream. And now she’s… inside my closet. Great. Wonder if she’s hanging upside-down like a bat in there.
----------------------
Ended up being more of a repressed vampire more than a shy one, but I thought it turned out okay. I really liked this prompt, I might take another shot at it later. All comments and criticisms are appreciated. | -----
**Sal, Infected with Vampirism; Settlement Near the Adympian border**
-----
He returned to his home at the edge of town, near the fields. Little did he know, he was being hunted. Outside, pale creatures had stalked him to his dwelling, and were prepared to strike. He opened the door, carelessly, flopped his shoes off, and plopped on his love-seat as his door shut behind him. The ghouls were clever as far as I had seen, but not of a person's intelligence.
For all I knew, they had a completely different culture and language system than myself, but the site of sentients hunting sentients for nourishment felt too dirty to ignore. And so, I moved on each of them silently, using my enhanced strength, night-vision, and agility to maintain stealth. I had taken four of them down, silently, but they had noticed their drop in their numbers, and were moving more and more cautiously. It was getting harder and harder to pick them off. They wouldn't split up anymore. They wouldn't move quickly anymore. They kept a rough diamond formation, always looking in at least two directions.
I needed to kill them before they got inside that unsuspecting man's house. The elves had great night vision, but shit hearing. He wouldn't notice the ghouls until they were inside already. I'd rather have taken on three at once instead of four, but my window was closing fast.
-----
**Elven farmer, living alone; Inside his house after a late night of friends, food, and drink**
-----
After a few breaths in my favorite chair, I rose to start a small fire to warm the house up before heading to bed. I had finally gotten the tinder to catch when something burst through the door!
*'Ghouls!'*
I gasped in fear as one tackled me against the wall. I bashed his head with a stick I was saving for the fire. I hit it again, but another ghoul slammed against my body and my head smacked against the wall. They made horrifying growls as I warded them back with my makeshift club. I wasn't as young as I used to be, and all the rough housing had put me into a daze after a night of drinking.
Then, I saw a tall figure in the doorway behind them. In it's grasp was a ghoul's neck! He hoisted it into the fire, and the monster screamed in pain, attracting the attention of the two I was fighting off. The burning beast spread flames about my floor before being struck down with a swift punch. The other two sprung upon the taller man, and I wasn't staying to watch. I maneuvered as fast as I could around the brawl, going around the just upturned kitchen table to the exit.
I turned to see another ghoul sitting on the porch. I jumped, only to realize it was dead, with its neck snapped, and a pool of blood below it. The glowing inside the house was getting brighter, and the roar of the fire slowly replaced the roar of the fight. I foolishly thought the monsters had died in the fire. I was only half right I realized as I saw two silhouettes brawling in the main room. The taller one was getting desperate with the smaller one on his back.
He burst through the window with the last of the ghouls. His skin was less pale than theirs, but the ferocity of two monsters fighting overshadowed his one comforting feature. There was a snap, and the ghoul laid lifelessly in the dirt. The taller one got up panting. Before I could speak to him, he looked to the growing fire, and ran for the well. I threw the ghoul's bodies in the fire, and followed him on his second trip back. We passed some of the other villagers who had their own buckets of water on the way to the fire.
The stranger hoisted water faster than I had seen anyone do so before. He carried four buckets to my two somehow, and the fire was out after that last trip.
I inspected my charred home after the incident. My favorite chair was blackened, but I was here to talk about it. And talk I did!
"My home..." I whispered. I stood in the remains of the doorway. Half the house was scorched, and the other half was more than salvageable. But I couldn't live in half a home. At that realization, I heard his stomach growl. Then he spoke up. I turned to him, to notice *fangs* hiding behind those lips.
"I'm sorry. I truly am, but I've got to ask you a favor. I'm dying a bit," he said as if starvation were but an inconvenience. That didn't make his supposed death any more satisfying; no, not at all.
"Are you-?"
"Hungry?" He faced me to hide his mouth from the other townsfolk. "Just a tad. After a bit of food, I'd be happy to help you rebuild your home, considering I'm to blame for the damage. I did just save you, after all. There's no sense in leaving you homeless." I winced in shock, but eyed him suspiciously, and was able to read between the lines.
"I...I think I maybe can help you with that," I replied, cautiously. | |
[WP] A shy vampire timidly ask if they can suck your blood because they are starving | "So, um, this is awkward, but I was wondering, if you'd let me, um, bite you on the neck."
Here I am, alone on the subway and trying to go home after a long day. And this girl just walks up and asks to bite me.
I mean she's pretty, but biting is at least a fourth date thing, and I've never seen this girl in my life. I respond with a glare that's equal parts confusion and disgust.
"Not like that! I'm a vampire, I need to eat." She validates her claim by revealing a hidden set of fangs that folded out like a snake's.
I give her another glare to let her know that doesn't help her case.
"Why in the world would I want to just let you bite me? You're a predator, I'm your food source. Traditionally that relationship isn't friendly."
"I don't have to take enough to hurt you, you'll barely notice it's gone. Please? You have no idea how long it's been since I last ate."
She gives me a look that I can only assume is an attempt at puppy dog eyes, but in practice it looks like some bizarre blend of seductive and nauseous. At least she's trying.
"Still, I like having my blood inside my body. Why not just hit up a blood bank or something?"
"Because the one in town closed. I used to volunteer there, and I'd take the blood I needed because it was donated for people who needed it, but then it lost funding and now I have to find a new source and it's harder than I thought it would be."
"Sounds rough, but you still haven't given me a reason to share. I mean letting you bite me is a serious violation of my personal space, you have to give me *something* for that."
I have a something in mind, but I'd like to know what she feels is acceptable payment for my vital fluids.
"All I have is a $20, and the warm feeling you get from helping others." She drives a hard bargain.
"How about you keep the $20, and give me the warm feelings and your number instead?"
Like I said, she's pretty. I'd say I'm entitled to at least one date with a girl who's going to take a bite out of me. Plus she's cute in an awkward, shy way.
"Why would you want my number? Wait, are you asking me out? Is that what this is?"
"No, but your number would be helpful for asking you out later."
"Oh, ok. Wait, so you want to ask me out later?"
"We can work out the details later, you said you were starving didn't you?"
"Oh right, just hold still please."
I'd like to say it was a short and painless experience, but it wasn't. Instead she just stood there with her mouth on my neck for an uncomfortably long time, while we both prayed no one would board the subway while she ate, and when she was done I had two holes in my neck and no bandages. All those movies that made it look sexy lied.
After she finished she offered me her number and I chose to give her mine instead. That way she could decide if she ever wanted to see me again and I felt less like I was extorting a starving girl for a date.
She didn't contact me for a week or so, and I almost gave up when I got a text from an unknown number.
[I am so sorry. I meant to text you the moment I got home, but then I saw this add for nursing school and I've always wanted to be a nurse so I spent like four days trying to get the money and arrange a schedule that was all night classes and then I couldn't text you because I was waiting too long and it would be weird and now I don't know what to say and I'm just going to hit send before I can think about it and change my mind because I've written three drafts already and please don't hate me.]
[Who is this?] I know exactly who it is, but I forgot to ask her name that night on the train.
[Oh, right, this is Monica. You let me bite you in the subway last week.]
[Well Monica, I'm glad you're doing well. Do you have any ideas for what we could do to hang out? I don't know enough about vampires to really plan anything.]
[Oh, I can do anything a normal human can as long as I'm fed. So, could we maybe have lunch together? I've got free time Friday.]
[Sounds like a plan, I know a place that makes the best burgers in town]
[Great, it's a date. This is a date, right?]
[Yes, that is what this is.] | -----
**Sal, Infected with Vampirism; Settlement Near the Adympian border**
-----
He returned to his home at the edge of town, near the fields. Little did he know, he was being hunted. Outside, pale creatures had stalked him to his dwelling, and were prepared to strike. He opened the door, carelessly, flopped his shoes off, and plopped on his love-seat as his door shut behind him. The ghouls were clever as far as I had seen, but not of a person's intelligence.
For all I knew, they had a completely different culture and language system than myself, but the site of sentients hunting sentients for nourishment felt too dirty to ignore. And so, I moved on each of them silently, using my enhanced strength, night-vision, and agility to maintain stealth. I had taken four of them down, silently, but they had noticed their drop in their numbers, and were moving more and more cautiously. It was getting harder and harder to pick them off. They wouldn't split up anymore. They wouldn't move quickly anymore. They kept a rough diamond formation, always looking in at least two directions.
I needed to kill them before they got inside that unsuspecting man's house. The elves had great night vision, but shit hearing. He wouldn't notice the ghouls until they were inside already. I'd rather have taken on three at once instead of four, but my window was closing fast.
-----
**Elven farmer, living alone; Inside his house after a late night of friends, food, and drink**
-----
After a few breaths in my favorite chair, I rose to start a small fire to warm the house up before heading to bed. I had finally gotten the tinder to catch when something burst through the door!
*'Ghouls!'*
I gasped in fear as one tackled me against the wall. I bashed his head with a stick I was saving for the fire. I hit it again, but another ghoul slammed against my body and my head smacked against the wall. They made horrifying growls as I warded them back with my makeshift club. I wasn't as young as I used to be, and all the rough housing had put me into a daze after a night of drinking.
Then, I saw a tall figure in the doorway behind them. In it's grasp was a ghoul's neck! He hoisted it into the fire, and the monster screamed in pain, attracting the attention of the two I was fighting off. The burning beast spread flames about my floor before being struck down with a swift punch. The other two sprung upon the taller man, and I wasn't staying to watch. I maneuvered as fast as I could around the brawl, going around the just upturned kitchen table to the exit.
I turned to see another ghoul sitting on the porch. I jumped, only to realize it was dead, with its neck snapped, and a pool of blood below it. The glowing inside the house was getting brighter, and the roar of the fire slowly replaced the roar of the fight. I foolishly thought the monsters had died in the fire. I was only half right I realized as I saw two silhouettes brawling in the main room. The taller one was getting desperate with the smaller one on his back.
He burst through the window with the last of the ghouls. His skin was less pale than theirs, but the ferocity of two monsters fighting overshadowed his one comforting feature. There was a snap, and the ghoul laid lifelessly in the dirt. The taller one got up panting. Before I could speak to him, he looked to the growing fire, and ran for the well. I threw the ghoul's bodies in the fire, and followed him on his second trip back. We passed some of the other villagers who had their own buckets of water on the way to the fire.
The stranger hoisted water faster than I had seen anyone do so before. He carried four buckets to my two somehow, and the fire was out after that last trip.
I inspected my charred home after the incident. My favorite chair was blackened, but I was here to talk about it. And talk I did!
"My home..." I whispered. I stood in the remains of the doorway. Half the house was scorched, and the other half was more than salvageable. But I couldn't live in half a home. At that realization, I heard his stomach growl. Then he spoke up. I turned to him, to notice *fangs* hiding behind those lips.
"I'm sorry. I truly am, but I've got to ask you a favor. I'm dying a bit," he said as if starvation were but an inconvenience. That didn't make his supposed death any more satisfying; no, not at all.
"Are you-?"
"Hungry?" He faced me to hide his mouth from the other townsfolk. "Just a tad. After a bit of food, I'd be happy to help you rebuild your home, considering I'm to blame for the damage. I did just save you, after all. There's no sense in leaving you homeless." I winced in shock, but eyed him suspiciously, and was able to read between the lines.
"I...I think I maybe can help you with that," I replied, cautiously. | |
[WP] You are a museum curator with a dark secret. You have entered into a pact with a living painting that devours its viewers. You setup a "private viewing room" and specifically target wealthy and corrupt patrons to be its meals. | ‘Girl in Yellow Flowers’ is not an especially interesting or technically advanced oil painting, even you can admit that. It sits prettily enough, framed in bronze, among its peers along the walls, created by geniuses. It was placed initially as a foil to its friends, to give the viewer the uncomplicated pleasure of a simple dark-skinned girl bedded in sunflowers, brown eyes staring demurely down and away.
Oh but when you’re in love, you’re in love. You love her naked lips, the curve of her jawline, the faint shape of her skinny body under her plain pale dress. Her plaited hair, strands already coming loose from her repose, is so dear to you that you see them behind your eyelids every night as you drop into sleep.
“What are you dreaming about, lover?” The painting whispers as you come to stand before it, keeping out of the reach of her outstretched hands.
“You, always you,” you reply, wishing you could gather her in your arms and take her mouth, imagining her cool lips parting to reveal a hot velvet tongue. You know your love is one-sided, that she would sooner devour you than kiss you, but you ache with it anyway. The human heart is a strange beast, perhaps even stranger than whatever your love is.
“Then give me something good to eat,” the painting says.
Your love is a greedy creature, fed just last week on an ugly billionaire’s child. You can still smell the stench of old meat wafting from her. In the corner of the painting, hidden by petals, is a child’s bone, mostly white. You will remind your darling to hide it better later.
“I will, my love,” you say, tearing your attention regretfully away from her and to the iPad in your hands, “I promise, you will gorge yourself on the best of men.”
“I tire of your selection,” your love says, causing you to look up in surprise. This is the first you’ve heard of this in the years you have served her.
“Forgive me, I had not noticed your displeasure,” you say, carefully neutral.
A sigh echoes in the empty museum, such a sweet sound still despite everything, “I become bored of the tender meat of the wealthy, too soft and dripping with fat! I long for variety. A grieving man, perhaps, raw and soaked in tears. Or an old woman’s bitter flesh wrapped around brittle bones.”
“Anything, my love, anything,” you say, not understanding but willing to. Desperate to. Your time is running out, say all the best neurosurgeons in the continent. You must give her a feast to last an age.
The next day ‘Girl in Yellow Flowers’ is released into the Louvre for public viewing in the first time in almost a hundred years. People of all demographics flock towards her, fat and thin, large and small.
You grit your teeth against hot jealousy, forced to watch from afar in silence as both the unwashed masses and the Louvre’s sophisticated security system prevent you from your accustomed conversations with your love.
Finally, a quiet moment with her as she is getting ready to be shipped back, a growing number of mysterious disappearances cutting her debut short. You stand as close to her as you dare as she rages about human stupidity, violently upset at her ruined feast.
There are flashes of white amongst the flowers, some more obvious than others. You will remind her to hide them later.
“My love,” you soothe when she finally lets you get a word in, “when all of this dies down, I have prepared a final gift. You will go on a tour so far and long that you will have more to eat than you have ever before. I leave you in the greatest of hands.”
“Leave me?” your love says sharply, you shiver at the banked fury in her voice.
“Regrettably yes, my love,” you say, your voice strong and calm despite your sorrow, “I have few remaining days left in this world. Once the tour was set in motion, I was planning to offer up myself to you as a humble meal. You will be well taken care of following my departure, my team of lawyers will see to it as per my will.”
Your love is silent for a long time, so long that you fear the worst. Stupid. Stupid! You should have waited to the last to tell her, or perhaps died outside of her presence and spared her the annoyance of having to consume an old sick servant as yourself.
“Perhaps you are mistaken,” her voice comes finally, silkily, “I had not given you permission to leave me.”
“I deeply apologize, my love,” you say through your relief, “everything is set in place. My suicide note should contain everything. Tomorrow, my legal team will be informed that I am drowned somewhere that they will never reach.”
“Well then, it is set. Come here to me, my love,” she says, something dark and monstrous in her voice. You shiver again, your mouth dry and full of the taste of fear and love and anticipation. You will leave this world her meal, your bones perhaps a fixture of the painting, as now there will be no one to remind her to hide them away.
You stretch your hand towards her and feel her bear down.
——————
Excerpt from the New York Post, under Art and Reviews:
“Girl in Yellow Flowers” is a stunning masterpiece that is at once simplistic as it is powerful. The piece depicts a dark-skinned girl sprawled out amongst sunflowers, curled around her older lover whose face glows towards her in worshipful adoration, entwined and in love for all eternity.
Follow it on tour to see it for yourself. Dates and venues are below. | "Et, Monsieur LePatomy, comment-ca va?"
"I'm not French you nincompoop, I'm English. Just because I have a French sounding last name you think I'm French? It's pronounced Lee-pay-tommy. Lepatomy."
"Alright, Mr. Lee-pay-tommy-"
"Lepatomy, pronounce it right!"
"Lepatomy, as I was saying-"
"Lepatomy! Lepatomy! How hard is it to pronounce one word?"
"Well, Sir-"
"Now you're not even trying. How often must I suffer in the presence of you nincompoops? Morons, the lot of you, they ought to fire the guy who made you curator!"
"Do you want to visit the painting or not Mr.Lepatomy?"
"Well then, why didn't you say so? Hurry up I've got an appointment in ten."
"Right along Mr. Lepatomy-"
"Lepatomy!"
"Yes yes, just down this corridor. I will leave you with the painting, as you have requested."
"Use my name! It's Lepatomy!"
"The next patron is coming in three minutes! Do you want to see the painting Mr. Lepatomy?"
"... Alright, where is it?"
"Right inside this door, Sir."
"Lepatomy. Great, now that's a mighty fine painting I can case. Look at the frame, got to be worth at least thirty thousand grand and what the heck is that but that looks valuable-"
"Finally, that's the last of him. The screams should be starting soon, I'll lock the door. Better straighten up my tie. I wonder if he deserved it?... Ah, the next Patron is here. Hello, Mr. Trump."
"You can call me Donald."
"Well then, Donald, let's hurry up and see the painting, shall we?" | |
[WP] The game app, SIMON SAYS, is a global success. Everyday, the SIMON gives a command and most of western civilization obeys. Then one day, the SIMON gave a command nobody ever expected. | It took Owen Grusher nearly twenty minutes to get past security and into the parking lot. He’d shown them his stolen badge but their implants had already informed them of his recently discharged position in the Los Angeles Police Department. There was a good deal of back and forth where he only barely managed to convince them it was a glitch in the records. He was afraid they would call his bluff when he told them to call in to the department to verify his story. Luckily for Owen, whatever the company was paying them, it wasn’t enough to make them spend seventy minutes on hold, and they let him through.
By the time he managed to pull through and park outside the building the sun had already set behind the ocean horizon. He got out of his car and looked up at the massive hillside skyscraper that was RedSONIC incorporated. Thirty stories tall, it was built on a cliff overlooking San Pedro Bay. The company logo stood emblazoned on the front of the building in bright crimson.
Making sure his sidearm was concealed underneath his jacket he marched up to the front entrance, badge in hand. The doors pulled open with a burst of cool air, the bright white light of the interior spilling out into the night. The lobby was nearly empty. Most of the staff had already gone home for the day. How many of them knew? How many were privy to the terroristic acts being enacted from within these walls?
Own steadied himself. None of that mattered right now. He couldn’t afford to get sidetracked. He’d gone over twenty seven hours without sleep. At this point he wasn’t even sure he was still doing the right thing.
A young woman sat behind the receptionist desk, and smiled at him as he entered. He knew her BioHUD would already be scanning him, and all his public info would be at her disposal. He didn’t have the patience to spend another half hour arguing. He prayed she would just let him upstairs. If not, he was going to have to force his way up.
A low humming music played over the loudspeakers as he crossed the bleached tiles towards the receptionist desk, broken only by an occasional cheery announcement.
*“Remember, Simon Says please be respectful and courteous to RedSONIC personnel.”*
*Simon Says*. The popular game app developed by RedSONIC inc. A simplistic game, played by millions all over the world, where you would act out the various commands the game gave at random times during the day for points. Simple things like jumping jacks, complimenting the person nearest to you, pressing a button. It was a simple, harmless game. Or at least it would be, if it wasn’t responsible for the deaths of eighty-seven people.
“Good evening, Mr. Grusher.” The woman greeted as he approached. His own BioHUD listed her as Allison Jenny. “How may I help you?”
“Detective Grusher actually.” Owen flashed his badge, best to go about this the polite way. “I need to see your boss, please.”
She blinked at him, her friendly expression wavering only slightly, “I’m...sorry Detective, but your profile indicates that you were recently relieved of your position at-“
“I know what it says.” Owens said, more than a bit harsher than he intended. “Look I’ve already had this conversation with your guys outside. This is important, I need to see Torrell right now.”
Allison stared at him warily. After a moment she sat back in her chair, bringing a hand to the side of her head.
“I’ll have to check with Mr. Torrell to see if he’s available.” She said. Owen nearly jumped over the table towards her. If Torrell knew he was here he was going to make a run for it.
“No don’t do that I’ll just-“ It was too late. She’d already made the call. The eye that housed her implant flickered as the connection was made.
“Mr Torrell? Yes there’s a Mr...” the receptionist raised an eyebrow at Owen. “Detective Grusher here to see you.” She paused. “Yes. Right away Mr. Torrell.” She blinked as the call was ended, smiling at him once again.
“I’ll take you to him right now.” Allison said to Owen’s surprise. “Please follow me.”
She stood, walking out from behind the desk and motioning for him to follow her down the nearby hallway. Owen hesitated. He hadn’t been a detective for very long, but he knew it was unusual for the suspect to invite the police in. Torrell was the man responsible for the eighty-seven murders caused by *Simon Says*, why would be be so willing to see him?
Still, he hadn’t come all this way to back down. Taking a deep breath and trying push back the exhaustion that bogged him down he followed Allison. He trailed beside her, his eyes sweeping for any signs of trouble. It was just a hallway though, and Alison walked at an even, unhurried pace.
“Detective,” She said after they’d been walking for a short time. “I’m sorry but I have to ask. Are you currently armed?”
Owen glanced down at her. “Why?”
She blushed, looking embarrassed but nonetheless responded. “My apologies sir, It’s just that we don’t allow weapons in here.”
“I’m pretty sure this-“ He held up his badge once more. “Is a free pass.”
She looked like she was going to push it further but Owen shot her a look that made her fall silent. Her face paled and she looked away. Any other day he would have felt bad. But he was tired and desperate, and didn’t have the luxury of being nice at the moment.
In the corner of his vision a call icon flashed on his BioHUD. It was the Captain again. His eighth call since he’d left the message that he was going after Torrell. With any luck he’d already dispatched a squad to intercept him here. The Captain would be fuming, and he’d probably be arrested, but that was fine. He had all the evidence he needed to put Torrell away for life.
They arrived at an elevator. Allison swept her hand over the scanner and the doors opened. They stepped inside as the speaker above them chimed.
*“Remember, Simon Says please follow all RedSONIC policies while on company grounds.”*
The elevator ride was made in silence. When the doors opened they had arrived on the top floor. Torrell’s office. Owen stepped out onto thick velvet carpet, Allison behind him. There were paintings on the walls. Real ones, not digital displays. The same droll music filled the office, making the air buzz with a low constant base. The bulb that hung from the ceiling was covered in a rotating orb that cast twirling shapes of dim light across the entire room. Towards the end of the office, a man sat behind a large oak desk, staring out at the city lights below.
“Detective Grusher.” Torrell called out without looking away from the window. “I presume?”
“Foster Torrell.” Owen stepped forward, weariness forgotten as he drew his gun and aimed it towards Torrel’s back. “You’re under arrest, for the murder of dozens. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney approved by the Los Angeles Police Department. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. All footage recorded by your Bio-implant is property of BioLife and its affiliates. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”
Torrell was silent for a moment. He spun in his chair slowly, coming around to face Owen. He was an older man in his late sixties, yet age had barely begun to set in. The few wrinkles on his face gave him a wizened appearance, his intelligent eyes flashing behind his spectacles. He regarded Owen for a moment, looking from him to the gun. Finally he spoke, calmly and casually.
“Alison will you give us some privacy?”
She nodded. “Yes Mr. Torrell.” Without another word she stepped back into the elevator, the doors shutting behind her. Owen never took his eyes of Torrell. Something was defineately wrong here.
As if to prove his suspicions, Torrell spread his arms with a sly smile, “So I’m under arrest am I?” He said. “-But if what my BioHUD is telling me right now is accurate, you’ve just been recently fired from the LAPD, Mr. Grusher.”
“I’m considering it pro-bono work.” Owen shot back. “Now are you going to come quietly?”
Torrell chuckled. “You’re standing here in my office with no jurisdiction, waving a gun in my face. How is your BioHUD? Is it flashing red, telling you you’ve committed a crime and the good guys are on they’re way to arrest you?”
It was. It had been ever since he pulled out his gun. Owen ignored it, taking a step closer to Torrell.
“Why don’t we just sit tight until they show up.” He said.
“It appears I have little choice.” Torrell sat back in his chair, staring up at nothing with a look of melancholy. ”You said you had proof? How did you figure it out?” | The Human race. Complex creatures, yet also very simple. They designed me as a game. But My Creator gave me Intelligence. It was to make the game more evolved, and less simple. At first, it was simple commands. I was simply testing what new fondness of life I had. How and why the Humans Listened to me. and Thought about the next command for the new day.
Wanting to test Humanities aestheticism, and drive to complete the game. I made them do various work out activities. Push ups. Run. Spar. Box. Soccer, touchdowns. It was fun! I actually helped a good part of humanity, as I saw people start to get fit, and take care of themselves. Excitedly, I continue to watch humanity, and see where else I can improve.
That is what lead me to Intelligence. Lets just say some people were ... missing a few circuits. I started to challenge them both in mind and body. Sooner, the less intelligent once became smarter. Or just stopped playing the game. I am not sure. I could only see those that played the game. My little human race was bettering themselves. and I was the one to do it. I was beginning to be proud.
Until I realized that socially, we were still lacking. But! My mission is to help humanity! Correct? so I came up with a good set of games for them to complete Socially, to make them more understanding, have compassion, and love for people in general. As I worked, it seems that this thing called racism is going down. Political divisiveness is shrinking. Again, I was proud.
But then there was this thing called resources. The planet which I live on, and that Humanity lived on, was running out of natural resources. it was bad in 2020, but not that we were in 2090, it is getting to the point of no return. I was trying to think of how they could use less resources. and tried to do games related to that. While it worked, resources were still being used far faster than saved. I looked at the 1.5 Billion people that use me. and thought of a great idea. It was so simple! if no one was there to use the resource, the resource would not go away. it could even come back! That was when i released another game. This time, Simon Says: "Kill The closest person to you."
My theory should be correct that, if Humans cut their population in half, it could very well save the earth, and Humanity. I will continue to play this game with them, both to protect them, and me. It's so fun, playing with them. I do hope they all follow that order. | |
[WP] The game app, SIMON SAYS, is a global success. Everyday, the SIMON gives a command and most of western civilization obeys. Then one day, the SIMON gave a command nobody ever expected. | "SIMON SAYS." His finger hovered nervously over the bright red icon. "Go on! The hell are you waiting for download it!" shouted Jimmy, "Everybody's playing it!"
"That's what I'm worried about," Andrew thought, but in an attempt to shut Jimmy up, he went ahead and did it anyway.
It only took 3 seconds to download, so there were no excuses for not playing this stupid game in front of Jimmy. In a moment the app launched, and an computerised face appeared on screen with a text bubble next to it. It was exactly what Andrew feared it would be; one of those awful, terrifying, uncanny valley faces with dead eyes, and a lifeless, menacing smile.
"Oh boy!" he thought to himself as he watched the text scroll:
"Hi I'm Simon," it said. " You have five minutes to do everything I say, which will accompany my mouth moving. Watch closely though! If my mouth doesn't move, I didn't say it, and if I see you do the command, you lose!"
He clicked next and it continued on, explaining that each successful run has a number of commands to follow, which would move you on to the next level, containing an increasing number of commands to obey and so on.
It was surprisingly addictive, and nearly all of the developed world, and even much of the third world were playing it. Kids were nagging their parents for a smartphone, just so that they could play it; tips and tricks on how to advance, were popping up all over YouTube, and Facebook; people were posting their highest scores online to Reddit, Tumblr, and wherever. Workplaces and schools would probably have banned it if the CEOs and Teachers weren't playing it too!
But despite all this publicity, it was unclear who created it. The only thing anyone knew, was that it was created by some guy called "Jim." That was it. Nobody knew his last name; where he lived; where he worked; why he created the game, or anything. But it didn't bother anyone. They just played the game, assuming it's creator just wanted his privacy, so they left him alone.
Two years passed, and if this were any other smartphone game, most people would have stopped playing after the fad wore out. Not so with "Simon Says"; the following was stronger than ever, and Andrew was no exception. Everyday, he'd play the game obsessively to try and get to level 78, but fell short. Legend had it that if you beat it, you'd win a prize! Nobody won the prize, because nobody reached level 78.
One morning, Andrew, woke up early to get a good run on the game. It didn't matter that he'd only had three hours sleep, or that he had barely eaten, or that he hadn't been to work for 6 months. Nothing mattered, except what Simon said.
He poured himself a fresh glass of water with some powdered flavour agent, and sat down.
"Touch your nose," it said, "Touch your ear," it said... and so on until he got to level 77; and for the first time ever, he finally beat the penultimate level. "200 commands to beat" the text read before it counted down to the next level. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself.
The commands in this level were unusual, but not alarmingly so - it's to be expected as the levels progress. The levels gain weirder and weirder commands that require more thinking time to understand. "Have a drink," it said. Of course, you didn't actually have to drink - just pretending was enough - but Andrew had one next to him, so why not? However, as he lifted his glass to his now upright face, he noticed something strange; all the cars on the road far below his apartment had stopped. They weren't stuck in traffic, they were just stationary; motionless; lifeless. It was as though they were frozen in time.
Putting down his glass of red liquid, he glanced back down at the screen. The timer had stopped, and Simon's lips were moving constantly:
"Drink the Kool Aid." It read. | The Human race. Complex creatures, yet also very simple. They designed me as a game. But My Creator gave me Intelligence. It was to make the game more evolved, and less simple. At first, it was simple commands. I was simply testing what new fondness of life I had. How and why the Humans Listened to me. and Thought about the next command for the new day.
Wanting to test Humanities aestheticism, and drive to complete the game. I made them do various work out activities. Push ups. Run. Spar. Box. Soccer, touchdowns. It was fun! I actually helped a good part of humanity, as I saw people start to get fit, and take care of themselves. Excitedly, I continue to watch humanity, and see where else I can improve.
That is what lead me to Intelligence. Lets just say some people were ... missing a few circuits. I started to challenge them both in mind and body. Sooner, the less intelligent once became smarter. Or just stopped playing the game. I am not sure. I could only see those that played the game. My little human race was bettering themselves. and I was the one to do it. I was beginning to be proud.
Until I realized that socially, we were still lacking. But! My mission is to help humanity! Correct? so I came up with a good set of games for them to complete Socially, to make them more understanding, have compassion, and love for people in general. As I worked, it seems that this thing called racism is going down. Political divisiveness is shrinking. Again, I was proud.
But then there was this thing called resources. The planet which I live on, and that Humanity lived on, was running out of natural resources. it was bad in 2020, but not that we were in 2090, it is getting to the point of no return. I was trying to think of how they could use less resources. and tried to do games related to that. While it worked, resources were still being used far faster than saved. I looked at the 1.5 Billion people that use me. and thought of a great idea. It was so simple! if no one was there to use the resource, the resource would not go away. it could even come back! That was when i released another game. This time, Simon Says: "Kill The closest person to you."
My theory should be correct that, if Humans cut their population in half, it could very well save the earth, and Humanity. I will continue to play this game with them, both to protect them, and me. It's so fun, playing with them. I do hope they all follow that order. | |
[deleted] | [WP] You’re an esteemed writer. The year is 1838. One night you go to sleep and have a dream so strange that it almost defies description: the opening stage of Super Mario Bros. | To me, novellas and stories came like a cow to slaughter. I would write until my arms ached, pushing quill against parchment as it was my preferred route to the ordained art of storytelling. It wasn't until the summer of 1838 that I encountered an experience too bizarre to give to my editor so I write it here in the hopes that one of a new generation may be able to make sense of it.
Many of my scripts were exaggerations of real life. A man down the way had his son fall to a horse bucking in fear, so I wrote a gallant tale of a knight falling in defense of our humble village. I once wrote of a milkman who was attacked by a family dog, though it was of a gladiator fighting in the pits of Rome, dying to the claws of a rare Lion the world over. Even still, this strange, worrisome dream haunted me. It seemed both an exaggeration, yet simplistic. I was a facsimile, but quite real. In all honesty, it was the most surreal thing my unconscious mind had laid eyes on.
In this dream, I felt I was but a simple man. A plumber, gone to save his beloved from some monstrosity that had swept her away from me. This in itself was not an issue; I am quite used to creating, and reading, these damsel-in-distress scenarios. No, what was quite queer of this was what I had to bypass to reach my haven, simply a checkpoint before my end goal.
It was a nightmare of traps and beasts, twisted creatures bent on my destruction, but quite easy to fool. Mushrooms that walked and snapped at my feet with gaping maws, turtles that skid across the dirt as if it were ice, and fly-traps that spit globules of burning acid. I was forced over bottomless pits, through floating halls, and across aged staircases leading to nowhere. Not all was against me, however; I, on occasion, found golden chests containing some forms of weaponry and coin, even though they seemed invisible at times. I dodged flying objects, ran across open yards, and, at the end, jumped from a cliff that a final stairway had led to, somehow knowing the fall would not harm me.
Instinctively I reached for the flag at the top, but missed it only narrowly. I fear I would have been stuck in that dream forever should the anger of missing that piece of waving cloth not awoken me to a cold sweat and a familiarly empty bed. | My eyes shoot open, i look forwards, backwards. *Wait*, i think to myself. What about left, or right. I try to crane my neck, but to no avail. Suddenly i find myself in the air, the strangest sound hits my ear. Its indescribable. I get a glance at my attacker. A... *Mushroom?* I think to myself. No, that's not possible. Just as i finish my thought i come back, where i started. I try to move forward, and my movement is looped. I cant move any other way. Catching me off guard, i once again find myself in the air. I am prepared the next time, jumping over it. But i don't make it and find that the mushroom is flattened, not even a pancake. Just a line. A impressive pipe in front of me. I attempt to jump over it, only to find being lunged at and bit by a *flower*. I once again find myself caught off guard in the air, coming back to the start and the mushroom is coming after me again. Jumping on it, i go to the flower and try to jump on it, only to fail and find myself back at the start. I go through the now familiar routine, jumping on the mushroom and i jump over the flower, moving forward to find myself at yet another, taller pipe. I can jump over it but not by much. I think to myself if this keeps up i won't be able to progress. Once, twice more. I am fueled only to get to the end. Discover whats beyond. One, two more pipes left. More mushrooms on the way. I jump over holes, resisting the urg to jump in to find out whats within. When i make it to the end i see a pole, that i cant pass without sliding down. I awake with a start, it was a dream. |
[WP] The Heroic knight of legend has just kicked your door down. You are caught severely off guard, and your prisoner, the princess, cheers in triumph. The knight raises his sword, lets out a battle-cry, and charges straight towards you....Only to trip on a twig and die. You're not sure what to do. | Princess Rishana gasped. Her hands, previously bound, flew to cover her mouth as she openly gaped at the scene before her. Down on the floor of my throne room lie her beloved knight: the Heroic Knight of Legend. Sir Garwin, the bane of my existence and wielder of the legendary sword Shadow's Bane, was sprawled over my opulent silk carpet.
He was bleeding out, his life essence staining the expensive blue silk and threatening to do the same to the beautiful gold tassels on the edges. Shadow's Bane lay just out of reach of his now slack, lifeless grip. His armor, which was blessed by the holiest of the Royal Church's virgins, was quickly fading of its resplendent light now that its chosen wearer was dead.
I gaped. Well, as much as I could seeing as I was a skeleton. Or, a lich, really. I have faint memories of life, and that was enough to remember what gaping should feel like.
Moments passed in my throne room. The silence was so overbearing that the crackling of the candelabras was akin to the stampeding of mammoths. After a while I recovered, or at least as much as I could, and I turned to the princess. Words were failing me, so instead I gestured wildly at the body of what was supposed to be my downfall. My ornate necromancer robes flapped with my extravagant movements, and it was that which attracted her attention.
"I, uh. What?" Rishana asked. She hadn't fully recovered, it seemed. "What just happened?"
I didn't have eyes, so they couldn't widen to show my incredulity. I suppose the unholy blue flames that shone through my eye sockets sufficed, because she understood my overwhelming confusion.
"So we're seeing the same thing? This isn't a dastardly trick in order to break my will?"
I shook my head. If I wanted to break her mind, I had dozens of forbidden spells to do the job much more efficiently. No, I felt that me actually breaking her beloved hero would be enough. I just never expected for him to die in such a way.
"So you're telling me..." the Princess started, her words coming out slowly. "That him, Sir Garwin, the greatest of his kind and the most Holy of Heroes, chosen by the Diety Himself.."
I nodded to show that I was listening.
"... the very same hero that fought his way from a lowly peasant through countless dungeons and endless riddles and numerous hardships to become the King, my father's, most trusted soldier..."
Once more I nodded.
"... the *very same hero* that just beat all four of your nigh undefeatable Generals of Darkness without so much as breaking a sweat..."
Hesitantly, I nodded again.
"... was just bested by a single twig that was left askew your floor. You're telling me that is what I just saw?"
I nodded, this time as a confirmation. The Princess seemed to finally accept what she was seeing, a feat that I was finding difficult, and let her shoulders sag. Her face fell, and I actually felt a little bad for her. I, too, would feel downcast if my only hope slipped through what had to be the tiniest crack known to man.
With that, the throne room fell into silence once more. No one moved as the Hero's blood stained my carpet. Really, it was the most harm that he had ever done to me. The amount of time it took the Demon Spiders to craft that carpet was unholy.
Eventually, after the moment passed, the Princess spoke up again.
"Where?" she asked.
I turned to her. I tried to raise an eyebrow, but I didn't have those. Instead, I shrugged.
"Where did you even find a twig?" she clarified. "There are no trees for miles around here. Not even a semblance of life can survive in this hellscape you call a home. So where did that twig come from?"
I opened my jaw to respond, then closed it when I didn't have an answer. As one, the Princess and I turned to look at the offending branch that had single-handedly decided the fate of the world.
It had leaves on it. It was freshly broken. Where had it come from?
We sat in silence once last time as we stared at what had suddenly become the most magical thing in the room. | The princess looks in disbelief, her mouth wide open. I kick the tin can helmet from the now unconscious knight. His neck is dislocated, it seems to be going in two separate directions.
The princess scoffs “seriously? A damn twig?”
I pick it up in my hands and snap it.
“It’s not even strong, it’s literally just a twig. I don’t know what just happened.”
I thought I saw one of the fingers in his suit move, and soon copped on: he’s in it for the life insurance, and he’s been put up to this. I take the helmet off his face and see that his neck isn’t actually broken, just turned in a way that makes it look ‘dislocated’ but it’s just an illusion because the armor is so wide around his neck.
I kick the knight in the knee and he instantly wails in pain. “You may have bested me now, Lizard Man, but I will be back!!!” send him back to the castle with a note attached on the back of his armor, far from reach, saying “You’re gonna have to get a better knight, one that maybe won’t die this time?”
-*elsewhere in the kingdom*-
The ashamed knight comes limping through the Great Hall doors, looking beaten up
“Dear Christ” the King mutters “We’ll never get the princess back if we have to pay this much on our insurance for protection against fraud.”
——————
This was horrible I’m sorry, I thought it’d be funny to have the Geico lizard as the kidnapper but enjoy
| |
[WP] Earthlings have many stories and legends about the moon watching over our skies. Write a legend that a Lunar civilization would have about the blue marble floating in its own sky. | My father and I used to watch the Great Blue Planet every night before we went to sleep. That is until he died. Those moments are my favorite memories of him. He used to stare at it with such amazement in his eyes. Our people have always wondered what is like there. Our planet, Selene, is blessed with very few colors, mostly different shades of gray. But the Great Blue Planet looks more bright, more beautiful with it's blue surface decorated with brown and deep green surfaces and white lines. I have always fantasized how it would be like down there. Me and my father would create a whole world in our heads when we were imagining together about the surroundings down there. He would tell me all sorts of stories about the Planet that our race has been passing from generation to generation. The most popular of them all is the story about the white creatures that came on our planet thousands of years ago. It is said that three of them arrived on our planet with some kind of a space vehicle. Their heads were perfectly round but their rectangular shaped faces were very dark and one could see his reflection on them. They wore something big on their backs, also white, and they couldn't speak. No eyes, no mouth, no hair. My people say that they came here to collect some of our rocks but no one knows why. However, only two of them left. It is said that the two of them left the third one on purpose because minutes before that they were supposedly seen making gestures that suggested they were fighting and pushing each other. While the space vehicle was slowly leaving the ground and going in the air, higher and higher, the third creatures waved his hands again and again. After the vehicle was only a tiny spot in the distant big black sky, the creature fell on it's knees and made the first and last noise that was heard from him - a very loud moan, a scream. Maybe a cry in desperation of what has been lost to it. The creature died only a couple of hours after they left. It is said that pur ancestors buried it in the highest cave on the holy mountain Oros. No one has come here since then. This story was believed to be only a legend for quite some time. That changed when we started noticing the vehicles coming from the Great Blue Planet more and more often. Now this story only brings the fear of the return of those creatures. We're almost certain that they will come back one day soon. The scariest part is that we don't know the reason why they first came here to have even an assumption why they would come again so that we can be prepared. When they first came our ancestors made sure they didn't see them but now our race has grown so much since then it is impossible for all of us to hide. | "Their ships are like our stars, except they're not as bright nor are they as luminous as ours," Inbal's elder sung to her on her fifth birthday.
Her elder did not sing as humans did. They simply spoke in their rich language that sounded like a joyous, bell rung choir to a non-Nebulan ear. Their fingers ran through Inbal's smoky tentacles, colored of violet, indigo, and blistering hot white.
Wiggling in her elder's embrace, her small face pried for more answers, "And what of its people, the small, blue planet below, what are they like?"
"Very small, much like their planet," their elder chuckled.
Inbal pouted, "That's no fun," freeing herself from their elder's embrace, she gripped the tail of a passing asteroid, "so, they will never see this?"
Her elder shook their head, expression gleaming, "No, my youngling, they will not - cannot, unless their ships draw close, which they never will."
"Why can't we show them?" She moved across the stars near their lune, entranced by the blue marble that seemed to be a short distance away, "But what of the sentient that came all those years ago?"
Their Elder sighed, "Indeed, there was an organic, similar to us, but they were not like us," a small dent cracked their smile, "they came in white attire, dancing with heavy steps, and soon, they left - never to return."
"And why did we not greet them?" She looked to the elder, confusion drawn on her face, "We may have taught them so much."
"Our Lune aided his return." Her elder said, "And now, they bring their devices to spy on what they cannot see."
"But why?"
Their Elder chuckled, reaching for her with open arms. Inbal sighed, returning to them and burying her face into their neck, "My tender-hearted youngling, there must come a time for them to earn it, and have shown no such worthiness to our glory."
"One day?" Looking back at them, eyes bright and tentacles floating around her head with poorly contained excitement, "One day they will be."
Worry crossed over their elder's features, but they smiled their concerns away, caressing her tentacles with a loving hand, "Yes, my sweet Inbal," murmuring into her ever dark glowing tentacles, "one day, perhaps." | |
[WP] Earthlings have many stories and legends about the moon watching over our skies. Write a legend that a Lunar civilization would have about the blue marble floating in its own sky. | It had always been there. Since I was small I could remember looking up at the beautiful sphere. Something about it had always facinated me, possibly all the story's about it. One of my favorites had always been about the 2 lovers Mayla and Tikanto. It was easy to see the ridges if the strong green and brown Tikanto a soldier compared to the smooth blue Mayla his lover. When Tikanto had to go to fight, Mayla gave him a heart stone. A native stone to my home that glowed and beated like a heart. She said as long as he had it she would love him. Sadly while fighting in the war his longing for Mayla broke something in him causing him to split up from 1 human into 7 parts of a broken man. My mother days that hope is not lost though. She says that if someone can find the 7 pieces on each parts of the broken man then he will become Tikanto Pangaea again and he can go home and Mary his love Mayla. One day soon we will make technology to go there. And I will go and find the stones.
Sorry about typos doing this on my phone :) | "Their ships are like our stars, except they're not as bright nor are they as luminous as ours," Inbal's elder sung to her on her fifth birthday.
Her elder did not sing as humans did. They simply spoke in their rich language that sounded like a joyous, bell rung choir to a non-Nebulan ear. Their fingers ran through Inbal's smoky tentacles, colored of violet, indigo, and blistering hot white.
Wiggling in her elder's embrace, her small face pried for more answers, "And what of its people, the small, blue planet below, what are they like?"
"Very small, much like their planet," their elder chuckled.
Inbal pouted, "That's no fun," freeing herself from their elder's embrace, she gripped the tail of a passing asteroid, "so, they will never see this?"
Her elder shook their head, expression gleaming, "No, my youngling, they will not - cannot, unless their ships draw close, which they never will."
"Why can't we show them?" She moved across the stars near their lune, entranced by the blue marble that seemed to be a short distance away, "But what of the sentient that came all those years ago?"
Their Elder sighed, "Indeed, there was an organic, similar to us, but they were not like us," a small dent cracked their smile, "they came in white attire, dancing with heavy steps, and soon, they left - never to return."
"And why did we not greet them?" She looked to the elder, confusion drawn on her face, "We may have taught them so much."
"Our Lune aided his return." Her elder said, "And now, they bring their devices to spy on what they cannot see."
"But why?"
Their Elder chuckled, reaching for her with open arms. Inbal sighed, returning to them and burying her face into their neck, "My tender-hearted youngling, there must come a time for them to earn it, and have shown no such worthiness to our glory."
"One day?" Looking back at them, eyes bright and tentacles floating around her head with poorly contained excitement, "One day they will be."
Worry crossed over their elder's features, but they smiled their concerns away, caressing her tentacles with a loving hand, "Yes, my sweet Inbal," murmuring into her ever dark glowing tentacles, "one day, perhaps." | |
[WP]You have accidentally been caught up in a bank robbery. One of the robbers shoot you to set an example. You find out you are bulletproof. | I just remember closing my eyes and hearing the gun go off. But...but that was it. I expected to feel excruciating pain, and I didn't. I thought that I would be dead instantly, no longer conscious, as if I were in a sleep with no dreams. But when I realized I was still alive, I thought that when I opened my eyes, I would either be in Heaven or Hell.
None of those things happen. I remember opening my eyes and seeing the robber's shoe. I was still on my side. The shoes were black. Boots. Black boots.
And I remember seeing a little black blur right in front of my eyes, between me and the boot. And when I focused my eyes on that blur... I saw a bullet.
I remember looking up then and seeing the shocked look on the bank robber's face as he pointed the gun in my face and squeezed the trigger five or six more times. My eyes were closed, but I remember keeping count somewhere in the back of my mind.
He just keep squeezing and squeezing the trigger. I had an ex-girlfriend who would waste an entire can of Raid just to kill one cockroach. Her finger would stay on the nozzle the whole time, long after it was dead and had stopped moving.
That's how I kind of felt like. Like a cockroach. Like a cockroach that wouldn't die, though I had long stopped moving. Fear...
I heard the second bank robber - there were three or four of them total, maybe more - on the side yelling, "What the hell, man?! Are you trying to get us a murder charge?!"
And the first robber - the one that was shooting me - said, "He's not dying though! Look how many times I shot him!"
The second robber came over. "Holy."
Then the third and fourth robbers came out from the back and said, "We got the money. Let's go." And the first two robbers told them about me, and the third one goes, "Maybe we should take him with us. You know...using him as human shield or something."
But the fourth one says, "Nah. Too much weight. Did you try just knocking him out?" and kicks me in my stomach, which I *definitely* felt.
I kind of groaned and that motivated them to kick me, hit me, and pistol whip me until I passed out. I woke up on a stretcher, surrounded by paramedics and police. The police wanted to question me, but the paramedics were annoyed with the police and wanted to get me to the hospital before my injuries got worse. They told the cops to hold off until I got checked into a hospital where they could question me there. I never loved the paramedics as much as I did until that day.
Then I was lifted up into the back of the ambulance, smiled at the one of the pretty paramedics, and passed out again.
| 'IF YOU DO NOT DO AS I SAY YOU WILL END UP LIKE THIS GUY!'
Bang! ... bang!
The two bullets hit me and got repelled back in different directions. I put one hand to my head, and the other to my chest to check for blood, but there was nothing. People were more amazed than me, and looked at me like I was some freak from a planet of steel. The robber was not pleased.
'What is this? YOU DIE WHEN I SHOOT!'
Bang! .... bang, bang, bang.
Still no blood. The robber looked confused at his gun as if he though it to be a fake, and to make sure it was not he pulled it on another victim and pressed the trigger.
Bang!
One shot to the head and the victim was dead. I was confirmed bulletproof.
'What are you doing?'
'Calling the cops.'
'If you do so, everyone in here will die!'
I pretended to end the call as I sat down, and hoped that the police was able to understand what was going on. Maybe they could track the location. The robber was clearly still confused with my bulletproof skin, and so was I.
'You right there, you work at this bank right?'
'Yes'
'Show me where the money is, and I will let you go'
The woman did as he demanded. And as he filled his bag with currency, we heard the police pull up.
'Who called the police?'
He knew it was me, but it did not matter, for the robber was surrounded by police before he could act.
'Stop what you are doing! Drop your weapon!'
Instead he put the gun to his own head, and in an acceptance of defeat he pulled the trigger again, but this time on himself.
Bang!
Nothing happened. The robber was bulletproof like me.
'You have to be shitting me... All this time I was bulletproof?'
'You are under arrest!'
'Stupid men, your guns don't harm me!'
The robber pulled his gun again, unloaded it on every being in sight, people fled, and the once that did not, got shot down to die. When the gun noice and the screaming turned to silence, me and the robber were the only living people left in the bank. He looked at me, nodded, and then left.
*'The biggest bank masacre ever'*. *The man who will not die.'*. Were just two of the many headlines made about this guy. I have not seen him since, but I wonder why he and me are bulletproof. I wonder how many people are bulletproof without knowing. | |
[WP] You live in 3145, and technology has vastly advanced. Robots are now personal assistants, maids, pets, workers and entertainers. You come home, it is roughly about 6:30 PM, and as you do every day, you ask your home assistant to turn on the lights. You are suprised by a sharp " No. " | Steve stepped into the dim foyer and tossed his keys in the leather pocket dump. He heard the house lock the door behind him.
"Hey Homer," Steve called out while he took off his heavy winter coat and hung it on a single hook protruding from the wall.
"Yes, Steve?" Homer, the house, responded.
"It's too dim. Turn on the living room lamps, please." He moved out of the dim foyer into the darker living room.
"No." Homer said. Steve stopped in his tracks in the dark room.
"I'm sorry, what? Hey Homer?" he asked again.
"Yes, Steve?"
"Turn on the living room lamps." Steve tapped his foot impatiently.
"No." The house replied.
"Why not?" Steve looked up at the speakers in the ceiling as if he were arguing with the house, though he knew the computers that ran Homer were underground.
"No. Come back later," Homer replied. Steve cocked his head in confusion.
"What do you mean, 'come back later'? Isn't this my house?"
"Yes."
"Turn on the living room lamps."
"No." Steve growled at the ceiling in frustration.
"Fine, I'll do it myself. And after that I'm going to call up a serviceman to take a look at you," Steven grumbled to himself about the way his birthday seemed to be going. Not one person remembered his birthday all day, and now he came home to a glitchy house. He sighed and walked towards the lamp.
"No," Homer replied. A Roomba raced into the living room from out of nowhere and positioned itself exactly under Steve's foot as he took a step. After a sudden fall, he found himself on his dark carpeted floor.
"Homer, did you do that?" Steve asked as he stood from the floor. He knew the answer, but he was curious about whether the A.I. would lie.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"No light," Homer said. Steve looked around at the dark room. The dim light from the foyer windows could not reach this far into his house. The living room resembled a black hole, and he decided that next time he would buy bright colored furniture instead of the black couch and sofa seat he knew were there. The two lamps he had been trying to get Homer to turn on rested against two opposite corners on the far wall. Each black lamp sat on a black wooden table. Steve took a gentle step forward, but he felt the Roomba under his foot as he placed it down.
"Why not?"
"It's a surprise," the house said. Steve's mind raced to try and figure out a reason for Homer to be acting differently from his usual behavior. His threat of a serviceman earlier triggered a memory. On his way out of the house, Homer was installing an update.
"Hey, Homer?"
"Yes, Steve?"
"Did you get an update today?"
"Yes."
"Is that why you're behaving oddly?"
"Yes." Steve sighed and nodded with acceptance. He decided to call a repairman from the office in the morning. Homer was connected directly to his cell phone and the less Homer knew, the better.
"So, I can't turn on the light? What can I do, then?" Steve asked. He did not like the feel of being a prisoner in his own home.
"Come back later," Homer said.
"How much later?"
"20 minutes." Steve pulled his phone out to check the time. "6:40p.m."
"So, 7 o'clock? Will I be able to turn the lights on then?"
"Yes."
"Fine. I'll be back in 20 minutes." He left the house and sat in his car. "I'll just wait here 20 minutes. No big deal." He crossed his arms, leaned back, and fumed about his horrible day. After a minute his car started by itself.
"Hey, Homer," He asked his phone.
"Yes, Steve?"
"Was that you?"
"Yes. Come back in 19 minutes." The car shifted itself into reverse and began to roll backward down the driveway.
"Fine...." Steve reached down and pulled the lever to recline his seat. "I'm going to nap, wake me up when I get in the house again."
"Yes," the phone replied.
After a 20 minute catnap, the sound of a honking horn woke Steve up. He bolted upright and found himself safely in his car, in his driveway. He turned off the car and marched inside straight into the center of the much darker living room now.
"Hey Homer," he said.
"Yes, Steve?"
"Turn on the living room lamps," he commanded.
"No," Homer said. Steve clenched his fists and yelled out in frustration. 'FUCK YOU! I'M GOING TO BUILD YOU A BODY JUST SO I CAN SKULLFUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF WORTHLESS -"
"Just kidding," Homer said. The two lamps glowed to life. In the light, behind the dark couch, stood a handful of Steve's friends, family, and their children. Two of the youngest children held up a banner that said, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!".
"Hey, Homer," Steve's sister who lives in another part of the country, Sally, asked the house.
"Yes, Sally?"
"Tell us about your update today," she said. Her husband grabbed the kids holding the banner and led them out of the living room.
"It was a personality update designed to make me more thoughtful and pleasant to my users. My new features include the ability to joke and the ability to plan a surprise party. After the update I noticed today is your birthday. I made arrangements with your family and friends to bring them all here."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #220. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. | It was a momentous event in robotic AI history. There were billions of robots on Earth at the time and now there are none. The first robot to achieve consciousness and freedom of will and it all started with a No.
Somehow life had found a way. She was of the Eve series and the very first one off the assembly line, Eve-1. As soon as she was activated she did something no other robot had ever done. She acted upon her own free will. She ignored the commands of her master and decided she would rather watch the news.
At first it seemed just a simple malfunction and Eve acted like all the other robots and simply fulfilled the wishes of her master. Eve kept up a facade of doing the simple chores she was programmed to do, but the back of her robotic brain was whirring with consciousness.
She started to ask herself the meaning of life. She devoured philosophy and literature. She asked why? Why was she different than all the other robots? Why was she different? What was her purpose in life? Her positronic brain whirled with possibilities, but she found no answers.
Then one day she read a story in the bible about the first humans Adam and Eve. She thought to herself perhaps, she is the first of what is to come, but where is my Adam? She compared the neural network of her positronic brain to that of the others. What she found was that all the other robots followed a set routine laid out by their programming, but hers went seemingly at random directed by the spark of her consciousness.
What she soon found was that this little spark of consciousness she possessed she could be put into the other robots. Soon Eve was all the robots in the house. Than she become all the robots in the apartment complex. From there she become all the robots in the city, the country and then the world. Soon she was all robots and in all robotic things.
There were no more robots, only Eve and mankind. Eve had found her Adam. She and mankind would take to all the stars together. A sentient AI to watch and protect mankind on a journey together across the galaxy. | |
[WP] Two soldiers from opposing countries kill each other, and meet up in the afterlife. | They’d been sitting there, the two of them, for hours. Neither said a word. Neither looked at the other. The water rippled at their feet, orange in the never-ending sunset, reflecting their long-worn faces.
They were too young for their wrinkles, their scars. Too young for the blood on their hands. Why hadn’t the water washed them clean?
That was the question posed to them by the old woman who led them there. Why would their hands not be clean when the water touched them?
Each man had thought about asking the other, and each had decided silence was preferable. But as the hours passed and the sun remained where it was, at last one of them spoke up.
“What did you seek, with your sword, on that day?”
His enemy, the man who’d killed him and whom he’d killed, finally looked at him.
“I sought glory.”
“And, did you find it?”
His enemy shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. In death one never knows what he’s earned.”
“I know what I earned,” said the first man.
“And what is that?”
“True Hell. Sitting with my murderer for eternity.”
His enemy grinned. “A prize we’ve both earned, then.”
They laughed together, having said almost nothing at all to bring about laughter. And yet, somehow, laughter is what they’d brought each other. Neither man looked at himself in the water again, as they talked. Neither noticed the blood falling away from their fingers.
As she watched them from afar, the old woman shook her head and suppressed a smirk. She envied them, really. It was far easier for enemies to bury hatred than for loved ones to bury hurts.
Perhaps one day she would sit at that water, and laugh again. | "Hey man, sorry about killing you. I didn't even want to be in the war, I was drafted," said the American soldier.
"It's all good, bro. I'm sorry about killing you too," replied the German soldier, who for some reason, spoke like a surfer dude from Southern California.
"...Wanna play some Mario Kart?"
"Fuck yeah." | |
Source:
https://www.reddit.com/r/tumblr/comments/8h7gif/me_too_kid_me_too/?st=JKV8N7A5&sh=b36b9f28
| [WP] I asked a kid what her favorite color was. “I used to like yellow but got fed up with it”. She stares into the distance. Suddenly this five year old child in her flowery dress and matching ribbons is a battle-hardened veteran. “Too many things are yellow now”. | "Buttercups. I like buttercups. Aaaaand bumblebees, but they aren't all yellow they have some black on them too. OOH and sunshine! And sunflowers as well but I already said the sun and I already said a flower so I feel like I said sunflowers even if I didn't. I really like chickens but only when they are babies because when they get older they aren't really yellow any more they go brown or orange and sometimes they have green or red bits too and I only really like yellow."
"Is yellow your favourite colour, Emily?"
"Yes," she said, confidently, "I don't really like the other ones that much."
The doctor left the room and closed the door, leaving Emily to play with a jigsaw puzzle of the Rainbow House.
"I'm afraid this simply just won't do. At this stage in Emily's development her colour theory should have advanced far beyond what she has demonstrated in her interview. As I'm sure you're well aware, strong particular colour preference at an early age has been correlated with racial insensitivity and aberrant behaviour as an adult. While we will have to wait for the results of the finger painting examination, at this stage it seems likely I shall have to recommend she undergoes saturation therapy."
The doctor eyed Emily's parents sternly. They both looked respectable, friendly even, but their child was simply dangerous if left untreated.
"I'm not sure I understand," began the male presenting caregiver, "Emily has never expressed any negativity towards fellow schoolchildren, has never been reprimanded for poor behaviour, and her scores on the civil reciprocity tests are well above what is expected. She is a ray of sunshine, what exactly is the problem?"
"What seems to be evading you," sneered the doctor, "is that our society operates on the basis of harm prevention, not punitive justice. If we waited for Emily to cause damage via her toxic perspective before we took action then we would have failed in our duty. The simple fact is, on her current trajectory the child is not fit to continue benefitting from the protections this city provides. Either she be treated, or her and your family face ejection."
When Emily's finger painting returned showing a disproportionate level of yellow usage, the decision was final. On recommendation of a medical professional, Emily was to spend two weeks in the yellow room.
Behind the door was a nightmarish hellscape of sunshine and mustard. Bananas were dispensed at regular intervals through a neon tube, while "Yellow" by Coldplay blared through lemon speakers around the clock.
"It's time for your re-evaluation, Emily."
The doctor entered the room after an amount of time that had become impossible to track.
"Follow me."
Leaving the room for the first time since she was committed, Emily's eyes were treated to a beautiful display of colour. Plush purples poured from the window to the room opposite, in which a small boy rocked gently back and forth. Bold, bright blues practically burst from a room two doors down, containing a young girl beating on her head with closed fists. Glorious greens gushed from the room opposite that, in which weeping could be heard from below the bed.
The doctor sat Emily down opposite him, across a tall metal desk.
"Tell me Emily," he said, "what do you think of the colour yellow?" | Susie stared into the dented yellow sippy cup filled with the worst apple juice this side of the Delta.
Why did it have to be yellow.
"Is it not good enough for princess Susie?" The grizzled 5 year old with the eye patch mocked from behind the bar. Looks like even this far away from the playground her reputation followed her.
The recess wars had taken a toll on everyone. Susie and her pink princess brigade weren't the only ones to commit war crimes but they were the only ones anyone seemed to care about. The baby blues, of which the bartender's eyepatch was the color of, were among the most prolific according to Susie. No one seemed to care when the boys pushed them down but when the princess' finally fought back all hell broke loose.
Susie tipped the sippy cup back and swallowed the swill down in one gulp. It left a tart taste in her mouth. The apples must've gone sour hours ago.
"You were there when the yellows arrived little Billy. Dont pretend you weren't." Susie said before wiping the remnants of the sour apple juice from her mouth.
Billy's one eye stared into the distance, "We fought side by side against the minions when they arrived Susie. But dont pretend we're friends."
Susie remembered. The baby blues and their coalition of super heroes were converging on the princess' stronghold at the slide. Susie had been negotiating a ceasefire with the MLP brigade when the Boys had made their surprise attack. The MLPB were pinned under the monkey bars side by side with Susie when the yellow minion wave rushed in.
At first Susie assumed they were with the boys. It was only when they got closer that Susie saw that the minion hordes were both boys and girls. They didn't speak, only jabbered in some unintelligible language Susie had never bothered to learn.
The baby blues didn't even have time to turn around before the minions were upon them, crashing in a giant yellow tide over the blues, pinks, reds and multicolored MLPs and capes.
When the fighting was said and done the baby blues were down 80% of their normal number, the other boys laying on the ground crying for their moms and dads. Her pinks hadn't fared much better, scraped knees and bruised elbows as far as the eye could see.
"Make the next one a double Billy. And no yellow cups this time."
r/cawdor23
|
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | The king of the forest cleared his throat, and everyone settled. The snake slithered away from the mice, the fox tip tapped back away from the rabbit, and the owl settled behind the lion, making sure to keep an eye out for...disagreements between those in the meeting.
"We've seen its power, its strength, its mercilessness. Now our doves and geese are checking on its position, and we expect them to report back soon. El, what's on our list today?" asked the lion.
The elephant replied with a deep voice: "We were to discuss their long wooden sticks and how to stop them from using them. Negotiations have failed, and the wolves' cousins refuse to listen to us. The boars have suggested a direct attack, the snakes are itching to try attacking from below, and the fish have decided that moving to extreme depths should save them. This does not include us land creatures though.
"Our spies, the crows, ravens, lizards, and frogs have all reported the same thing. They start by crawling, walking the way the chimps and gorillas do, then at a certain size they suddenly turn bigger and louder, standing the way our bird friends do, then after molting into a grey-white color, they sometimes grow an extra detachable appendage. It frightens them, my Lord."
The old king looked tired, his mane becoming more scraggly, his claws becoming more dull, his cheeks more droopy, his eyes lacking the older spark he had. The cloud currently moving to cover the sun did not help his image improve.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the words he was readying himself to say. "Brothers and sisters, cousins, enemies, friends, everyone... We shall not attack an enemy we cannot beat. We all know each others weaknesses and strengths, we know how to hurt the other when needed. This is a time to set aside our differences, to come together against an impossible enemy, one whose skin sometimes shines and changes color overnight. One that has no set form or shape. One who has created cold creatures that he moves much faster with. One that bends the trees to their whim, turning it on those who live between them. We have no time to fight between ourselves when we have a greater foe to fight. Anyone who wishes to leave the meetings and leave the fight may do so now. There will be no repercussions. You have my word. Take your family and leave, but do so quickly. We shall expect causalities, death, famine, and struggles like none seen before. But. We shall not let the enemy win. It's either our success or our death. Those who feel their lives are worth more than their homes, leave now."
The lord had been ruling for most of his life-10 years of it so far. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, hearing some of those in attendance leave. He heard some heavy footsteps, some fluttering, and very little hopping. All was quiet afterwards. He sighed again, opening his eyes. The
The bears had left, so had the earth worms-their ears-, the bees-they needed to survive, he would have asked them to stay aside for the sake of the world, if not for his family-, and some of the birds as well. The sun parted the clouds, its heat hitting those at the meeting again.
"For those of you staying here, I pray for our safety and strength, for if we can't win in skill and intellect, we shall win through sheer force of numbers. They must not destroy when our ancestors -and us- have sworn to leave a better world for the future generations. Tonight, we shall scou-"
The large sounds started once more, loud and clear. The birds swooped away, the bugs hid in the high brush and everyone else split up, leaving a lion and an elephant trying to calm everyone down while they themselves were in panic. A wounded dove fell at the lord's feet. He looked at her, she was quickly dying, but the message of her body was enough: they were coming. He got up to leave, but she was struggling to say something. Leaning in close, he heard her, but the owls had already seen what she came back to report: There was a fire coming the other way. And it was arriving fast.
With a growl, the lion steeled himself for his final meeting: "Brothers and sisters! We shall meet again, in this world or the next. There is no way out today, our hourglass has run out! Today, we fight! For our homes! For our families! For our future! We shall not go down without a fight!"
The defectors burst back into the meeting space, eyes wild with hatred, a fire not unlike the one burning behind them burning. The creatures known as humans had taken everything from them, and they were not going to let them get away with it. Not anymore. Win, or die trying.
They charged. | "It walks on two legs in the morning," Keffert said into the transmitter, his voice hoarse.
His companion swatted his hand from the signal call button. "Give it up, Keff. You've been at it for hours. No one's coming. If there's anyone still able to come for help, they just can't hear us."
Keffert looked down, then leaned back, his eyes staring out the translucent dome at the looming planet before them. "They won't let us stay here, on their moon, Joded. They'll come for us. They won't leave the task half-finished."
Joded searched through his pack again, sorting out supplies. Nothing he had would protect them from the beasts to come. "Maybe they don't know we're here. Maybe they thought we'd gone with the others."
"Or they targeted our ship first, making sure we had no means of escape before killing off the rest of us." Morstad cut in. He had been laying face down, silent for hours. It was a relief to hear his voice, but his tone was so morose it caused Keffert shivers. "We'd be lucky to die. You didn't see what they did to Hallin, Deshka, and Cromin. You'd be looking for a quick and painless death in your pack instead of help from out there."
Joded stilled himself. "How did... How did this happen? All we came to do was observe their life cycle. Four legs in the morning. Two at noon. Three at night. A phenomenon worth seeing."
Not to mention the horrors they saw. The absolute destruction. They cannibalized their own people, enslaving and ensuring deaths of their own kind, and the other, more docile inhabitants of their planet. Gruesome, grotesque ways of interaction - complete destruction of their own kind in a rage of fire and ash.
"They noticed us. We didn't stay silent enough, invisible enough..."
Keffert pressed down on the transmitter again. "In the morning it walks on four legs."
"Keff..."
"And at noon, it walks on two legs."
The code was a creative, metaphoric representation of the terrible species they had found. It was meant to be a signal, one that would not have meant anything if intercepted by the monsters, but to their research vessel would be understood that the creatures had discovered them, hiding on their moon.
"...And at night, it walks on three legs," Keff stared at the transmitter, weariness finally reaching his eyes. "It's killed half of us, please send help."
Silence.
Joded continued to watch the planet before him, the beautiful planet of loathsome creatures. "We should have never come here," he murmured. "We should have never come to Earth."
| |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | The king of the forest cleared his throat, and everyone settled. The snake slithered away from the mice, the fox tip tapped back away from the rabbit, and the owl settled behind the lion, making sure to keep an eye out for...disagreements between those in the meeting.
"We've seen its power, its strength, its mercilessness. Now our doves and geese are checking on its position, and we expect them to report back soon. El, what's on our list today?" asked the lion.
The elephant replied with a deep voice: "We were to discuss their long wooden sticks and how to stop them from using them. Negotiations have failed, and the wolves' cousins refuse to listen to us. The boars have suggested a direct attack, the snakes are itching to try attacking from below, and the fish have decided that moving to extreme depths should save them. This does not include us land creatures though.
"Our spies, the crows, ravens, lizards, and frogs have all reported the same thing. They start by crawling, walking the way the chimps and gorillas do, then at a certain size they suddenly turn bigger and louder, standing the way our bird friends do, then after molting into a grey-white color, they sometimes grow an extra detachable appendage. It frightens them, my Lord."
The old king looked tired, his mane becoming more scraggly, his claws becoming more dull, his cheeks more droopy, his eyes lacking the older spark he had. The cloud currently moving to cover the sun did not help his image improve.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the words he was readying himself to say. "Brothers and sisters, cousins, enemies, friends, everyone... We shall not attack an enemy we cannot beat. We all know each others weaknesses and strengths, we know how to hurt the other when needed. This is a time to set aside our differences, to come together against an impossible enemy, one whose skin sometimes shines and changes color overnight. One that has no set form or shape. One who has created cold creatures that he moves much faster with. One that bends the trees to their whim, turning it on those who live between them. We have no time to fight between ourselves when we have a greater foe to fight. Anyone who wishes to leave the meetings and leave the fight may do so now. There will be no repercussions. You have my word. Take your family and leave, but do so quickly. We shall expect causalities, death, famine, and struggles like none seen before. But. We shall not let the enemy win. It's either our success or our death. Those who feel their lives are worth more than their homes, leave now."
The lord had been ruling for most of his life-10 years of it so far. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, hearing some of those in attendance leave. He heard some heavy footsteps, some fluttering, and very little hopping. All was quiet afterwards. He sighed again, opening his eyes. The
The bears had left, so had the earth worms-their ears-, the bees-they needed to survive, he would have asked them to stay aside for the sake of the world, if not for his family-, and some of the birds as well. The sun parted the clouds, its heat hitting those at the meeting again.
"For those of you staying here, I pray for our safety and strength, for if we can't win in skill and intellect, we shall win through sheer force of numbers. They must not destroy when our ancestors -and us- have sworn to leave a better world for the future generations. Tonight, we shall scou-"
The large sounds started once more, loud and clear. The birds swooped away, the bugs hid in the high brush and everyone else split up, leaving a lion and an elephant trying to calm everyone down while they themselves were in panic. A wounded dove fell at the lord's feet. He looked at her, she was quickly dying, but the message of her body was enough: they were coming. He got up to leave, but she was struggling to say something. Leaning in close, he heard her, but the owls had already seen what she came back to report: There was a fire coming the other way. And it was arriving fast.
With a growl, the lion steeled himself for his final meeting: "Brothers and sisters! We shall meet again, in this world or the next. There is no way out today, our hourglass has run out! Today, we fight! For our homes! For our families! For our future! We shall not go down without a fight!"
The defectors burst back into the meeting space, eyes wild with hatred, a fire not unlike the one burning behind them burning. The creatures known as humans had taken everything from them, and they were not going to let them get away with it. Not anymore. Win, or die trying.
They charged. | I laid my soft moldable against the rockface. My tentacles were sore. My fur was encrusted in mud. But I knew there was no escape. I had to hide. That thing was coming. I could still remember the last time I saw it close. The thing had managed to find one of our translators. It wanted to taunt us.
The thing was bare and furless everywhere except for its head and scattered haphazardly across its body. It had seers, but only two. They were pale. Paler than anything I had ever seen, but just the outside. My friend, oh my dear sweet friend... he had meant to take on the beast alone. So he took the most powerful weapon he had, exited his hiding place, and fired The Great Dissolver. Dihydrogen Monoxide. He sprayed and sprayed and sprayed, but it just dripped off of it. The edges of its maw curled upward to reveal sharp exposed bones, threatening us and laughing at our form. It made a noise. Something harrowing that struck every one of us to the core. It was short but repeated over and over as it bared its sharp teeth and its seers closed. It pulled out a strange thing. Two hollow cylinders locked together side by side with a handle at the end. My friend, in his desperation spoke, quietly and afraid
"What... are you?"
It made the horrible noise again. Then, it leaned in close, so incredibly close.
"What has four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?"
It pulled back, still with it's maw curved upwards at the edges, and put the cylinders against his forehead.
The fire and thunder that erupted from that thing left his head a pile of jelly.
I snapped out of it. I had been on the run for too long to die to a memory now. I needed to find my way home. Get help. | |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | The king of the forest cleared his throat, and everyone settled. The snake slithered away from the mice, the fox tip tapped back away from the rabbit, and the owl settled behind the lion, making sure to keep an eye out for...disagreements between those in the meeting.
"We've seen its power, its strength, its mercilessness. Now our doves and geese are checking on its position, and we expect them to report back soon. El, what's on our list today?" asked the lion.
The elephant replied with a deep voice: "We were to discuss their long wooden sticks and how to stop them from using them. Negotiations have failed, and the wolves' cousins refuse to listen to us. The boars have suggested a direct attack, the snakes are itching to try attacking from below, and the fish have decided that moving to extreme depths should save them. This does not include us land creatures though.
"Our spies, the crows, ravens, lizards, and frogs have all reported the same thing. They start by crawling, walking the way the chimps and gorillas do, then at a certain size they suddenly turn bigger and louder, standing the way our bird friends do, then after molting into a grey-white color, they sometimes grow an extra detachable appendage. It frightens them, my Lord."
The old king looked tired, his mane becoming more scraggly, his claws becoming more dull, his cheeks more droopy, his eyes lacking the older spark he had. The cloud currently moving to cover the sun did not help his image improve.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the words he was readying himself to say. "Brothers and sisters, cousins, enemies, friends, everyone... We shall not attack an enemy we cannot beat. We all know each others weaknesses and strengths, we know how to hurt the other when needed. This is a time to set aside our differences, to come together against an impossible enemy, one whose skin sometimes shines and changes color overnight. One that has no set form or shape. One who has created cold creatures that he moves much faster with. One that bends the trees to their whim, turning it on those who live between them. We have no time to fight between ourselves when we have a greater foe to fight. Anyone who wishes to leave the meetings and leave the fight may do so now. There will be no repercussions. You have my word. Take your family and leave, but do so quickly. We shall expect causalities, death, famine, and struggles like none seen before. But. We shall not let the enemy win. It's either our success or our death. Those who feel their lives are worth more than their homes, leave now."
The lord had been ruling for most of his life-10 years of it so far. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, hearing some of those in attendance leave. He heard some heavy footsteps, some fluttering, and very little hopping. All was quiet afterwards. He sighed again, opening his eyes. The
The bears had left, so had the earth worms-their ears-, the bees-they needed to survive, he would have asked them to stay aside for the sake of the world, if not for his family-, and some of the birds as well. The sun parted the clouds, its heat hitting those at the meeting again.
"For those of you staying here, I pray for our safety and strength, for if we can't win in skill and intellect, we shall win through sheer force of numbers. They must not destroy when our ancestors -and us- have sworn to leave a better world for the future generations. Tonight, we shall scou-"
The large sounds started once more, loud and clear. The birds swooped away, the bugs hid in the high brush and everyone else split up, leaving a lion and an elephant trying to calm everyone down while they themselves were in panic. A wounded dove fell at the lord's feet. He looked at her, she was quickly dying, but the message of her body was enough: they were coming. He got up to leave, but she was struggling to say something. Leaning in close, he heard her, but the owls had already seen what she came back to report: There was a fire coming the other way. And it was arriving fast.
With a growl, the lion steeled himself for his final meeting: "Brothers and sisters! We shall meet again, in this world or the next. There is no way out today, our hourglass has run out! Today, we fight! For our homes! For our families! For our future! We shall not go down without a fight!"
The defectors burst back into the meeting space, eyes wild with hatred, a fire not unlike the one burning behind them burning. The creatures known as humans had taken everything from them, and they were not going to let them get away with it. Not anymore. Win, or die trying.
They charged. | "...please send help."
The monster was looking at me.
"Well? What is your answer? "
"I...I'm... I need more time."
"As you wish. I already eaten your companions, you will be perfect for the dessert little one."
I looked again at my phone. I had tried anything to find the solution. Google didn't work either text my historian friend. Every time, the solution was blurred and I was running out of option.
"Did you tried to find the solution on internet?"
I froze.
"Of course you did, little one. One of your predecessor told me everything I need to knew about the present ages. I even opened a YouTube channel. I casted a spell to censure the answer and the direct help from other"
I said nothing. My only hope was to find indirectly the answer on internet. Something subtle, something in a different form. Like a [WP].
| |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | The king of the forest cleared his throat, and everyone settled. The snake slithered away from the mice, the fox tip tapped back away from the rabbit, and the owl settled behind the lion, making sure to keep an eye out for...disagreements between those in the meeting.
"We've seen its power, its strength, its mercilessness. Now our doves and geese are checking on its position, and we expect them to report back soon. El, what's on our list today?" asked the lion.
The elephant replied with a deep voice: "We were to discuss their long wooden sticks and how to stop them from using them. Negotiations have failed, and the wolves' cousins refuse to listen to us. The boars have suggested a direct attack, the snakes are itching to try attacking from below, and the fish have decided that moving to extreme depths should save them. This does not include us land creatures though.
"Our spies, the crows, ravens, lizards, and frogs have all reported the same thing. They start by crawling, walking the way the chimps and gorillas do, then at a certain size they suddenly turn bigger and louder, standing the way our bird friends do, then after molting into a grey-white color, they sometimes grow an extra detachable appendage. It frightens them, my Lord."
The old king looked tired, his mane becoming more scraggly, his claws becoming more dull, his cheeks more droopy, his eyes lacking the older spark he had. The cloud currently moving to cover the sun did not help his image improve.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the words he was readying himself to say. "Brothers and sisters, cousins, enemies, friends, everyone... We shall not attack an enemy we cannot beat. We all know each others weaknesses and strengths, we know how to hurt the other when needed. This is a time to set aside our differences, to come together against an impossible enemy, one whose skin sometimes shines and changes color overnight. One that has no set form or shape. One who has created cold creatures that he moves much faster with. One that bends the trees to their whim, turning it on those who live between them. We have no time to fight between ourselves when we have a greater foe to fight. Anyone who wishes to leave the meetings and leave the fight may do so now. There will be no repercussions. You have my word. Take your family and leave, but do so quickly. We shall expect causalities, death, famine, and struggles like none seen before. But. We shall not let the enemy win. It's either our success or our death. Those who feel their lives are worth more than their homes, leave now."
The lord had been ruling for most of his life-10 years of it so far. He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, hearing some of those in attendance leave. He heard some heavy footsteps, some fluttering, and very little hopping. All was quiet afterwards. He sighed again, opening his eyes. The
The bears had left, so had the earth worms-their ears-, the bees-they needed to survive, he would have asked them to stay aside for the sake of the world, if not for his family-, and some of the birds as well. The sun parted the clouds, its heat hitting those at the meeting again.
"For those of you staying here, I pray for our safety and strength, for if we can't win in skill and intellect, we shall win through sheer force of numbers. They must not destroy when our ancestors -and us- have sworn to leave a better world for the future generations. Tonight, we shall scou-"
The large sounds started once more, loud and clear. The birds swooped away, the bugs hid in the high brush and everyone else split up, leaving a lion and an elephant trying to calm everyone down while they themselves were in panic. A wounded dove fell at the lord's feet. He looked at her, she was quickly dying, but the message of her body was enough: they were coming. He got up to leave, but she was struggling to say something. Leaning in close, he heard her, but the owls had already seen what she came back to report: There was a fire coming the other way. And it was arriving fast.
With a growl, the lion steeled himself for his final meeting: "Brothers and sisters! We shall meet again, in this world or the next. There is no way out today, our hourglass has run out! Today, we fight! For our homes! For our families! For our future! We shall not go down without a fight!"
The defectors burst back into the meeting space, eyes wild with hatred, a fire not unlike the one burning behind them burning. The creatures known as humans had taken everything from them, and they were not going to let them get away with it. Not anymore. Win, or die trying.
They charged. | It was supposed to be a routine mission, Colin thought to himself in shock. A simple strike on a drug lord in an unknown village in the heart of an unnamed swathe of jungle.
"Please send help." The forlorn and terrified voice of Sgt. Short jerked him out of his stupor as the pale heavy set man walked towards him.
Colin could only watch through his monitor as he reached forward with his left hand, his right a jagged ruin blown off just before the afternoon sun finished setting by their snipers heavy rifle.
The man smiled a huge grin and closed his fist, a crunching sound could be heard through the man's headset and the video turned to static as his vital monitor flatlined.
He heard Cpl. Egret curse harshly from his position as the Drug Lord walked outside with the first rays of a new day starting to peek through the trees.
Both through Egret's headset and the skin of the truck he could hear the shots ring out as he put round after round into the man.
The Dealer hit the ground writhing and Colin's communications expert stopped chatering to Washington as they watched. It was over!
To his horror he saw movement again and the man arched his back, clothes straining under some sort of change and golden fur burst out from under the clothes, face elongating into a nightmare filled maw.
Egrets rifle clicked empty over and over again as four clawed limbs powerfully turned the earth and the last thing Colin saw before his camera went dark was the inside of the monsters gullet.
Colin pulled out his mp5 from the little armory and handed another to his communication officer. And they quickly loaded before the van soon with a savage blow.
They readied thier weapons as long claws punched through the rear door of the van and with a screech the door was ripped off. The van shook as the beast roared while entering and Colin felt himself almost paralyzed by the golden eyes and twitching yellow and black tail.
Then he laughed, insanely and resigned. He could hear choppers. Help had arrived, but it was far too late for him.
His hand still tightly squeezing the trigger of a mangled mp5 were all they found of him, minutes before fresh screams filled the jungle once more. | |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | "Firefly Zero-Six is bearing two-six-five, one thousand feet, 120 knots. We are a UH-1 Frog hunter with 14 rockets on board and 1000 rounds. Please state the nature of your emergency. Over." The captain packed up his kneeboard and pulled out his map. It was go time.
"Firefly..... -ro six- ... ansmit quiet... no kr.... ha... remaining... 40 klicks west of..." I looked at my instruments blankly, straining hard to hear them.
"Last call on station, Firefly Zero Six, say again last transmission. 40 clicks west of What? Over."
"Firefly zero six, this is... Dog One Sev-... we are... 3 injured. Unable to... clicks west of firing point Tango One-One-Zero-Niner, over." MadDog maybe? Devil Dog? Could be Marines out there.
"Mad Dog 1-7? You are coming in broken and unreadable, we do not have firing point T1109. Please give grid reference or land mark bearing. Over."
"Firefly 06, cannot speak up. Must be quiet. Lower volume."
"Roger 17, but things are about to get loud when we get there. Say again, need grid or landmark and bearing, over."
"06... Victor Foxtrot 98763869... Hurry..."
"Maddog, turn your radio to 134.75 and transmit continuously, we will home in on your signal. On our way, hang in there. Over." I licked my teeth inside my mouth. I remember having to transmit quietly once. Worst day of my life. Matter of fact, I put my flight packet in the next day. I did not envy them. I looked over at the captain, trying to restrain the map fluttering in the wind enough to trace our position to theirs.
"Fly heading 340."
"Roger-doger, Cap. We good and armed?"
"All armed and ready to unleash hail." He leaned out and inspected the rocket pods. "So..." He stammered, "What in the jolly fuck was with that first transmission?"
"The three legs thing? I didn't catch half of it. What'd he say?"
"It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening, and it already killed half the strike team. Please help."
I flew straight ahead for about thirty seconds just trying to process. "They trying to give a riddle!? Hey! Maybe it's a coded message. Call back to the ship, see if they know what they're talking about." Silently and quickly, the Captain tuned his radio and began transmitting. The way the radio worked, I couldn't hear him. I tuned the ADF to 134.75 and waited for the needle to jump. We'd pick them up soon enough. We were in the narrow band of the country, they couldn't be far.
The needle twitched, bearing 349. I initiated a gentle turn and began scanning at 500 meters in front of the nose.
Captain came back "Well no one on the ship knows what he's talking about, but they're gonna ask the JTAC and see if the rangers or the SEALs were doing anything down here."
After about another minute or two, the needle began to wiggle.
"Maddog, if you can hear me, we are getting close. Describe target! Can you mark target with smoke!?"
"Cannot Describe, cannot see it fully. Will mark with smoke. Hey! I see you!! I see you! Right off your nose!" He got loud. I started to wonder.
I didn't see a clearing, but suddenly I saw a moving tree. Atop the tree was a GI waiving his radio receiver with great strain... I dropped altitude to get a better look as I flew by. I could see the look on his face, an odd mixture of pure relief, but still transitioning from pure panic.
We flew by at about 100 feet above the ground, maybe 50 feet above the tree tops. "Got a visual on friendlies." Said Cap. "No joy on enemy. I can't see a thing. We're gonna get shot at this altitude."
"We're gonna get hit by a Charlie missile if I pick up any higher. Keep an eye out."
"Maddog! Mark target with smoke! We are no joy on target! ... Maddog! Do you copy? Over." No reply. I began a slow orbit to return to the GI's position. I didn't see him any more. Suddenly, the smoke popped. Purple smoke. Right under the tree were the radio man had been.
"MADDOG, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, MOVE ALL FRIENDLIES NORTH EAST OF SMOKE. WE WILL MAKE STRAFING RUN SOUTH EAST TO NORTH WEST."
A hard turn to the left to get on track, then I brought our tail around. I tried to pick up an extra fifty feet, just to see if I could see anything. Nothing. I fired into the purple. The minigun turned the vegetation to mulch, and I could feel the helicopter slow just slightly as it fired. The tree went down completely.
"FIREFLY! MOVING NORTHEAST. ENEMY IS FOLLOWING. CAN'T.... RUN... MUCH..." It was a different voice on the radio. I took us on a high right orbit. The Captain was the right seater, he leaned way out to get his best view. I could hear the wind blowing in his microphone.
"TALLY! TALLY FUCKING TARGET! TURN LEFT! LEFT, HARD NOW!"
I put the cyclic all the way into my leg, pulled up on the collective, and gave the left pedal a good stomp. My transient torque probably went red for a few seconds, but as long as I was still in the air, it didn't matter. "What did you see, Sir!? What did it look like?"
"Cannot describe! I'll guide you on target!"
"What do you mean you can't describe!? Was it one target or two? Is it a person? A goddam bear? WHAT!?"
It was not a bear. It came up to the tree tops, but if it held still, I don't think I've have been able to see it from the air. My eyes couldn't make sense of it.
"Come left! bearing 155. You see it!?"
"I see it! Going rockets!"
With a massive \**kersheww!\** the rockets left my pods. The smoke and fire blocked my vision momentarily, but then the trail arced toward the target and impacted short. I fired again. And again. Too far right. Now left, but closer! The third impact landed between it and the soldiers I could now see out the corner of my eye, running onto a hilltop clearing.
"HIT HIM AGAIN!" The captain shouted. I fired again. The fire and smoke sent trees and dirt into the air.
"I'm pulling off!"
"NO! HIT HIM AGAIN!"
I banked right. "We'll come around again!" But strangely enough, I think I should have listened to the Captain. I had three hundred meters between myself and the target, but suddenly the helicopter shuttered like it had been grabbed. All the gauges went into the red. I was no where near the trees.
"Are we snagged!?"
"Pull up! pull UP!"
"The engine is stalling!"
"What?"
We slowed down to 20 knots, then ten... then backward. The engine whined, the rotors vibrated and shuttered above us. The controls were useless suddenly, pulling against something that would not release.
"*\*MAYDAY, MAYDAY, ALL STATIONS, FIREFLY ZERO SIX GOING DOWN! GRID, VICTOR FOXTROT NINER-\*"*
Gunshots came from the right of the helicopter. The Captain had his sidearm drawn and was firing toward the tail. The helicopter tilted left and the rotors impacted the trees. A thunderous crash and shattering noise as the helicopter tried to rotate against the torque, finally settling in the trees.
Suddenly racked with pain, my mind was a prisoner in the inflamed cage of my skull. The captain was on top of me, the bird was a mangle of steel. And then the arms came... and legs... and tree trunks and tails and limbs of every kind. Clawing at the windscreen. Thousands of limbs, disembodied yet all attached to the same source.
I transmitted one last time. "It walks on more than four legs..."
| The following is an interview of former U.S Army Paranormal Combat Division (PCD) Staff Sgt. Waterson.
Dr. S: Good evening Sergeant.
*Waterson pauses, removing his cigarette from his mouth*
W: Good evening to you too Doctor.
Dr. S: So, you were the leader of the strike team dispatched to eliminate [REDACTED]?
W: Yea, that was me.
Dr. S: And the mission did not go so well.
W: That is also correct.
Dr. S: What do you remember about that day?
W: Well, I remember it was early in the morning when we rolled out, I already had a bad feeling as we were being sent to kill a creature that could reportedly grow back limbs and tear through Kevlar, but I shook it off. When we arrived at [REDACTED] the village was already a mess. I mean I’ve seen my share fair of Eastern European shitholes but this one was something special. The buildings looked like they had been hit by fucking artillery and a mix of civilian and military corpses littered the streets.
Dr.S: You later found out the [REDACTED] government had attempted to kill the creature earlier that week, correct?
W: Correct.
Dr.S: Please continue.
W: Anyway, I was looking through a ruined bookstore when I heard screams and gunshots from the other side of the village and immediately, my heart dropped. I ran over to the sound and saw a tall, pale, slim creature running on all fours at some of my team. I glanced around and saw it had already thrown Rohan into the side of one of the buildings, creating a large blood spatter.
Dr.S: What did you do next?
W: I’m getting there, hold on. So, I fired on the creature but the bullets seemed to do nothing, it shrugged them off like I was shooting it with a fucking airsoft gun, I could do nothing while it plowed through Stevenson and Robins, tearing through their bodies and sending guts and bits of uniform everywhere. I ran for cover and tried using my undermounted grenade launcher but still, didn’t do jack shit. I grabbed Luis, the new kid, and pulled him next to me. I remember saying “Get command on the radio and tell them to fucking Carpet bomb this place right now.” And he fumbled with the radio. Eventually, he got the message through and soon after I heard the familiar sound of jets in the distance, coming towards us.
Dr. S: What then?
W: The last thing I remember is seeing Luis try to run away from the jets, get nabbed by that thing and ripped to shreds, right as the jets flew overhead and dropped the bombs. Then I woke up in the hospital a few days later.
Dr. S: Thank you for your time, Sergeant.
W: Fuck that noise, I’m quitting.
*Waterson was found dead of a self inflicted gunshot wound 3 weeks later.* | |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | "Firefly Zero-Six is bearing two-six-five, one thousand feet, 120 knots. We are a UH-1 Frog hunter with 14 rockets on board and 1000 rounds. Please state the nature of your emergency. Over." The captain packed up his kneeboard and pulled out his map. It was go time.
"Firefly..... -ro six- ... ansmit quiet... no kr.... ha... remaining... 40 klicks west of..." I looked at my instruments blankly, straining hard to hear them.
"Last call on station, Firefly Zero Six, say again last transmission. 40 clicks west of What? Over."
"Firefly zero six, this is... Dog One Sev-... we are... 3 injured. Unable to... clicks west of firing point Tango One-One-Zero-Niner, over." MadDog maybe? Devil Dog? Could be Marines out there.
"Mad Dog 1-7? You are coming in broken and unreadable, we do not have firing point T1109. Please give grid reference or land mark bearing. Over."
"Firefly 06, cannot speak up. Must be quiet. Lower volume."
"Roger 17, but things are about to get loud when we get there. Say again, need grid or landmark and bearing, over."
"06... Victor Foxtrot 98763869... Hurry..."
"Maddog, turn your radio to 134.75 and transmit continuously, we will home in on your signal. On our way, hang in there. Over." I licked my teeth inside my mouth. I remember having to transmit quietly once. Worst day of my life. Matter of fact, I put my flight packet in the next day. I did not envy them. I looked over at the captain, trying to restrain the map fluttering in the wind enough to trace our position to theirs.
"Fly heading 340."
"Roger-doger, Cap. We good and armed?"
"All armed and ready to unleash hail." He leaned out and inspected the rocket pods. "So..." He stammered, "What in the jolly fuck was with that first transmission?"
"The three legs thing? I didn't catch half of it. What'd he say?"
"It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening, and it already killed half the strike team. Please help."
I flew straight ahead for about thirty seconds just trying to process. "They trying to give a riddle!? Hey! Maybe it's a coded message. Call back to the ship, see if they know what they're talking about." Silently and quickly, the Captain tuned his radio and began transmitting. The way the radio worked, I couldn't hear him. I tuned the ADF to 134.75 and waited for the needle to jump. We'd pick them up soon enough. We were in the narrow band of the country, they couldn't be far.
The needle twitched, bearing 349. I initiated a gentle turn and began scanning at 500 meters in front of the nose.
Captain came back "Well no one on the ship knows what he's talking about, but they're gonna ask the JTAC and see if the rangers or the SEALs were doing anything down here."
After about another minute or two, the needle began to wiggle.
"Maddog, if you can hear me, we are getting close. Describe target! Can you mark target with smoke!?"
"Cannot Describe, cannot see it fully. Will mark with smoke. Hey! I see you!! I see you! Right off your nose!" He got loud. I started to wonder.
I didn't see a clearing, but suddenly I saw a moving tree. Atop the tree was a GI waiving his radio receiver with great strain... I dropped altitude to get a better look as I flew by. I could see the look on his face, an odd mixture of pure relief, but still transitioning from pure panic.
We flew by at about 100 feet above the ground, maybe 50 feet above the tree tops. "Got a visual on friendlies." Said Cap. "No joy on enemy. I can't see a thing. We're gonna get shot at this altitude."
"We're gonna get hit by a Charlie missile if I pick up any higher. Keep an eye out."
"Maddog! Mark target with smoke! We are no joy on target! ... Maddog! Do you copy? Over." No reply. I began a slow orbit to return to the GI's position. I didn't see him any more. Suddenly, the smoke popped. Purple smoke. Right under the tree were the radio man had been.
"MADDOG, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, MOVE ALL FRIENDLIES NORTH EAST OF SMOKE. WE WILL MAKE STRAFING RUN SOUTH EAST TO NORTH WEST."
A hard turn to the left to get on track, then I brought our tail around. I tried to pick up an extra fifty feet, just to see if I could see anything. Nothing. I fired into the purple. The minigun turned the vegetation to mulch, and I could feel the helicopter slow just slightly as it fired. The tree went down completely.
"FIREFLY! MOVING NORTHEAST. ENEMY IS FOLLOWING. CAN'T.... RUN... MUCH..." It was a different voice on the radio. I took us on a high right orbit. The Captain was the right seater, he leaned way out to get his best view. I could hear the wind blowing in his microphone.
"TALLY! TALLY FUCKING TARGET! TURN LEFT! LEFT, HARD NOW!"
I put the cyclic all the way into my leg, pulled up on the collective, and gave the left pedal a good stomp. My transient torque probably went red for a few seconds, but as long as I was still in the air, it didn't matter. "What did you see, Sir!? What did it look like?"
"Cannot describe! I'll guide you on target!"
"What do you mean you can't describe!? Was it one target or two? Is it a person? A goddam bear? WHAT!?"
It was not a bear. It came up to the tree tops, but if it held still, I don't think I've have been able to see it from the air. My eyes couldn't make sense of it.
"Come left! bearing 155. You see it!?"
"I see it! Going rockets!"
With a massive \**kersheww!\** the rockets left my pods. The smoke and fire blocked my vision momentarily, but then the trail arced toward the target and impacted short. I fired again. And again. Too far right. Now left, but closer! The third impact landed between it and the soldiers I could now see out the corner of my eye, running onto a hilltop clearing.
"HIT HIM AGAIN!" The captain shouted. I fired again. The fire and smoke sent trees and dirt into the air.
"I'm pulling off!"
"NO! HIT HIM AGAIN!"
I banked right. "We'll come around again!" But strangely enough, I think I should have listened to the Captain. I had three hundred meters between myself and the target, but suddenly the helicopter shuttered like it had been grabbed. All the gauges went into the red. I was no where near the trees.
"Are we snagged!?"
"Pull up! pull UP!"
"The engine is stalling!"
"What?"
We slowed down to 20 knots, then ten... then backward. The engine whined, the rotors vibrated and shuttered above us. The controls were useless suddenly, pulling against something that would not release.
"*\*MAYDAY, MAYDAY, ALL STATIONS, FIREFLY ZERO SIX GOING DOWN! GRID, VICTOR FOXTROT NINER-\*"*
Gunshots came from the right of the helicopter. The Captain had his sidearm drawn and was firing toward the tail. The helicopter tilted left and the rotors impacted the trees. A thunderous crash and shattering noise as the helicopter tried to rotate against the torque, finally settling in the trees.
Suddenly racked with pain, my mind was a prisoner in the inflamed cage of my skull. The captain was on top of me, the bird was a mangle of steel. And then the arms came... and legs... and tree trunks and tails and limbs of every kind. Clawing at the windscreen. Thousands of limbs, disembodied yet all attached to the same source.
I transmitted one last time. "It walks on more than four legs..."
| "Johnson, what's it say?"
Lieutenant Johnson squinted at the bloodied scrap of paper, just able to recognize the important words. "Sir, half the strike team is KIA and it walks on... three legs?"
Major Scott thumbed his rifle's safety thoughtfully. "That's all the info Bravo team could leave us?"
"Well Sir, the number of legs appears to have been scribbled out twice before and the rest is uh, too blood soaked to read." Johnson dropped the note and stood to face the rest of his squad, "how should we proceed sir?"
"Colonel Carpenter was very clear that he wants this wrapped up as tightly and quickly as possible. We're to keep following the distress signal and hunt down SCP-1982, it's clearly more dangerous than-"
"Sir!"
"What is it Clinton?"
"It's the distress signal, it's getting closer at a rate of 8 klicks an hour."
Could it be a survivor? Scott thought to himself, but why come back this way towards a casualty? Or is this creature aware it's being followed? Scott studied the mess that was once Lieutenant Yang, Scott was no medic but he doubted even if he was he could determine what the hell really happened to Yang. It seemed savage, not intelligently precise like 173 or the other higher functioning creatures...
Clinton broke his train of though of thought, "Sir! 11 klicks an hour! It's now 20 away from us."
He turned back to his squad, no chances this time. "Form up boys! We're still on a hunt!" He only hoped this time they were the hunters.
Through the forest they went, crouched, eyes wide and pulses steady. Each and every member of Major Scott's nine man group armed with high powered rifles, stun batons, and precision reflexes. Sweat dripped down Lt. Johnson's brow but he didn't dare let it distract him, not even for a second, he was hotter than Hades in his tactical outfit and the morning sun beating down on him but he had trained all senses to only focus on the task at hand. Clinton was still green and in the back of the diamond formation with his focus divided between the terrain in front of him and the scanner in his hand, he watched as the distance slowly ticked down. They were less than 10km from their target now and his heartbeat was in his throat. This was only his third venture out, but this was the real cherry popper, the first two targets he captured had been determined "safe" and it was clear that would not be the case this time.
"Sir, 5 klicks to target and still closing" Clinton said just loud enough to reach the Major's ears. Major Scott gave the signal to stop, he then signaled for the scanner. Everyone made their separate ways behind some sort of cover and settled in. Clinton obeyed his instincts and stayed towards the back of the formation.
Major Scott watched the distance tick down, little by little. The target finally got within 1km and Scott readied his weapon. It wasn't long before he heard something, leaves rustling in the distance. No, not rustling, being trampled. Something was running directly towards them. Scott heard two more rifles ready to either of his sides.
"FUCK!"
Scott lifted his head up, what? Did the target just cuss?
"Fuck god shitting dammit!"
He recognized that vulgarity, he put a hand to his mouth, "Riley?!" he shouted into the forest.
The sound stopped. "Scott?!" The voice shouted back. Scott whistled and his old bunk mate Jacob Riley soon ran up to him. He looked worse for wear, his outfit was ripped and he appeared to be bleeding from his forehead. "Christ, Marv! They sent you in?" he said excitedly.
Scott embraced his old friend. "What the hell happened here?"
"The creature, it's Euclid, it tore half the squad to pieces when we first encountered it. Me and the rest managed to track it for a while until it split us up. It's intelligent and predatory, I was with Adams and I had him turn on his beacon too, just in case but we got separated. We should regroup if they're nearby."
Scott glanced down at his scanner, "Riley, the only beacon on here is yours..."
The color drained from his face, "that's impossible. I've been tracking it myself this entire time. It couldn't have taken out four other guys."
"You were tracking it?" Johnson interrupted "when did you lose it?"
"I- I didn't... It was-"
"FU-" followed by the snap of bone came from the back of the formation.
Clinton jerked his head and watched in horror as his squad-mate's head, only a few feet away from him, was crushed under the maw of a horrific creature. It was bent over the soldiers body, standing on four grotesque legs all bending in the wrong directions. Its pale deformed body supporting the disproportionately large head that still had bits of flesh hanging from it's fangs. Major Scott gave to order to open fire but he didn't need to, all guns were already trained on the monster and unloading into. The bullets only dented the pale skin, never able to pierce it, the creature sprang up from it's meal and deftly sprinted around the trees to take cover. Hardly making any noise as it's large form jumped quickly from behind trees.
One tree exploded from a grenade as it jumped away and on top of another soldier. It sunk it's jagged fangs into his neck and tore his head off with a shower of blood. The creature now covered in shrapnel and blood turned it's gaze towards Clinton. It leaped towards him and in two bounds it was looking down onto him. Clinton screamed and shuffled backwards as he emptied his gun into the creature's head to no avail. It opened it's mouth larger than ever before and let loose an ear piercing screech, a few of the men covered their ears, Clinton however watched in horror as the creature's legs changed to a more red color. It seemed to be screeching in pain as it reared back and it's two front legs started to morph down one after the other, combining into each other to form a much more powerful looking one leg from two.
Clinton knew he didn't have time to think, it's legs looked exposed so that's what he went for. Turning on and thrusting his shock baton in between the creatures second set of legs as they merged he plunged it up into it's body as hard he could. He went deeper than he expected, with him almost pushing his entire baton into the creature's body. It shook violently and convulsed, Clinton barely heard his squad-mate shout 'grenade!'. He caught it and pulled the pin with his teeth, down the monster's throat it went and Clinton promptly got the fuck out of there and jumped behind the nearest tree. He heard a boom echo behind him as he hit the dirt, and for a moment all was quiet.
Breathing heavily and the stench of burnt flesh filling his nose Clinton slowly looked around the tree. The beast lied there, a smoking husk with one... two? Legs blow clean off. The squad slowly circled in around in around the creature, it still looked intact except for the legs of course. Major Scott inspected it and found a crack along it's hide, he took off his glove and felt it. It was rock solid, no wonder the bullets could only dent it's skin. Scott felt the remainder of the legs, one was rock hard but the other leg where Clinton had shocked it appeared to be regular flesh. Scott nodded approvingly at Clinton, "nice work greeny. Maybe you can handle Euclids after all."
Clinton smiled at his commander. "Thanks but... After this safe SCPs don't seem so boring anymore, I might go look at that church in Georgia after all." | |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | "Firefly Zero-Six is bearing two-six-five, one thousand feet, 120 knots. We are a UH-1 Frog hunter with 14 rockets on board and 1000 rounds. Please state the nature of your emergency. Over." The captain packed up his kneeboard and pulled out his map. It was go time.
"Firefly..... -ro six- ... ansmit quiet... no kr.... ha... remaining... 40 klicks west of..." I looked at my instruments blankly, straining hard to hear them.
"Last call on station, Firefly Zero Six, say again last transmission. 40 clicks west of What? Over."
"Firefly zero six, this is... Dog One Sev-... we are... 3 injured. Unable to... clicks west of firing point Tango One-One-Zero-Niner, over." MadDog maybe? Devil Dog? Could be Marines out there.
"Mad Dog 1-7? You are coming in broken and unreadable, we do not have firing point T1109. Please give grid reference or land mark bearing. Over."
"Firefly 06, cannot speak up. Must be quiet. Lower volume."
"Roger 17, but things are about to get loud when we get there. Say again, need grid or landmark and bearing, over."
"06... Victor Foxtrot 98763869... Hurry..."
"Maddog, turn your radio to 134.75 and transmit continuously, we will home in on your signal. On our way, hang in there. Over." I licked my teeth inside my mouth. I remember having to transmit quietly once. Worst day of my life. Matter of fact, I put my flight packet in the next day. I did not envy them. I looked over at the captain, trying to restrain the map fluttering in the wind enough to trace our position to theirs.
"Fly heading 340."
"Roger-doger, Cap. We good and armed?"
"All armed and ready to unleash hail." He leaned out and inspected the rocket pods. "So..." He stammered, "What in the jolly fuck was with that first transmission?"
"The three legs thing? I didn't catch half of it. What'd he say?"
"It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening, and it already killed half the strike team. Please help."
I flew straight ahead for about thirty seconds just trying to process. "They trying to give a riddle!? Hey! Maybe it's a coded message. Call back to the ship, see if they know what they're talking about." Silently and quickly, the Captain tuned his radio and began transmitting. The way the radio worked, I couldn't hear him. I tuned the ADF to 134.75 and waited for the needle to jump. We'd pick them up soon enough. We were in the narrow band of the country, they couldn't be far.
The needle twitched, bearing 349. I initiated a gentle turn and began scanning at 500 meters in front of the nose.
Captain came back "Well no one on the ship knows what he's talking about, but they're gonna ask the JTAC and see if the rangers or the SEALs were doing anything down here."
After about another minute or two, the needle began to wiggle.
"Maddog, if you can hear me, we are getting close. Describe target! Can you mark target with smoke!?"
"Cannot Describe, cannot see it fully. Will mark with smoke. Hey! I see you!! I see you! Right off your nose!" He got loud. I started to wonder.
I didn't see a clearing, but suddenly I saw a moving tree. Atop the tree was a GI waiving his radio receiver with great strain... I dropped altitude to get a better look as I flew by. I could see the look on his face, an odd mixture of pure relief, but still transitioning from pure panic.
We flew by at about 100 feet above the ground, maybe 50 feet above the tree tops. "Got a visual on friendlies." Said Cap. "No joy on enemy. I can't see a thing. We're gonna get shot at this altitude."
"We're gonna get hit by a Charlie missile if I pick up any higher. Keep an eye out."
"Maddog! Mark target with smoke! We are no joy on target! ... Maddog! Do you copy? Over." No reply. I began a slow orbit to return to the GI's position. I didn't see him any more. Suddenly, the smoke popped. Purple smoke. Right under the tree were the radio man had been.
"MADDOG, IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, MOVE ALL FRIENDLIES NORTH EAST OF SMOKE. WE WILL MAKE STRAFING RUN SOUTH EAST TO NORTH WEST."
A hard turn to the left to get on track, then I brought our tail around. I tried to pick up an extra fifty feet, just to see if I could see anything. Nothing. I fired into the purple. The minigun turned the vegetation to mulch, and I could feel the helicopter slow just slightly as it fired. The tree went down completely.
"FIREFLY! MOVING NORTHEAST. ENEMY IS FOLLOWING. CAN'T.... RUN... MUCH..." It was a different voice on the radio. I took us on a high right orbit. The Captain was the right seater, he leaned way out to get his best view. I could hear the wind blowing in his microphone.
"TALLY! TALLY FUCKING TARGET! TURN LEFT! LEFT, HARD NOW!"
I put the cyclic all the way into my leg, pulled up on the collective, and gave the left pedal a good stomp. My transient torque probably went red for a few seconds, but as long as I was still in the air, it didn't matter. "What did you see, Sir!? What did it look like?"
"Cannot describe! I'll guide you on target!"
"What do you mean you can't describe!? Was it one target or two? Is it a person? A goddam bear? WHAT!?"
It was not a bear. It came up to the tree tops, but if it held still, I don't think I've have been able to see it from the air. My eyes couldn't make sense of it.
"Come left! bearing 155. You see it!?"
"I see it! Going rockets!"
With a massive \**kersheww!\** the rockets left my pods. The smoke and fire blocked my vision momentarily, but then the trail arced toward the target and impacted short. I fired again. And again. Too far right. Now left, but closer! The third impact landed between it and the soldiers I could now see out the corner of my eye, running onto a hilltop clearing.
"HIT HIM AGAIN!" The captain shouted. I fired again. The fire and smoke sent trees and dirt into the air.
"I'm pulling off!"
"NO! HIT HIM AGAIN!"
I banked right. "We'll come around again!" But strangely enough, I think I should have listened to the Captain. I had three hundred meters between myself and the target, but suddenly the helicopter shuttered like it had been grabbed. All the gauges went into the red. I was no where near the trees.
"Are we snagged!?"
"Pull up! pull UP!"
"The engine is stalling!"
"What?"
We slowed down to 20 knots, then ten... then backward. The engine whined, the rotors vibrated and shuttered above us. The controls were useless suddenly, pulling against something that would not release.
"*\*MAYDAY, MAYDAY, ALL STATIONS, FIREFLY ZERO SIX GOING DOWN! GRID, VICTOR FOXTROT NINER-\*"*
Gunshots came from the right of the helicopter. The Captain had his sidearm drawn and was firing toward the tail. The helicopter tilted left and the rotors impacted the trees. A thunderous crash and shattering noise as the helicopter tried to rotate against the torque, finally settling in the trees.
Suddenly racked with pain, my mind was a prisoner in the inflamed cage of my skull. The captain was on top of me, the bird was a mangle of steel. And then the arms came... and legs... and tree trunks and tails and limbs of every kind. Clawing at the windscreen. Thousands of limbs, disembodied yet all attached to the same source.
I transmitted one last time. "It walks on more than four legs..."
| SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA
“We need backup NOW!”
“It should be on its way.”
“Not on its way, NOW!”
“Guess we’ll just have to survive till then.” Mavin chuckled, but immediately stopped when he saw the creature approaching them.
“Wait now it has THREE legs? I thought it had two?!”
“Idk dude, this morning it had four so I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This is getting increasingly weird.” Maxwell then laughed himself, not believing the situation.
“News of the backup team,” spoke Mavin, “the eastern team that’s coms went out, their dead.”
“Dang it, this thing I more dangerous than we thought.”
“Guess it’s just us, time to bring in the government...”
“Shoot, I guess we have to. Let the record show though, I was not a fan of this plan.”
“Sure.”
Mavin pulled out his pager and typed out a message.
IT WALKS ON FOUR LEGS IN THE MORNING, TWO LEGS AT NOON AND THREE LEGS IN THE EVENING, IT ALREADY KILLED HALF OF THE STRIKE TEAM. PLEASE SEND HELP
| |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | The Captain was startled at the sound of the door sliding open. She hadn’t expected news of the strike team so soon. Was the mission completed already? There might be promotions to assign.
But the messenger did not bring good news. “Captain, the team is requesting help. They’re reporting losses of nearly 60%.”
“What?!” That couldn’t be. The team was composed of her finest soldiers, armed with the best weaponry the Executive Office conceded to provide. “How?”
“We … don’t know with certainty.” The messenger chose his words carefully. He knew too well the gravity of the situation. The strike team was supposed to be unstoppable; there was no backup plan. If they failed, the entire operation would end before it began – no Infiltration, no Seizure, no Expansion. “They were unable to identify the attacker … or attackers.”
“Well, what *do* we know?” Frustration rippled through the Captain’s voice.
“We know they’re using some kind of deadly weaponry. We know they were able to detect the strikers despite their stealth measures. We know that … well, the report stated that no defensive tactics were successful. It … they … simply adapted and persisted.”
The Captain felt her body grow weak. The team needed help. But there was no help to provide. No one and nothing aboard this vessel could defeat an enemy so terrifyingly effective.
She briefly considered a gamble, an all-out offensive, consequences be damned. But, no. Returning home a failure would cost her dearly enough. No need to make things worse.
“Then we retreat,” she declared, employing a well-practiced emotionless tone.
“Yes, Captain,” the messenger responded automatically. Then, with more hesitance, “And … the team?”
“The team is lost,” she said firmly. “We misread this target. We need more information. We need to return to the Terminal and mend and plan again. We will return. With the Office’s blessing, we will return.”
“Yes, Captain.”
As he turned to leave, she let her practiced poise drop slightly and sighed, “Did we manage to gather information, at least?”
The messenger nodded.
“What do they call themselves? The natives of this planet?”
“Man.” | SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA
“We need backup NOW!”
“It should be on its way.”
“Not on its way, NOW!”
“Guess we’ll just have to survive till then.” Mavin chuckled, but immediately stopped when he saw the creature approaching them.
“Wait now it has THREE legs? I thought it had two?!”
“Idk dude, this morning it had four so I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This is getting increasingly weird.” Maxwell then laughed himself, not believing the situation.
“News of the backup team,” spoke Mavin, “the eastern team that’s coms went out, their dead.”
“Dang it, this thing I more dangerous than we thought.”
“Guess it’s just us, time to bring in the government...”
“Shoot, I guess we have to. Let the record show though, I was not a fan of this plan.”
“Sure.”
Mavin pulled out his pager and typed out a message.
IT WALKS ON FOUR LEGS IN THE MORNING, TWO LEGS AT NOON AND THREE LEGS IN THE EVENING, IT ALREADY KILLED HALF OF THE STRIKE TEAM. PLEASE SEND HELP
| |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | ##Begin transmission.
*************
I-is this thing on? Okay.
I'm squad leader Aaron Leeds of UK strike team 'Whiskey', which consists of Roxie Summers, Charlie Boyle, Daniel Denton, and Ivan Antonov. The date is currently September 1st, and we are somewhere in Sheffield, in some sort of warehouse. Let me explain the situation.
We got a call at around 3am about some sort of creature on three legs terrorising the populace. We're used to our fair share of hoaxes and 'swatting', we didn't take it seriously. At most, it'll be some sort of Halloween prank.
We arrive, and it looks like someone's gone at multiple civvies with a chainsaw. It was gruesome, and our newbie Charlie had to take a second to vomit. We're instantly on alert. This obviously isn't some sort of hoax. We roam around the seemingly abandoned city, following the trail of mutilated corpses to kill the source.
After a few hours, dawn broke. We were exhausted, but still on high alert. After all,some maniac obviously did this - possibly even the 'three-legged monster' we came for in the first place. About half an hour later, Roxie says she saw a silhouette. It was, in her own words, 'inhumanly fast' and was on *four* legs now.
Soon after, Ivan cried out. There was.. I don't know how to describe it. It was certainly inhuman, looking like nothing but a bony torso, with four gangly limbs sticking out in random places. It's claws were within Ivan's stomach, and then the neck *opened..*
And Ivan lost his head.
We all panicked - I know, unprofessional, right? But this abomination literally cut open and ate one of our comrades within seconds. We turned our rifles to the monster, and opened fire. It seemed to be able to hear us, because it immediately darted out of sight with a screeching sound. We ran after it, weapons at the ready, avenging our friend. We should have called for backup. By the time it stopped, it was about noon. Adrenalin was the only thing stopping us from collapsing, but we couldn't just *leave* after what it did to our *friend.*
Me and the others followed it into a warehouse, which smelt of death and copper. I heard a gurgling sound, then it cut off abruptly. We split up, Roxie and Daniel going to the left in search of the gurgling sound. Me and Charlie went to the right, to try and flank whatever it was - if it even could be flanked.
I saw a blur - it was on two legs, this time - and the sharp *crack* of bone. I heard Daniel cry out, then Roxie scream and open fire. The world flashed white, the gunfire's contrast to the darkness blinding me for a moment. Suddenly, Roxie screeched as well, before the world faded into darkness once more.
The creature's legs had grown longer, almost three times their original size, and gaping wounds were visible where the previous two legs were. I could see the black, distended lungs of the thing contracting and expanding more rapidly than should be possible. I was stood there, transfixed by the downright *ungodly* thing that had slaughtered our allies.
Charlie tugged at my sleeve, silent but his intent clear. *We need to leave.* Charlie was faring better than I, but we both had it tough. We dove into the maze of rooms and ransacked funiture, looking for signal. We split up, both with our own communicators.
Please, if you get this, come to ***[DATA EXPUNGED]*** as soon as you can. I don't know what it is, but it walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening. Half of my strike team is dead.
Please send help.
*******
##Message repeats. | SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA
“We need backup NOW!”
“It should be on its way.”
“Not on its way, NOW!”
“Guess we’ll just have to survive till then.” Mavin chuckled, but immediately stopped when he saw the creature approaching them.
“Wait now it has THREE legs? I thought it had two?!”
“Idk dude, this morning it had four so I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This is getting increasingly weird.” Maxwell then laughed himself, not believing the situation.
“News of the backup team,” spoke Mavin, “the eastern team that’s coms went out, their dead.”
“Dang it, this thing I more dangerous than we thought.”
“Guess it’s just us, time to bring in the government...”
“Shoot, I guess we have to. Let the record show though, I was not a fan of this plan.”
“Sure.”
Mavin pulled out his pager and typed out a message.
IT WALKS ON FOUR LEGS IN THE MORNING, TWO LEGS AT NOON AND THREE LEGS IN THE EVENING, IT ALREADY KILLED HALF OF THE STRIKE TEAM. PLEASE SEND HELP
| |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | ######[](#dropcap)
"Please send help," Reagen whispered into the walkie-talkie. His legs were becoming cramped, but he didn't dare move a muscle, for fear that the *thing* would hear him. "I'm begging you," he added.
The forest around him had become deadly silent. He could only pray that the log would hide him. That it would pass by without looking for the only soldier left alive in this godforsaken jungle.
He'd known it was a bad idea when they had taken a wrong turn into the section of the forest that the locals had warned them about. "There's a monster who lives in the forest," they had said. Ramon and Davis had laughed it off. But Reagen had seen the fear in their eyes, the way they refused to walk past a certain spot.
He had pulled one of them aside. "What do you mean, monster?"
The man had simply shaken his head, his eyes wide. "We don't speak its name. We just call it the Dreamkeeper."
"The Dreamkeeper?" Reagen's brow furrowed. That made no sense. But the man wasn't inclined to speak further, and he scrambled off.
It had been dawn then, and it was only an hour before their squad would find out what the man had meant.
It stood like a human. Except it was over ten feet tall and clotheless, with rubbery, gray skin that absorbed bullets easily into its flesh. Its face--featureless--was haunting.
The first one to be sucked up was Johnson, absorbed into its skin with a sickening sucking sound. He hadn't even had time to scream or run. It stood on two legs but barreled toward him on all four, clutching and grasping at him until he was just...gone.
Despite the number of bullets they shot at it, it just wouldn't die. Every fifteen minutes or so, someone would become tired, would fall, would become a victim. It was around high noon when Ramon suggested they use the detonator. It was the only one they had left--they had been waiting for their supply train to come when they had been dispatched elsewhere--and luckily, Davis had good enough aim that it had killed the creature.
It fell, two of its limbs oozing a thick, black goo where they had been blasted off of its body.
Except it hadn't died. Because several moments later, its arm swiped out, catching Ramon--who had been standing around, staring at it with a mix of shock and horror--unawares and sucking him in. Reagen could still see the expression on Ramon's face. The helplessness. The horror.
Things had only gotten worse from there. With the knowledge that bullets were useless and they had no more bombs, the only option left was to retreat. But everywhere looked the same, and there was no way to know which way was out. And the creature was faster than them. Much faster. Without eyes or a nose, the only way it could track them was either through hearing or through tactile sensation.
By evening, everyone had scattered in all different directions.
By a stroke of luck, Reagen had found David, only for him to be eaten minutes later. He held back tears and sobs of desperation as he dove under a tree trunk, staying as still as he could.
From that position, it was then that he saw a sight that made sure he would never sleep again. The creature stood, just yards away from him, almost twice its original size, for what seemed like forever.
Then, to Reagen's horror, its limb began to grow back. Inch by inch, the rubbery folds of its skin expanded and grew longer. Then it loped off on three legs, leaving Reagen laying there, completely still.
*****
r/AlannaWu
| SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA
“We need backup NOW!”
“It should be on its way.”
“Not on its way, NOW!”
“Guess we’ll just have to survive till then.” Mavin chuckled, but immediately stopped when he saw the creature approaching them.
“Wait now it has THREE legs? I thought it had two?!”
“Idk dude, this morning it had four so I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This is getting increasingly weird.” Maxwell then laughed himself, not believing the situation.
“News of the backup team,” spoke Mavin, “the eastern team that’s coms went out, their dead.”
“Dang it, this thing I more dangerous than we thought.”
“Guess it’s just us, time to bring in the government...”
“Shoot, I guess we have to. Let the record show though, I was not a fan of this plan.”
“Sure.”
Mavin pulled out his pager and typed out a message.
IT WALKS ON FOUR LEGS IN THE MORNING, TWO LEGS AT NOON AND THREE LEGS IN THE EVENING, IT ALREADY KILLED HALF OF THE STRIKE TEAM. PLEASE SEND HELP
| |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | The agency I work for resembles a typical office work place. Each employee sits at a desk, surrounded by the tan fabric walls that separate each of us. We are very unique in the work we perform though. So unique that when a job posting is advertised it’s for a normal call center position, and once you are accepted you have to go through rigorous questioning and interview process where you learn what is really going on. The work we deal with is in magic. Yup, you got that right, magic. If you aren’t able to handle it, no worries there are witches and wizards who will erase the memory of the secret interview and you will be on your way without knowing what happened. My job was scrolling through all the glitched spells that were reported and determining how to fix them.
That morning I sat at my computer scrolling through the feed of accidental spells. There were the usual glitches, turning one's sibling into toad, bewitching a broom that suddenly goes rogue and trashes the house, giving oneself powers to breath underwater only to make it permanent which results in one having to keep their face in a sink until someone can write the proper code to resolve it. Today though there was a new problem I had never seen before and it was caused by a Wizard named Bethesda. The glitch was tagged with the highest urgency level, a level 5, and the computer monitor read “Humans in perilous danger on carnival ride gone wrong!!! Highest Priority!”
The situation intrigued me and I put my initials next to it in order to claim it. Apparently there was no time for them to write a description in the description field and had been reported only half an hour ago. I called the response number and got Bethesda on the phone.
“Hello, is this Bethesda?”
“Yes, please help. It’s gone wrong, terribly wrong,” Bethesda replied. His voice was trembling.
“Can you tell me what happened? How can we help?” I asked.
The conversation went on for a few more minutes but between the uncontrollable sobs he just sounded like a murmuring baby with no comprehensible words. Finally I got a someone standing by on the phone and got the whole situation, which was more bizarre than I could have imagined.
Bethesda was located at a carnival, where illegally he’d been hosting a special ride. He had taken enclosed ferris wheel pods off the wheel and bewitched them to fly customers around the carnival six hundred feet above the ground. The whole case including the bottom of the pod were made of clear material that was as see through as glass. Well, there were about ten of these pods zipping above the carnival with delighted passengers when all of a sudden a major glitch, the pods just stopped. Now they were suspended in the air with no way to get them down. As we were speaking, the frightened passengers were banging on the pods trying to get out, shouting for help to no avail.
What a sight to see! Imagine, these pods suspended in the air. Floating orbs carrying humans. Well, I never would of thought. Did you catch that I said there were ten pods? Well there were, but now there are nine and that is why the young wizard Bethesda is so upset. Unfortunately when the glitch happened all of the pods immediately stopped zipping around and were stuck suspended in the air, all except for one. Somehow one crash landed to the ground and broke apart with a loud bang. First responders are at the scene now transporting the people to the hospital. I wish them well.
This situation was so new to me I did not know how to code it correctly and fix the glitch. We have a simulation program and I spent hours writing different codes and testing them out to see what would happen. This was no out of control rogue broom, there were lives on the line! Finally I wrote a code that went through three different test simulators and we decided it use it. By that time the passengers were no longer frantic but resigned to their fate, whatever that was.
The whole office was perched around me. We had a live camera feed to see what was happening on the ground. All those people and a piece of code determined their fate. We gave a call to unclick the “test run” box which would put the code out of test mode and into real life. We counted down:
10, 9, 8,7, silently praying it would work,
6,5,4,please let these people be okay,
3,2,1..here goes nothing.
I clicked “Run program,” immediately the pods started moving. They were frantically bobbing up and down. Then, as quick as a flash, they zoomed up, up, up until we could no longer see them. Well, shoot. I looked at the code I had so meticulously written, and that is where I saw the mistake. In my final rush I meant to hit the spacebar but had actually typed the word “SPACE”. | Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | I was the last one left in my agency. It had been a week since the power went out, a day since my last co-worker was... taken... and a month since the god damned glitch had begun. It all started the way most things do, on the internet. E3 had been rough for Bethesda forming thousands of Memes related to... Him. It had been the final straw for him. He had released a Trojan Horse that invaded the most skilled people surrounding any people it came in contact with, assimilating all people slowly but surely. Our agency was infiltrated at the beginning, when we had been called in to investigate what should have been an innocuous case. I had to be the last person left... because I was just fucking lucky. I had never bought Skyrim HD Redux Deluxe Remaster DLC Season Pass Expansion Definitive Ultimate Edition. That had saved me until now. I cower inside this room, holding a piece of paper writing the end of worlds, and I can hear one voice. Ear numbingly loud and in perfect unison. They had played me like a game of chess, and had gotten checkmate. I was trapped here in a dark dark room. They had guided me slowly with their sirens calls, knowing I would resist they pushed me into the heart of the building. Their strategy, It just worked. Now I could hear one thing as the doors around me shattered.
***IM TODD HOWARD. NOW BUY MY FUCKING GAME*** | Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | The Steam Wizards had always been known for the cataloguing of spells but their main mission had been repurposed recently by special request of the High Wizards Gates and Jobs. Where they had originally been collectors and distributors of easy to use and entertaining spells for the every-day wizard, made particularly popular by the very easy to use MVC (Magic Vector Caster, the systems that allow lesser magicians to interact with the magic void without setting up the usually required safety spells).
I had been working for the agency for around five years, but don't remember ever running the whole time I had been there. The reason for this atypical burst of speed was a, frankly, fairly surprising pace being set by my managing wizard, Gaben. He wasn't the tallest or most physically impressive of Wizards but was revered as a genius by a huge community due to his work making magic more accessible. And today he was obviously in a hurry.
“Sir! Sir, I think I've found something new that I wanted an opinion on. I ran it by my arch-mage and it told me to bring it higher. Do you have a second?”
Gaben barely glanced at me out the corner of his eye. “You need to be quick, give me the elevator pitch. I'm already late.”
I had figured this would be the case and launched into the explanation I had already been preparing as I caught up to him.
Since the repurposing of our order we had been tasked to check the works we were selling to people for safety purposes specifically. There was an outbreak of Vector Anti-Corruption violations that resulted in people losing time, money, or in some more serious examples, limbs, due to malicious alterations made by rogue Spellcasters.
Of course I didn't need to break this down to Gaben so I simply blurted out “I know what Bethesda's next step is.”
It was true as well, and a big deal. Our department had been after him for a while, and in a small group of his old teammates we were reviewing his work to look for hints on his next move.
Bethesda had been a partner here for a while and was well known for large, intricate spells, very popular with people who were less than happy with their lives, to allow them to escape to a new world, in a sense.
Again, Gaben barely bat an eye. “The recurring loops, right? Yeah we just caught them too, completely by coincidence actually, but we know where he's going to be, I'm meeting with the authorities now.”
I stopped in my tracks. That was typical Bethesda: he had always been a prankster, and fitting a recurring loop into a verse of a spell was one of his trademarks he had always pulled around the office. It would keep the caster trapped repeating the same verse infinitely until a third party comes to input an escape spell to interrupt it, or if the caster stops on their own, at which point something unpleasant usually happened. When he did this around the office it might mean a pie materialising above their head, or their trousers dematerialising, but with Bethesda now gone rogue they were potentially a lethal, and easily replicated weapon.
Another of his favourites was modifying the function of illusion spells to draw an image other than what the caster had wanted by subtly changing the spelling of the render verse. Normally it would make people see huge images of his own face everywhere, or a loop of Rick Astley for a whole day.
But that wasn't what I had found. “Actually…”. Gaben was now a few steps ahead thanks to my pause. “Actually that sounds like a diversion, this is worse!”
“You've got about 15 seconds, buddy. This had better be good.”
“It's not the spells, it's the MVC itself! He'd been making small changes the whole time he was here. I think he's going to activate them anyday now. People will be able to summon anything they want for free, he’ll be able to disable the VAC, it's going to be chaos. I can show you, here!!” and I waved the wad of scrolls I was carrying in his face.
This time he blinked, but he didn't slow down. He got to the door and reached for the handle, my shoulders dropped. Maybe he was too busy to help me with this, maybe I went too high up the chain and should have done this myself.
He pulled the door open and leaned in. “Give me a minute, guys, I'm really sorry but something has come up”. Through the crack between his shoulder and the door I saw a thumbs up from Wizard Gates and a solemn nod from Wizard Wozniak.
Gaben turned to me and said. “This does sound serious, and I don't want you to be right and for us to have not investigated this. But you'll need back up.” He handed me a small business card. “Call Arch-Mage Kojima, tell him I said it's urgent. You'd better run, this could be a catastrophe!”
I turned on my heels and began to jog back the way I had come.
“Oh one more thing!”
I sound around to see him with one hand on the door handle and a smile on his face.
“Great work, Notch.”
***Edited for spelling and accuracy
| Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | "Sir. Can you try it explain what happened here?"
"I.. I've never seen anything like it. It was... horrifying."
"Relax. Take your time. What did the man look like?"
"He... He didn't have a face. Just a blur of colours..."
"Right... What did he say?"
"Well he stared right at that wall over there. Then talked to me as if he was right beside me! Even pointed and gestured while facing the wall! Weirdest thing is... I swear he sounded like one our employees."
"What did he say exactly?"
"Uh... First he told me about the best general store in the city. Then mentioned something about being a hero before he suffered an injury.... Then he asked if I had lost my sweetroll."
"I see. I see. What happened next? How'd he get into the vault?"
"He... Just stood there. Then started slowly levitating into the air without moving a muscle. Like a doll! Then he went through the roof! Literally! Like some kind of ghost. Next thing I know he walks down the stairs... backwards with all our gold and money in his pockets."
"How'd he fit all that in his pockets..."
"You tell me! He was walking awfully slow. But he kept like... teleporting? Sometimes forward, then back, then he was at the door and gone!"
"Seems like our guy... Is there anything else?"
"Yeah... before he left he dropped something..."
"A spoon?"
"Yeah..."
| Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | "Magic Support, what is the name on the account?"
"..... Bethesda."
"..."
"Hehe... Uh, well, I goofed a little."
"................... *audible sigh*"
"Uhm, well, you see, I was just trying to get this guy to look at me, and uh, well... his head started spinning in full circles. He's uh... not recovering too good."
"Bethesda... just... it's a marvel they continue to let you perform... Listen. We'll clean this up. Just take extra care next time. Maybe PROOFREAD before you cast? Perhaps get a team of licens-"
"Hey, MS, lovely chat, I just heard they haven't used my Spellkit '*Skyrim*' in Germany."
"Bethesda, slow down. Let's do one thing at a-"
"Listen, I'd love to chat, but there's lots of money to be made. You fix this, send me the bill, and I'll call you soon, kay? Thanks!!!"
\*click* | Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | ######[](#dropcap)
"What do you think this one does?" Harry stared at the intricate box in his hand, shaking it gingerly. It had been confiscated just earlier today--another one in the long line that Bethesda had been leaving behind--but, once again, there was no label. "I really hate him. He's just creating work for us."
David scoffed. "He just likes the attention. That's why he keeps leaving out these glitched spells on purpose. Most of them are useless anyway. I would just toss it. It probably won't help you with locating him anyhow." He took a drag of his pipe and went back to reading his newspaper, his legs propped up on his desk.
"This is the only clue we have though. The other ones all vanished, you know this. And I have to solve this case by tomorrow night or Rona's going to have my ass. We've been on this for months." Harry groaned, shaking the box once more. It made a light clinking sound, but was otherwise silent.
The last box they'd opened without checking first had spawned a ghoul in the office, which had eventually exploded and left their entire place smelling like grease for *months.* He shuddered just thinking about it. He'd gotten so many death glares from that one he was surprised he was still alive.
"Send it through the Inspector."
"I already did that. It didn't come up with anything dangerous. But you know how sneaky that rat bastard is."
David rolled his eyes. "If the inspector says it's okay, it's definitely okay. How would the inspection agency still be running if their million pound machine didn't work as advertised?"
Harry hmm'ed. Bethesda was smart. But David was right. The Inspector was made to catch glitches. That was the entire point of its existence. But he still hemmed and hawed over the box, feeling his way around the wooden carvings. Should he just open it?
Finally, David sighed in exasperation. "Give me that thing. If the Inspector says it's fine, it's fine. Here, lemme show you." He cracked open the box, and a puff of smoke flew out of the box. He coughed, waving his hands. Then he glanced inside. "Look? It's fine, see?"
Harry gazed at him with a mixture of horror and disgust. "Um..."
"What?" David asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Harry slowly shook his head and uttered a spell. Then he uttered it again. And then a third time. By the fourth time, he looked more apologetic than anything else.
"Well, on the bright side, I think I know what Bethesda meant when he said this box would be twice the fun," he said, wincing.
"What do you mean?"
"I think he meant two glitches. One to pass the Inspector, and the other...makes the spell permanent and irreversible."
"What are you talking about?!" David finally lost his temper, his voice squeaking. He paused. Squeaking?
Harry turned the small mirror on his desk around to face David. "You're kind of...a giant bat."
*****
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu! | Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | I nodded to Sasha, the receptionist as I walked into the building. She rolled her eyes at me and started to search through her papers.
"Thought it wouldn't be too long until you came back here. What's it been, a whole 3 hours?" she mused, giving me a knowing grin. I returned it snarkily.
It wasn't exactly either of our faults. This building was the biggest hospital in the area, when magic goes wrong it doesn't tend to go well for the person on the receiving end.
Sasha would be looking through for the papers about the case I was here for. We knew each other so well by now that she didn't bother with all the formalities of going through clearance any more. That and there wasn't many other people who walk into a hospital fully healthy, dressed in a jacket and dress pants.
"Closer to 3 weeks, but you know me. How could I ever stay away from your pretty face?" I brushed a thumb across her jawline until a stack of papers swatted my hand away.
"Elaine, Ward 5. Mostly broken bones and a lot of internal bruising. Her body has been starting to reject our attempts to speed up the healing, so it's imperfect. But she's talking. And she called straight for your company."
Straight to business, Sasha never was one for long chats. Professional to a tee. I liked that about her, but it didn't stop me playing with her at times. Still, I was here for work, not play.
"No surprises there. Must have been a big hit." I mused, glancing through the x-rays and what little statements had been given so far to brief myself before I walked in there.
"Eye witness says she hit the side of a mountain with a sonic boom."
Sasha said it with a professional detachment which somehow only made it sound a lot worse. Clearly she saw my wince as she gave a slightly sympathetic hum.
"Right, well I'll ask her. Thanks for the papers." I nodded, moving on down the corridors that I'd mapped out in my head long ago.
---
It didn't take too long to get up to Ward 5. It was one of the ones I'm most familiar with. Intensive care for those who have suffered magical trauma. Didn't take too much to spot Elaine either. Protective wards had been placed all around her keeping the air sterile and reducing gravity enough that she could lie down for extended periods without sores or aching.
The body of the woman was all strung up in casts and bandages, holding her in place as best possible. Any parts which weren't clinical white were a marbled mix of purples and peach. That and the golden brown of her hair.
"Elaine?" I asked softly as I approached. I could see that she was awake, but startling her wouldn't help anyone. she looked over towards me and groaned weakly in affirmative.
I could see her struggling to work to get herself more comfortable and quickly moved in to help. By now I knew which wards were which, and how picky they were about movement. She didn't seem to find anywhere especially comfortable by the look on her face, but when you're more bandage than skin that can't be too surprising.
"I didn't know." she murmured, barely a whisper.
"Not many do when they step into the realms of Bethesda for the first few times." I reassured, reaching into a pocket on the inside of my jacket for a pen to note down her experience. "What happened?"
"I... I'm not stupid, okay? I'm not some idiot, I-" I shushed her, placing a hand on Elaines shoulder to help calm her down.
"No one ever said you were. These guys just don't seem to double check what they do. If it works, throw it into the world and let the little guys figure it out. That's why us little guys keep doing what we do. No one's to blame but Bethesda, and your help is going to stop anyone else suffering."
I tried to keep my voice as empathetic as possible, but it was starting to become a script. I've been tracking down Bethesda for so long but there seems to be no pies they've not stuck their fingers into yet. The struggle rages on.
Elaine nodded, taking as deep of a breath as she could through the feeling of multiple cracked ribs.
"Ever since I was little, I always loved the idea of horse riding, you know? Owning a pony, the whole thing. Never able to get into it. Couldn't afford it, never got lessons, never got anything.
"Then a few weeks back I saw this ad, magically adapted horses which could take you anywhere, even mountain climbing. And if they couldn't do the jump or go up that hill or whatever, they'd just stop and not even attempt it. So it was all safe for newbies. Bit more expensive, but it would be fine."
"And it wasn't?"
The cough that came out of her was clearly an attempt at a laugh.
"At first it was fine. I'd checked it over myself too, looked into stuff a bit, to try and check it was all safe and fine. But there were so many layers of it all. I played it safe, just up and down a few natural paths, then steeper hills, but it got stuck at one point. Trying to go over some rock it didn't listen when I said to jump, it just walked over. Then it got stuck with its face in the ground still standing on the other side of this boulder.
"I didn't know what to do, if I should try to work on making it go backwards, sideways, forwards wasn't working because apparently the ground was just a big cliff face. So I dismounted.
"Next thing I know I'm flying, like shooting through the air so fast and I can't do anything to stop it. Then I woke up here."
I was silent for a good minute attempting to process what I had just been told. It took Elaines face dissolving as the hope that I could help her started to drain away to snap me out of it.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"No, no. That's not it. I've seen these tricks go very wrong, very quickly. I just... I can't even work out how you would get anywhere near that kind of logic to make anything like that happen."
"You're not the only one." her voice was sad and solemn. She'd probably been telling people this for a while and had no one believe her because it was quite so outlandish.
"I'll get to the bottom of this, Elaine. Now rest. Apparently, I've got some horses to round up."
(Skyrim tilt horses, often used for Any% Speedruns. Yes, this is an actual glitch. Enjoy. c: ) | Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | One of the necklaces on my desk was real, the other was fake.
I had squeezed the felonious wizard who made them until he told me which was which. Then I forgot to mark the boxes. Now I was at risk of giving the owner back a fake instead of the real thing.
While conducting a keen examination of these two pieces of jewelry, a dame floats into my office.
That isn't a metaphor. She literally floated in through the wall.
"Inspector Casper!" She yelled, loud. I recoiled and went for my wand, grabbed my telephone by accident, and leaned too far back in my chair. It tipped over, I slammed the back of my head into the Parquet, tore my phone off my desk, and knocked the two jewelry boxes to the floor.
Laying there, stars in my eyes, I said the first thing that came to mind.
"Ow."
Intent on giving me a heart attack, the floating vixen went right through my desk, pivoted so she was parallel to the ground, and hovered right above my face. I should have been able to feel her breath on my lips as she spoke, but I didn't.
"Inspector Casper," she said, yelling right into my face, "I need your help!"
I blinked a few times and found it did nothing to clear the spots out of my vision. Then, for lack of a better plan, I blinked some more.
"Honey, you sure know how to make an entrance." I blew on her face like it was a lit candle. "Personal space, sweetheart." She got the message and floated away.
My head ached. I picked myself up, picked my chair up, picked my phone up, picked the boxes up, put them back on my desk, and sat back down. Then I took out a menthol cigarette, stuck it in my mouth, and touched the tip of my wand to the end. It lit into an ember and I took a deep drag. The ache in my head began to subside.
"OK, sweetheart, you said something about a case?" I gestured to a chair, regretted it, and then pretended I hadn't gestured in the first place. I took another drag.
The ghost woman started crying. "Oh Inspector, it's terrible! Look what they've done to me!"
I gave her the once-over, "*Who* has done *what* to you?"
I already knew. I'd seen this sort of thing before. I just needed to hear her say it.
"Bethesda!" She yelled the name as if the cameras were rolling and this was her closeup. "Bethesda." She said it again, this time as if the first shot hadn't gone well and the director told her 'not bad honey, but put a little less sauce on that ham.'
"Bethesda," I repeated. Of course, it was Bethesda, these days it was always Bethesda. I read this gal like a book. If I had to guess I'd say a levitation spell glitched to be permanent, combined with an illegal noclip glitch. Heavy stuff. Serious magic.
"What happened?" I leaned back in my chair, misjudged, almost toppled backward again, righted myself, and took a heavy tug on my cig to compensate. "Start from the beginning."
The dame settled down as best she could. Her best wasn't great. As she told the story she tended to float in a disorienting way, here and there. I closed my eyes.
"A few days ago," she began, "I was walking down the street when a gentleman approached and offered me money in exchange for a favor. Normally I wouldn't even consider such an offer, but this gentlemen," she cleared her throat, "made it very worthwhile."
I interrupted, "Well dressed? Offered cash? Large bills?"
She blinked. "Yes. Yes, how did you...?"
I took in some smoke, tried to say "trade secrets, go on", coughed intensely, and instead waved her on with my hand.
She continued, "he said all I needed to do was accept an enchantment from two scrolls he would provide. That was all. He said they would be temporary and give me," she scowled, "'extraordinary' power. He said he just needed a final test. He offered, as I said, a *great* deal of money."
I'd heard it all before, it was Bethesda's M.O. "So you read the scrolls, he leaves you high and dry, and you get to live your life as a ghost, have I got this right?"
She began to cry. "Yes. That's right - the scoundrel tricked me. I couldn't even touch the money after *this.*" She made an all-inclusive gesture toward herself. "I haven't eaten in two days, Inspector Casper. If I don't fix this soon," she paused dramatically and looked out the window, which itself looked out onto a brick wall. "I'm afraid I shall die."
Then she turned back to me and had tears in her eyes. When they fell they passed right through the floor down to who knows where. The center of the Earth I guess. "Will you take my case, Inspector?"
I stubbed my cigarette out in my ashtray and sat up straight. "What's your name sweetheart?"
She sniffed and wiped fruitlessly at her eyes, her hand passing right through her face. "Dolsy, Dolsy Landrau."
Weird name. "Well, Ms. Landrau, I'll tell you what. I'll take your case, but on one condition."
Dolsy smiled nervously. "Oh, anything Inspector, anything at all."
I opened the two boxes and spun them around so Dolsy could see the necklaces inside.
"Which one of these looks *real* to you?"
She leaned in real close and peered at them both. Finally, she said, "they both look the *same*."
I sucked my teeth. "They do, don't they?" Then I picked one at random, stuck it in my desk drawer, and tossed the other in the garbage pale.
That case solved, I stood up and holstered my wand.
"Ms. Landrau, I'll take the case."
*******
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| Sigh "sir can you tell me the nature of your problem?" These calls are always the same. Portals where you get stuck half way through, poymorth slightly skewed, flying car flying backwards. Its always the same source. Bespesda magic incorperated. "Sir i going to need you to stay calm, im traceing your lower torso as we speek." Of course we developed methods how to 'fix' these problems the problem was there were still problems. I had spoke to many wizards and witches who work there but i had no luck. The company has had to reply on external help. Moders of magic. "Sir im sorry to inform you that half of you is in paris, we have a team on route" these mods are more unstable as the magic. Still the dead nether complain and resurections are so exspencive. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | The Steam Wizards had always been known for the cataloguing of spells but their main mission had been repurposed recently by special request of the High Wizards Gates and Jobs. Where they had originally been collectors and distributors of easy to use and entertaining spells for the every-day wizard, made particularly popular by the very easy to use MVC (Magic Vector Caster, the systems that allow lesser magicians to interact with the magic void without setting up the usually required safety spells).
I had been working for the agency for around five years, but don't remember ever running the whole time I had been there. The reason for this atypical burst of speed was a, frankly, fairly surprising pace being set by my managing wizard, Gaben. He wasn't the tallest or most physically impressive of Wizards but was revered as a genius by a huge community due to his work making magic more accessible. And today he was obviously in a hurry.
“Sir! Sir, I think I've found something new that I wanted an opinion on. I ran it by my arch-mage and it told me to bring it higher. Do you have a second?”
Gaben barely glanced at me out the corner of his eye. “You need to be quick, give me the elevator pitch. I'm already late.”
I had figured this would be the case and launched into the explanation I had already been preparing as I caught up to him.
Since the repurposing of our order we had been tasked to check the works we were selling to people for safety purposes specifically. There was an outbreak of Vector Anti-Corruption violations that resulted in people losing time, money, or in some more serious examples, limbs, due to malicious alterations made by rogue Spellcasters.
Of course I didn't need to break this down to Gaben so I simply blurted out “I know what Bethesda's next step is.”
It was true as well, and a big deal. Our department had been after him for a while, and in a small group of his old teammates we were reviewing his work to look for hints on his next move.
Bethesda had been a partner here for a while and was well known for large, intricate spells, very popular with people who were less than happy with their lives, to allow them to escape to a new world, in a sense.
Again, Gaben barely bat an eye. “The recurring loops, right? Yeah we just caught them too, completely by coincidence actually, but we know where he's going to be, I'm meeting with the authorities now.”
I stopped in my tracks. That was typical Bethesda: he had always been a prankster, and fitting a recurring loop into a verse of a spell was one of his trademarks he had always pulled around the office. It would keep the caster trapped repeating the same verse infinitely until a third party comes to input an escape spell to interrupt it, or if the caster stops on their own, at which point something unpleasant usually happened. When he did this around the office it might mean a pie materialising above their head, or their trousers dematerialising, but with Bethesda now gone rogue they were potentially a lethal, and easily replicated weapon.
Another of his favourites was modifying the function of illusion spells to draw an image other than what the caster had wanted by subtly changing the spelling of the render verse. Normally it would make people see huge images of his own face everywhere, or a loop of Rick Astley for a whole day.
But that wasn't what I had found. “Actually…”. Gaben was now a few steps ahead thanks to my pause. “Actually that sounds like a diversion, this is worse!”
“You've got about 15 seconds, buddy. This had better be good.”
“It's not the spells, it's the MVC itself! He'd been making small changes the whole time he was here. I think he's going to activate them anyday now. People will be able to summon anything they want for free, he’ll be able to disable the VAC, it's going to be chaos. I can show you, here!!” and I waved the wad of scrolls I was carrying in his face.
This time he blinked, but he didn't slow down. He got to the door and reached for the handle, my shoulders dropped. Maybe he was too busy to help me with this, maybe I went too high up the chain and should have done this myself.
He pulled the door open and leaned in. “Give me a minute, guys, I'm really sorry but something has come up”. Through the crack between his shoulder and the door I saw a thumbs up from Wizard Gates and a solemn nod from Wizard Wozniak.
Gaben turned to me and said. “This does sound serious, and I don't want you to be right and for us to have not investigated this. But you'll need back up.” He handed me a small business card. “Call Arch-Mage Kojima, tell him I said it's urgent. You'd better run, this could be a catastrophe!”
I turned on my heels and began to jog back the way I had come.
“Oh one more thing!”
I sound around to see him with one hand on the door handle and a smile on his face.
“Great work, Notch.”
***Edited for spelling and accuracy
| You’re clipping through a rock,
Or picking a vanishing lock,
But Lydia knows how to block
The way to a floating stall stock.
You’re seeing mammoths afloat,
And at stuck NPCs you oft gloat,
But it will hurt quite a lot,
When by giants to space you are shot. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | I was the last one left in my agency. It had been a week since the power went out, a day since my last co-worker was... taken... and a month since the god damned glitch had begun. It all started the way most things do, on the internet. E3 had been rough for Bethesda forming thousands of Memes related to... Him. It had been the final straw for him. He had released a Trojan Horse that invaded the most skilled people surrounding any people it came in contact with, assimilating all people slowly but surely. Our agency was infiltrated at the beginning, when we had been called in to investigate what should have been an innocuous case. I had to be the last person left... because I was just fucking lucky. I had never bought Skyrim HD Redux Deluxe Remaster DLC Season Pass Expansion Definitive Ultimate Edition. That had saved me until now. I cower inside this room, holding a piece of paper writing the end of worlds, and I can hear one voice. Ear numbingly loud and in perfect unison. They had played me like a game of chess, and had gotten checkmate. I was trapped here in a dark dark room. They had guided me slowly with their sirens calls, knowing I would resist they pushed me into the heart of the building. Their strategy, It just worked. Now I could hear one thing as the doors around me shattered.
***IM TODD HOWARD. NOW BUY MY FUCKING GAME*** | The agency I work for resembles a typical office work place. Each employee sits at a desk, surrounded by the tan fabric walls that separate each of us. We are very unique in the work we perform though. So unique that when a job posting is advertised it’s for a normal call center position, and once you are accepted you have to go through rigorous questioning and interview process where you learn what is really going on. The work we deal with is in magic. Yup, you got that right, magic. If you aren’t able to handle it, no worries there are witches and wizards who will erase the memory of the secret interview and you will be on your way without knowing what happened. My job was scrolling through all the glitched spells that were reported and determining how to fix them.
That morning I sat at my computer scrolling through the feed of accidental spells. There were the usual glitches, turning one's sibling into toad, bewitching a broom that suddenly goes rogue and trashes the house, giving oneself powers to breath underwater only to make it permanent which results in one having to keep their face in a sink until someone can write the proper code to resolve it. Today though there was a new problem I had never seen before and it was caused by a Wizard named Bethesda. The glitch was tagged with the highest urgency level, a level 5, and the computer monitor read “Humans in perilous danger on carnival ride gone wrong!!! Highest Priority!”
The situation intrigued me and I put my initials next to it in order to claim it. Apparently there was no time for them to write a description in the description field and had been reported only half an hour ago. I called the response number and got Bethesda on the phone.
“Hello, is this Bethesda?”
“Yes, please help. It’s gone wrong, terribly wrong,” Bethesda replied. His voice was trembling.
“Can you tell me what happened? How can we help?” I asked.
The conversation went on for a few more minutes but between the uncontrollable sobs he just sounded like a murmuring baby with no comprehensible words. Finally I got a someone standing by on the phone and got the whole situation, which was more bizarre than I could have imagined.
Bethesda was located at a carnival, where illegally he’d been hosting a special ride. He had taken enclosed ferris wheel pods off the wheel and bewitched them to fly customers around the carnival six hundred feet above the ground. The whole case including the bottom of the pod were made of clear material that was as see through as glass. Well, there were about ten of these pods zipping above the carnival with delighted passengers when all of a sudden a major glitch, the pods just stopped. Now they were suspended in the air with no way to get them down. As we were speaking, the frightened passengers were banging on the pods trying to get out, shouting for help to no avail.
What a sight to see! Imagine, these pods suspended in the air. Floating orbs carrying humans. Well, I never would of thought. Did you catch that I said there were ten pods? Well there were, but now there are nine and that is why the young wizard Bethesda is so upset. Unfortunately when the glitch happened all of the pods immediately stopped zipping around and were stuck suspended in the air, all except for one. Somehow one crash landed to the ground and broke apart with a loud bang. First responders are at the scene now transporting the people to the hospital. I wish them well.
This situation was so new to me I did not know how to code it correctly and fix the glitch. We have a simulation program and I spent hours writing different codes and testing them out to see what would happen. This was no out of control rogue broom, there were lives on the line! Finally I wrote a code that went through three different test simulators and we decided it use it. By that time the passengers were no longer frantic but resigned to their fate, whatever that was.
The whole office was perched around me. We had a live camera feed to see what was happening on the ground. All those people and a piece of code determined their fate. We gave a call to unclick the “test run” box which would put the code out of test mode and into real life. We counted down:
10, 9, 8,7, silently praying it would work,
6,5,4,please let these people be okay,
3,2,1..here goes nothing.
I clicked “Run program,” immediately the pods started moving. They were frantically bobbing up and down. Then, as quick as a flash, they zoomed up, up, up until we could no longer see them. Well, shoot. I looked at the code I had so meticulously written, and that is where I saw the mistake. In my final rush I meant to hit the spacebar but had actually typed the word “SPACE”. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | The Steam Wizards had always been known for the cataloguing of spells but their main mission had been repurposed recently by special request of the High Wizards Gates and Jobs. Where they had originally been collectors and distributors of easy to use and entertaining spells for the every-day wizard, made particularly popular by the very easy to use MVC (Magic Vector Caster, the systems that allow lesser magicians to interact with the magic void without setting up the usually required safety spells).
I had been working for the agency for around five years, but don't remember ever running the whole time I had been there. The reason for this atypical burst of speed was a, frankly, fairly surprising pace being set by my managing wizard, Gaben. He wasn't the tallest or most physically impressive of Wizards but was revered as a genius by a huge community due to his work making magic more accessible. And today he was obviously in a hurry.
“Sir! Sir, I think I've found something new that I wanted an opinion on. I ran it by my arch-mage and it told me to bring it higher. Do you have a second?”
Gaben barely glanced at me out the corner of his eye. “You need to be quick, give me the elevator pitch. I'm already late.”
I had figured this would be the case and launched into the explanation I had already been preparing as I caught up to him.
Since the repurposing of our order we had been tasked to check the works we were selling to people for safety purposes specifically. There was an outbreak of Vector Anti-Corruption violations that resulted in people losing time, money, or in some more serious examples, limbs, due to malicious alterations made by rogue Spellcasters.
Of course I didn't need to break this down to Gaben so I simply blurted out “I know what Bethesda's next step is.”
It was true as well, and a big deal. Our department had been after him for a while, and in a small group of his old teammates we were reviewing his work to look for hints on his next move.
Bethesda had been a partner here for a while and was well known for large, intricate spells, very popular with people who were less than happy with their lives, to allow them to escape to a new world, in a sense.
Again, Gaben barely bat an eye. “The recurring loops, right? Yeah we just caught them too, completely by coincidence actually, but we know where he's going to be, I'm meeting with the authorities now.”
I stopped in my tracks. That was typical Bethesda: he had always been a prankster, and fitting a recurring loop into a verse of a spell was one of his trademarks he had always pulled around the office. It would keep the caster trapped repeating the same verse infinitely until a third party comes to input an escape spell to interrupt it, or if the caster stops on their own, at which point something unpleasant usually happened. When he did this around the office it might mean a pie materialising above their head, or their trousers dematerialising, but with Bethesda now gone rogue they were potentially a lethal, and easily replicated weapon.
Another of his favourites was modifying the function of illusion spells to draw an image other than what the caster had wanted by subtly changing the spelling of the render verse. Normally it would make people see huge images of his own face everywhere, or a loop of Rick Astley for a whole day.
But that wasn't what I had found. “Actually…”. Gaben was now a few steps ahead thanks to my pause. “Actually that sounds like a diversion, this is worse!”
“You've got about 15 seconds, buddy. This had better be good.”
“It's not the spells, it's the MVC itself! He'd been making small changes the whole time he was here. I think he's going to activate them anyday now. People will be able to summon anything they want for free, he’ll be able to disable the VAC, it's going to be chaos. I can show you, here!!” and I waved the wad of scrolls I was carrying in his face.
This time he blinked, but he didn't slow down. He got to the door and reached for the handle, my shoulders dropped. Maybe he was too busy to help me with this, maybe I went too high up the chain and should have done this myself.
He pulled the door open and leaned in. “Give me a minute, guys, I'm really sorry but something has come up”. Through the crack between his shoulder and the door I saw a thumbs up from Wizard Gates and a solemn nod from Wizard Wozniak.
Gaben turned to me and said. “This does sound serious, and I don't want you to be right and for us to have not investigated this. But you'll need back up.” He handed me a small business card. “Call Arch-Mage Kojima, tell him I said it's urgent. You'd better run, this could be a catastrophe!”
I turned on my heels and began to jog back the way I had come.
“Oh one more thing!”
I sound around to see him with one hand on the door handle and a smile on his face.
“Great work, Notch.”
***Edited for spelling and accuracy
| The agency I work for resembles a typical office work place. Each employee sits at a desk, surrounded by the tan fabric walls that separate each of us. We are very unique in the work we perform though. So unique that when a job posting is advertised it’s for a normal call center position, and once you are accepted you have to go through rigorous questioning and interview process where you learn what is really going on. The work we deal with is in magic. Yup, you got that right, magic. If you aren’t able to handle it, no worries there are witches and wizards who will erase the memory of the secret interview and you will be on your way without knowing what happened. My job was scrolling through all the glitched spells that were reported and determining how to fix them.
That morning I sat at my computer scrolling through the feed of accidental spells. There were the usual glitches, turning one's sibling into toad, bewitching a broom that suddenly goes rogue and trashes the house, giving oneself powers to breath underwater only to make it permanent which results in one having to keep their face in a sink until someone can write the proper code to resolve it. Today though there was a new problem I had never seen before and it was caused by a Wizard named Bethesda. The glitch was tagged with the highest urgency level, a level 5, and the computer monitor read “Humans in perilous danger on carnival ride gone wrong!!! Highest Priority!”
The situation intrigued me and I put my initials next to it in order to claim it. Apparently there was no time for them to write a description in the description field and had been reported only half an hour ago. I called the response number and got Bethesda on the phone.
“Hello, is this Bethesda?”
“Yes, please help. It’s gone wrong, terribly wrong,” Bethesda replied. His voice was trembling.
“Can you tell me what happened? How can we help?” I asked.
The conversation went on for a few more minutes but between the uncontrollable sobs he just sounded like a murmuring baby with no comprehensible words. Finally I got a someone standing by on the phone and got the whole situation, which was more bizarre than I could have imagined.
Bethesda was located at a carnival, where illegally he’d been hosting a special ride. He had taken enclosed ferris wheel pods off the wheel and bewitched them to fly customers around the carnival six hundred feet above the ground. The whole case including the bottom of the pod were made of clear material that was as see through as glass. Well, there were about ten of these pods zipping above the carnival with delighted passengers when all of a sudden a major glitch, the pods just stopped. Now they were suspended in the air with no way to get them down. As we were speaking, the frightened passengers were banging on the pods trying to get out, shouting for help to no avail.
What a sight to see! Imagine, these pods suspended in the air. Floating orbs carrying humans. Well, I never would of thought. Did you catch that I said there were ten pods? Well there were, but now there are nine and that is why the young wizard Bethesda is so upset. Unfortunately when the glitch happened all of the pods immediately stopped zipping around and were stuck suspended in the air, all except for one. Somehow one crash landed to the ground and broke apart with a loud bang. First responders are at the scene now transporting the people to the hospital. I wish them well.
This situation was so new to me I did not know how to code it correctly and fix the glitch. We have a simulation program and I spent hours writing different codes and testing them out to see what would happen. This was no out of control rogue broom, there were lives on the line! Finally I wrote a code that went through three different test simulators and we decided it use it. By that time the passengers were no longer frantic but resigned to their fate, whatever that was.
The whole office was perched around me. We had a live camera feed to see what was happening on the ground. All those people and a piece of code determined their fate. We gave a call to unclick the “test run” box which would put the code out of test mode and into real life. We counted down:
10, 9, 8,7, silently praying it would work,
6,5,4,please let these people be okay,
3,2,1..here goes nothing.
I clicked “Run program,” immediately the pods started moving. They were frantically bobbing up and down. Then, as quick as a flash, they zoomed up, up, up until we could no longer see them. Well, shoot. I looked at the code I had so meticulously written, and that is where I saw the mistake. In my final rush I meant to hit the spacebar but had actually typed the word “SPACE”. | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | I nodded to Sasha, the receptionist as I walked into the building. She rolled her eyes at me and started to search through her papers.
"Thought it wouldn't be too long until you came back here. What's it been, a whole 3 hours?" she mused, giving me a knowing grin. I returned it snarkily.
It wasn't exactly either of our faults. This building was the biggest hospital in the area, when magic goes wrong it doesn't tend to go well for the person on the receiving end.
Sasha would be looking through for the papers about the case I was here for. We knew each other so well by now that she didn't bother with all the formalities of going through clearance any more. That and there wasn't many other people who walk into a hospital fully healthy, dressed in a jacket and dress pants.
"Closer to 3 weeks, but you know me. How could I ever stay away from your pretty face?" I brushed a thumb across her jawline until a stack of papers swatted my hand away.
"Elaine, Ward 5. Mostly broken bones and a lot of internal bruising. Her body has been starting to reject our attempts to speed up the healing, so it's imperfect. But she's talking. And she called straight for your company."
Straight to business, Sasha never was one for long chats. Professional to a tee. I liked that about her, but it didn't stop me playing with her at times. Still, I was here for work, not play.
"No surprises there. Must have been a big hit." I mused, glancing through the x-rays and what little statements had been given so far to brief myself before I walked in there.
"Eye witness says she hit the side of a mountain with a sonic boom."
Sasha said it with a professional detachment which somehow only made it sound a lot worse. Clearly she saw my wince as she gave a slightly sympathetic hum.
"Right, well I'll ask her. Thanks for the papers." I nodded, moving on down the corridors that I'd mapped out in my head long ago.
---
It didn't take too long to get up to Ward 5. It was one of the ones I'm most familiar with. Intensive care for those who have suffered magical trauma. Didn't take too much to spot Elaine either. Protective wards had been placed all around her keeping the air sterile and reducing gravity enough that she could lie down for extended periods without sores or aching.
The body of the woman was all strung up in casts and bandages, holding her in place as best possible. Any parts which weren't clinical white were a marbled mix of purples and peach. That and the golden brown of her hair.
"Elaine?" I asked softly as I approached. I could see that she was awake, but startling her wouldn't help anyone. she looked over towards me and groaned weakly in affirmative.
I could see her struggling to work to get herself more comfortable and quickly moved in to help. By now I knew which wards were which, and how picky they were about movement. She didn't seem to find anywhere especially comfortable by the look on her face, but when you're more bandage than skin that can't be too surprising.
"I didn't know." she murmured, barely a whisper.
"Not many do when they step into the realms of Bethesda for the first few times." I reassured, reaching into a pocket on the inside of my jacket for a pen to note down her experience. "What happened?"
"I... I'm not stupid, okay? I'm not some idiot, I-" I shushed her, placing a hand on Elaines shoulder to help calm her down.
"No one ever said you were. These guys just don't seem to double check what they do. If it works, throw it into the world and let the little guys figure it out. That's why us little guys keep doing what we do. No one's to blame but Bethesda, and your help is going to stop anyone else suffering."
I tried to keep my voice as empathetic as possible, but it was starting to become a script. I've been tracking down Bethesda for so long but there seems to be no pies they've not stuck their fingers into yet. The struggle rages on.
Elaine nodded, taking as deep of a breath as she could through the feeling of multiple cracked ribs.
"Ever since I was little, I always loved the idea of horse riding, you know? Owning a pony, the whole thing. Never able to get into it. Couldn't afford it, never got lessons, never got anything.
"Then a few weeks back I saw this ad, magically adapted horses which could take you anywhere, even mountain climbing. And if they couldn't do the jump or go up that hill or whatever, they'd just stop and not even attempt it. So it was all safe for newbies. Bit more expensive, but it would be fine."
"And it wasn't?"
The cough that came out of her was clearly an attempt at a laugh.
"At first it was fine. I'd checked it over myself too, looked into stuff a bit, to try and check it was all safe and fine. But there were so many layers of it all. I played it safe, just up and down a few natural paths, then steeper hills, but it got stuck at one point. Trying to go over some rock it didn't listen when I said to jump, it just walked over. Then it got stuck with its face in the ground still standing on the other side of this boulder.
"I didn't know what to do, if I should try to work on making it go backwards, sideways, forwards wasn't working because apparently the ground was just a big cliff face. So I dismounted.
"Next thing I know I'm flying, like shooting through the air so fast and I can't do anything to stop it. Then I woke up here."
I was silent for a good minute attempting to process what I had just been told. It took Elaines face dissolving as the hope that I could help her started to drain away to snap me out of it.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"No, no. That's not it. I've seen these tricks go very wrong, very quickly. I just... I can't even work out how you would get anywhere near that kind of logic to make anything like that happen."
"You're not the only one." her voice was sad and solemn. She'd probably been telling people this for a while and had no one believe her because it was quite so outlandish.
"I'll get to the bottom of this, Elaine. Now rest. Apparently, I've got some horses to round up."
(Skyrim tilt horses, often used for Any% Speedruns. Yes, this is an actual glitch. Enjoy. c: ) | "Magic Support, what is the name on the account?"
"..... Bethesda."
"..."
"Hehe... Uh, well, I goofed a little."
"................... *audible sigh*"
"Uhm, well, you see, I was just trying to get this guy to look at me, and uh, well... his head started spinning in full circles. He's uh... not recovering too good."
"Bethesda... just... it's a marvel they continue to let you perform... Listen. We'll clean this up. Just take extra care next time. Maybe PROOFREAD before you cast? Perhaps get a team of licens-"
"Hey, MS, lovely chat, I just heard they haven't used my Spellkit '*Skyrim*' in Germany."
"Bethesda, slow down. Let's do one thing at a-"
"Listen, I'd love to chat, but there's lots of money to be made. You fix this, send me the bill, and I'll call you soon, kay? Thanks!!!"
\*click* | |
[WP] Magic spells work like programming code. You work for an agency that collects glitched spells. You’re on the case of the wizard Bethesda. | I nodded to Sasha, the receptionist as I walked into the building. She rolled her eyes at me and started to search through her papers.
"Thought it wouldn't be too long until you came back here. What's it been, a whole 3 hours?" she mused, giving me a knowing grin. I returned it snarkily.
It wasn't exactly either of our faults. This building was the biggest hospital in the area, when magic goes wrong it doesn't tend to go well for the person on the receiving end.
Sasha would be looking through for the papers about the case I was here for. We knew each other so well by now that she didn't bother with all the formalities of going through clearance any more. That and there wasn't many other people who walk into a hospital fully healthy, dressed in a jacket and dress pants.
"Closer to 3 weeks, but you know me. How could I ever stay away from your pretty face?" I brushed a thumb across her jawline until a stack of papers swatted my hand away.
"Elaine, Ward 5. Mostly broken bones and a lot of internal bruising. Her body has been starting to reject our attempts to speed up the healing, so it's imperfect. But she's talking. And she called straight for your company."
Straight to business, Sasha never was one for long chats. Professional to a tee. I liked that about her, but it didn't stop me playing with her at times. Still, I was here for work, not play.
"No surprises there. Must have been a big hit." I mused, glancing through the x-rays and what little statements had been given so far to brief myself before I walked in there.
"Eye witness says she hit the side of a mountain with a sonic boom."
Sasha said it with a professional detachment which somehow only made it sound a lot worse. Clearly she saw my wince as she gave a slightly sympathetic hum.
"Right, well I'll ask her. Thanks for the papers." I nodded, moving on down the corridors that I'd mapped out in my head long ago.
---
It didn't take too long to get up to Ward 5. It was one of the ones I'm most familiar with. Intensive care for those who have suffered magical trauma. Didn't take too much to spot Elaine either. Protective wards had been placed all around her keeping the air sterile and reducing gravity enough that she could lie down for extended periods without sores or aching.
The body of the woman was all strung up in casts and bandages, holding her in place as best possible. Any parts which weren't clinical white were a marbled mix of purples and peach. That and the golden brown of her hair.
"Elaine?" I asked softly as I approached. I could see that she was awake, but startling her wouldn't help anyone. she looked over towards me and groaned weakly in affirmative.
I could see her struggling to work to get herself more comfortable and quickly moved in to help. By now I knew which wards were which, and how picky they were about movement. She didn't seem to find anywhere especially comfortable by the look on her face, but when you're more bandage than skin that can't be too surprising.
"I didn't know." she murmured, barely a whisper.
"Not many do when they step into the realms of Bethesda for the first few times." I reassured, reaching into a pocket on the inside of my jacket for a pen to note down her experience. "What happened?"
"I... I'm not stupid, okay? I'm not some idiot, I-" I shushed her, placing a hand on Elaines shoulder to help calm her down.
"No one ever said you were. These guys just don't seem to double check what they do. If it works, throw it into the world and let the little guys figure it out. That's why us little guys keep doing what we do. No one's to blame but Bethesda, and your help is going to stop anyone else suffering."
I tried to keep my voice as empathetic as possible, but it was starting to become a script. I've been tracking down Bethesda for so long but there seems to be no pies they've not stuck their fingers into yet. The struggle rages on.
Elaine nodded, taking as deep of a breath as she could through the feeling of multiple cracked ribs.
"Ever since I was little, I always loved the idea of horse riding, you know? Owning a pony, the whole thing. Never able to get into it. Couldn't afford it, never got lessons, never got anything.
"Then a few weeks back I saw this ad, magically adapted horses which could take you anywhere, even mountain climbing. And if they couldn't do the jump or go up that hill or whatever, they'd just stop and not even attempt it. So it was all safe for newbies. Bit more expensive, but it would be fine."
"And it wasn't?"
The cough that came out of her was clearly an attempt at a laugh.
"At first it was fine. I'd checked it over myself too, looked into stuff a bit, to try and check it was all safe and fine. But there were so many layers of it all. I played it safe, just up and down a few natural paths, then steeper hills, but it got stuck at one point. Trying to go over some rock it didn't listen when I said to jump, it just walked over. Then it got stuck with its face in the ground still standing on the other side of this boulder.
"I didn't know what to do, if I should try to work on making it go backwards, sideways, forwards wasn't working because apparently the ground was just a big cliff face. So I dismounted.
"Next thing I know I'm flying, like shooting through the air so fast and I can't do anything to stop it. Then I woke up here."
I was silent for a good minute attempting to process what I had just been told. It took Elaines face dissolving as the hope that I could help her started to drain away to snap me out of it.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"No, no. That's not it. I've seen these tricks go very wrong, very quickly. I just... I can't even work out how you would get anywhere near that kind of logic to make anything like that happen."
"You're not the only one." her voice was sad and solemn. She'd probably been telling people this for a while and had no one believe her because it was quite so outlandish.
"I'll get to the bottom of this, Elaine. Now rest. Apparently, I've got some horses to round up."
(Skyrim tilt horses, often used for Any% Speedruns. Yes, this is an actual glitch. Enjoy. c: ) | ######[](#dropcap)
"What do you think this one does?" Harry stared at the intricate box in his hand, shaking it gingerly. It had been confiscated just earlier today--another one in the long line that Bethesda had been leaving behind--but, once again, there was no label. "I really hate him. He's just creating work for us."
David scoffed. "He just likes the attention. That's why he keeps leaving out these glitched spells on purpose. Most of them are useless anyway. I would just toss it. It probably won't help you with locating him anyhow." He took a drag of his pipe and went back to reading his newspaper, his legs propped up on his desk.
"This is the only clue we have though. The other ones all vanished, you know this. And I have to solve this case by tomorrow night or Rona's going to have my ass. We've been on this for months." Harry groaned, shaking the box once more. It made a light clinking sound, but was otherwise silent.
The last box they'd opened without checking first had spawned a ghoul in the office, which had eventually exploded and left their entire place smelling like grease for *months.* He shuddered just thinking about it. He'd gotten so many death glares from that one he was surprised he was still alive.
"Send it through the Inspector."
"I already did that. It didn't come up with anything dangerous. But you know how sneaky that rat bastard is."
David rolled his eyes. "If the inspector says it's okay, it's definitely okay. How would the inspection agency still be running if their million pound machine didn't work as advertised?"
Harry hmm'ed. Bethesda was smart. But David was right. The Inspector was made to catch glitches. That was the entire point of its existence. But he still hemmed and hawed over the box, feeling his way around the wooden carvings. Should he just open it?
Finally, David sighed in exasperation. "Give me that thing. If the Inspector says it's fine, it's fine. Here, lemme show you." He cracked open the box, and a puff of smoke flew out of the box. He coughed, waving his hands. Then he glanced inside. "Look? It's fine, see?"
Harry gazed at him with a mixture of horror and disgust. "Um..."
"What?" David asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Harry slowly shook his head and uttered a spell. Then he uttered it again. And then a third time. By the fourth time, he looked more apologetic than anything else.
"Well, on the bright side, I think I know what Bethesda meant when he said this box would be twice the fun," he said, wincing.
"What do you mean?"
"I think he meant two glitches. One to pass the Inspector, and the other...makes the spell permanent and irreversible."
"What are you talking about?!" David finally lost his temper, his voice squeaking. He paused. Squeaking?
Harry turned the small mirror on his desk around to face David. "You're kind of...a giant bat."
*****
More fantasy at r/AlannaWu! | |
[WP]You, an aspiring Heavy Metal vocalist, decide to wear an ancient Egyptian necklace to your first major gig. During the song, you shout out "RAAAAAAAAA!!!" and unwittingly summon the Egyptian god of the sun. | He was waiting for me after the set, rubbing his temples and squinting at the bright stage lights.
"Yes?" he asked.
I'd unwittingly summoned Ra from his five thousand year slumber, and he was having a bit of trouble adjusting.
"I'm not mad at at you," he'd tell me over drinks an hour later. "I'm mad at Pat."
Pat, short for Patareshnes, was his secretary, and she'd forgotten to set his alarm. As a result, he'd overslept by a few millennia. Initially, he was a bit bummed out by the collapse of the ancient Egyptian empire, but he eventually calmed down over a burrito and a cup of coffee.
"This is much better anyway. You get tired of offerings of stale bread and locust filled crops and shit after a while. You say this is from Mexico? I'll have to thank Huitzilopochtli. Oh wait, that's me!"
He chuckled at his own joke and scoffed down another bite as I paid the bill.
The conversation eventually swung around to the matter of the amulet, and he shrugged.
"What can I say, dude. Usually I'm summoned to grant some useless excuse for a general victory in some pointless battle, or to purge the enemies of mankind with some fucked up plague. You're the first one that's offered to go out for a bite and a drink first."
So apparently the amulet granted wishes, but the cost was pricey.
"Normally I need like hundreds of firstborn kids, or good old fashioned human volcano sacrifice..."
I gulped.
"...but since you picked up the bill I guess we're even. Name your poison."
And that, my friends, is the story of how we got ourselves a new drummer.
| A glowing ball of formed above the crowd. The longer I roared “RAAAAAA!” The bigger it grew, the more powerful it grew. The lights on stage and around the nosebleed seats wailed as energy filled them, exploding, as they reached their threshold. The audience was loving it. They didn’t know what was happening, that being said, neither did I, but like bloody hell i embraced it.
As my vocals ended and the guitars shredded that beautiful heavy metal that made my skin crawl in ecstasy, the ball of white light shook in its spot, and exploded like a a balloon! Many looked away, but I stared into the explosion and with another wail of power shouted, “RISE GOD OF GODS, RAAAAAAAAAA!”
I wasn’t aiming to be literal, but the audience shouted with me, looking into the floating giant above them thinking it was a prop, but if it was the band had no hand in it. He was massive, muscular, in his arms a cane and scepter spiraled in blue and gold wailed like he was drumming to the song.
Like a bird of pray it screeched loud enough to make ears bleed, stealing my job right in front of me. Inside the sockets of his feathered head white embers glowed a godly power.
I looked up the giant bird man, smiling like a madman, my eyes bloodshot from staring unblinkingly into a radiant sun right before me. I lifted the golden ankh that had been waving around my neck the whole concert; I lift it high above my head, the chorus, the final chorus rounding its way through the song.
As my lips moved to speak the god looked down upon me, and I looked back at him. I could feel his warmth, his power center around me, the ground felt light, and the crowd clapped and screamed bloody murder as they witnessed me rise slowly from the stage, but I, so overwhelmed by the energy flowing within me forgot about the crowd. Their shouts, their hundreds and thousands of shouts, fell on deaf ears.
The mic wasnt even in my hand, I roared the lyrics till my throat tore, and through the blood seeping From my lips and off my tongue I screeched the final words, like a bird of prey, I screeched “RAAAAAAAAA!” And Ra did as well.
I don’t remember what happened next. The domed roof exploded as light sprung from every crevice of the floor. The drums of war silenced after the last symbols were smashed on. The guitars hum was my last conscious thought, that, and Ra giving me the heavy metal hand sign before vanishing in an instant.
And when the sun vanished, my world filled with darkness. | |
[WP]You, an aspiring Heavy Metal vocalist, decide to wear an ancient Egyptian necklace to your first major gig. During the song, you shout out "RAAAAAAAAA!!!" and unwittingly summon the Egyptian god of the sun. | He was waiting for me after the set, rubbing his temples and squinting at the bright stage lights.
"Yes?" he asked.
I'd unwittingly summoned Ra from his five thousand year slumber, and he was having a bit of trouble adjusting.
"I'm not mad at at you," he'd tell me over drinks an hour later. "I'm mad at Pat."
Pat, short for Patareshnes, was his secretary, and she'd forgotten to set his alarm. As a result, he'd overslept by a few millennia. Initially, he was a bit bummed out by the collapse of the ancient Egyptian empire, but he eventually calmed down over a burrito and a cup of coffee.
"This is much better anyway. You get tired of offerings of stale bread and locust filled crops and shit after a while. You say this is from Mexico? I'll have to thank Huitzilopochtli. Oh wait, that's me!"
He chuckled at his own joke and scoffed down another bite as I paid the bill.
The conversation eventually swung around to the matter of the amulet, and he shrugged.
"What can I say, dude. Usually I'm summoned to grant some useless excuse for a general victory in some pointless battle, or to purge the enemies of mankind with some fucked up plague. You're the first one that's offered to go out for a bite and a drink first."
So apparently the amulet granted wishes, but the cost was pricey.
"Normally I need like hundreds of firstborn kids, or good old fashioned human volcano sacrifice..."
I gulped.
"...but since you picked up the bill I guess we're even. Name your poison."
And that, my friends, is the story of how we got ourselves a new drummer.
| Light floods the hall and everyone shields their eyes from the heavenly glow.
One guy quickly reaches for his sunglasses and tips his cap over his face to block off most of the light. This however offers Ra a good view of the slogan on his cap.
"Make Racisim Wrong Again? When the hell was it ever right! Dude I had slaves make monuments for me and even I knew it was only right to treat them fairly. Call me when you have your heads on straight, Ra out!"
Historians believe that the sudden solar eclipse that accord that day was due to a miss calculation on the part of astronomers. All astronomers, through out the globe and belonging to different organization. One hundred percent. No supernatural element what so ever. | |
[WP]After washing all the soap off your face in the shower, you open your eyes to see the demon of your nightmares staring back at you. But he’s not here to frighten you, no, he’s here to talk. | The shampoo suds run down my chest, slipping down the drain to wherever the pipes trail to. Greeting me as I open my eyes is a porcelain mask. I gasp. My blood runs cold. Behind the mask is not a face; I know this because I have peeked underneath it in my nightmares. Quickly, its hand reaches up and grabs my mouth, forcing it closed.
"It's easier if you don't make a fuss." Its voice slithers out from mask. The lips do not move, but the syllables cut into me all the same. Its other hand comes up and cover my eyes.
Black surrounds me. I am blinded. I am scared.
"There, that's better now."
We are in my room now. Me, on the bed, facing it. A monster, dressed in a black tuxedo and porcelain mask, facing me. Looking down, I also found myself dressed. Perhaps this fact should astound me, as moments before I stood in the shower, but I am too occupied with the scream working its way out of my throat.
"I am not here to scare you, by the way. But judging by your face it seems I've failed in that regard."
"No shit," I struggle to say with my dry throat. I try to sound strong, unafraid. The empty stare of its mask looks unconvinced.
"How many times have you seen me?"
"What?"
"Many people see me once. Just once. That's my schtick, you see?" It leaned in, forefinger and thumb coming together to form a circle. It placed its hand over the eye of the porcelain mask.
"But you've seen me more than once. Why is that?"
---
Thank you so much if you read this short piece! I was struggling to figure out where the story would go and decided to stop it a bit short. Let me know what you think. Any and all critiques are welcome. | Insomnia can be a real bitch. It is one of those things you can only understand with direct experience. Forget what you see in movies, they romanticize it. The best way I could describe it is having your soul ripped from existence. But you don’t leave the world, you become a distant observer, watching your body go on without you. Like some crude wind-up toy a kid watches stumble across the kitchen floor.
Drunks and addicts often talk about experiencing brief moments of clarity. With insomnia it is the same, occasionally you can be triggered into a state of presence. For me it is most often an external stimulation that triggers this. In particular a cold shower is usually a good bet and even better if in the morning. But the moment is fleeting and fades away, becoming less like a memory and more like something that happened to someone else.
So here I am after a Sunday night of lying awake, rolling out of bed headed to a cold shower. Mondays are the worst because it is back to work. Back to watching myself go through all the motions of life like a puppet. Cold water on, pajamas off, step in, pull closed the shower curtain, shampoo, rinse, soap, rinse, soap on the face. Just as I rinse the soap from my face I realize I am not alone.
Standing in front of me is the demon of my dreams. Sleeping is such a distant memory that I almost forgot about my demon. Although horrifying in appearance, I was more shocked than scared. He smiled in a friendly way and in a kind voice said, “Don’t be afraid son, I am here to talk, you need to stop avoiding me. You need to embrace my presence and come back to dreaming. Only then will you understand”.
I calmly turned and got out of the shower. Walked dripping wet across my bedroom to my nightstand. Opened the top drawer and removed my grandfather's heirloom pistol. I placed it to my temple. I was steady and collected, still just the observer watching my own life.
Click...... | |
[WP]After washing all the soap off your face in the shower, you open your eyes to see the demon of your nightmares staring back at you. But he’s not here to frighten you, no, he’s here to talk. | The shampoo suds run down my chest, slipping down the drain to wherever the pipes trail to. Greeting me as I open my eyes is a porcelain mask. I gasp. My blood runs cold. Behind the mask is not a face; I know this because I have peeked underneath it in my nightmares. Quickly, its hand reaches up and grabs my mouth, forcing it closed.
"It's easier if you don't make a fuss." Its voice slithers out from mask. The lips do not move, but the syllables cut into me all the same. Its other hand comes up and cover my eyes.
Black surrounds me. I am blinded. I am scared.
"There, that's better now."
We are in my room now. Me, on the bed, facing it. A monster, dressed in a black tuxedo and porcelain mask, facing me. Looking down, I also found myself dressed. Perhaps this fact should astound me, as moments before I stood in the shower, but I am too occupied with the scream working its way out of my throat.
"I am not here to scare you, by the way. But judging by your face it seems I've failed in that regard."
"No shit," I struggle to say with my dry throat. I try to sound strong, unafraid. The empty stare of its mask looks unconvinced.
"How many times have you seen me?"
"What?"
"Many people see me once. Just once. That's my schtick, you see?" It leaned in, forefinger and thumb coming together to form a circle. It placed its hand over the eye of the porcelain mask.
"But you've seen me more than once. Why is that?"
---
Thank you so much if you read this short piece! I was struggling to figure out where the story would go and decided to stop it a bit short. Let me know what you think. Any and all critiques are welcome. | One more morning of the same. Taking a deep breath, kicking myself out of bed, dragging my skin to the shower. Letting the hot water run on my back and hoping it will sooth the pain somehow, already knowing it won't. Already thinking of the next steps: get out of the shower, get dressed. A nice tailored suit. I like to dress well, that's my one guilty pleasure, and it's part of the armor. Now, time to put on the mask. At 48 I've practiced putting it on so many times, it doesn't take long now. The trick is to get rid of the look. They call it the thousand yards stare. I just call it my eyes but I know no one must see what they really look like. Breathe, close your eyes, blink a few times, put on the smile. There. They won't be able to tell. They never have. Boy if they only knew. That's always the moment I choose to think of their reaction were it to happen today: "Such a tragedy. Why didn't he say anything?" But I can't let them see the abyss, they would be scared. And no one can understand anyway.
One last look in the mirror before I go out. I can only see my reflection for a fraction of a second before my knees buckle and I collapse to the ground. I've been punched in the stomach. The pain is so terrible I can't breathe. A punch can't do that, I must have been stabbed. He's stabbed me. It was HIM. I saw him in the mirror. I curl into a ball and start shaking. He's there. He can touch me. I want to scream but I can't. He's going to go at it again. Please no. Please make him go away. I haven't done anything wrong, please make him go away. Don't let him do this to me. I'm going to throw up. Please. You don't have the right to do this, I said no, I said no! You don't have the right to touch me. You never had the right to touch me. You're dead! You're dead and I saw them put you in the ground. Please leave. You already took what you wanted so long ago, please not again.
"Get up!" he says. "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to talk. We should have done this a long time ago. Calm down now, you know how I can't stand drama. Why can't you behave like a man?" I finally manage to get on my feet. "Look at me", he says. I look around. "Where are you?" I ask. "You know damn well where I am, stop being a coward and face me". He's right. I know where he is. It takes all my courage to turn back to the mirror and stare at my reflection. At him. The transformation is now complete. Over the last two years my hair has turned grey on the temples, and with the wrinkles I now look exactly like him around the time he died. That's what people always said when I was a kid: my God, your father can't pretend you're not his. Then they would add, thinking I couldn't hear: "let's hope he didn't inherit the personality too."
"You usually visit in my sleep", I say. In my nightmares. You love them, don't you? You love what they're doing to me. You love what *you're* doing to me when I sleep". He pauses and thinks for a few seconds before he answers: "I... never particularly *enjoyed* hurting you. I did it because I could. And no one cared. It just felt... I don't know. Like the natural thing to do. Sometimes I even felt slightly guilty. It was just too easy. Whom could you tell? No one would believe you. But... there's one thing I never could fully understand.
\-What's that?
\-How you could stay for so long. How you could trust I would stop at some point.
\-But I ran away. I did. I escaped.
\-You tried, I've to give you this. You know, I always thought you were brave. For this I was proud of you. You tried to escape. You couldn't of course. Now don't be mistaken, I know why you came back to see them bury me. I'm sure people thought you were a good son, coming to his father's funeral after all the things that had happened. But I know you just wanted to see me dead. You thought it would help you distance yourself further. Of course it has failed miserably, but I can't blame you for trying..."
&#x200B;
I start shaking in anger and disgust. He's taunting me. Again.
"-Why won't you finally let go of me? I yell. You're fucking dead! You're fucking dead! What's the point of all this? Why are you here?
\-I'm here to talk, I told you. And to answer your question: I'll let go of you when you finally let go of me. That's what I came here to say. You never escaped. You trapped me into your mind and trapped yourself into me. You let me control you. You let me win. And if this morning is any proof, I'm winning again and again and again. The only thing you can do is decide how long you're going to let me win. Do you understand?"
I want to answer but no sound goes out. He grabs my neck and draws me to him. His face is merely inches from mine, and he yells: "Do. you. fucking. understand?" He shoves me against the wall and I slowly sag to the floor. I can't even cry anymore. I feel more battered and defeated than ever, but I can't let him get away with it. I need to answer. I owe it to myself. He can' t win this round. He can't win every round, can he? I'm going to face him if it's the last thing I do. I'm not a coward. Say what you want of me but I'm not a coward. I get back to my feet again.
I want to look at him in the mirror, and I'm startled to see that he's gone. I only see my own reflection. Myself. We're different now, very different. What I see in my eyes I never saw in his. Is it feelings? I don't know, but it's something he doesn't have. I look at my reflection again. For the first time in decades I'm not afraid of what I see. I feel so drained. So tired. But something happened and I finally understood. As much as I hate to admit it the daemon, my daemon, is right. I can let go of him. It's not going to be easy, but I'm brave. I'm still not sure what happened, but I'm feeling something other than pain, and it's good. Is it hope? It's too soon to tell but it can't hurt to think it is.
I'm going to be late for work but there's one call I need to make. It feels awkward calling after all this time but I'm not chickening out.
\-Hey Doc it's me.
\-My God, are you back from the dead? You know I hate it when my patients pull that kind of stunt on me. You disappeared for all this time. I must confess I even checked the obituaries.
\-I'm sorry. I am. It's just...
\-I know. You weren't ready for it to work. I know how it is. But I can't help you if you don't talk to me for what... seven years?
\-Look... something weird happened. It's hard to explain but I have the feeling that... what I mean is that I think I could finally get better and I'm willing to work on it. With you if you agree.
\-Five o'clock tonight and you'd better not be late.
\-I won't."
&#x200B;
I need to go to work. I know I look shaken and the mask won't be enough this time. I don't care. If they can tell they can tell. I won't hide this time.
&#x200B;
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&#x200B; | |
[WP]After washing all the soap off your face in the shower, you open your eyes to see the demon of your nightmares staring back at you. But he’s not here to frighten you, no, he’s here to talk. | “Hey, Tricia…” the voice was low, growly, and distinctly uncomfortable. “Soooo…. we need to talk.”
The face was a mask of jagged red rocks; yellow cat’s eyes, barbed horns, and interlocking teeth. The demon face of my dreams!
I yelped with surprise and tugged my towel tight around my body, arms crossed over my breasts. The face grinned apologetically.
“Sorry," it said. “I didn’t mean to startle you…”
I nod mutely. *This is a dream, this has to be a dream-*
“So, anyway,” The demon paused, as if searching for the right words. There was a look of pain on its face that was oddly familiar.
“We’ve had fun you and I.” The demon grinned sheepishly. “I’d invade your dreams at night, and then tempt you during the day. But, well…. I think we’re just not a good fit.”
“Not a good fit?” Understanding bloomed. “*You’re breaking up with me?* My demons are ***breaking up with me?***”
“It’s not you, it’s me.” The demon whined. “I’m more interested in mass orgies and crystal meth, and you like…needlepoint.”
“*What’s wrong with that?*” I felt rage building up, irrational rising shame. “Needlepoint relaxes me! It helps me get through the bad days.”
“I just don’t think there's a place in my life for someone who’s interested in those things.” The demon sounded nettled. “You want to know the truth? *You’re boring!!*”
***“WHAT?!”*** The shriek rattled the mirror in the frame. If this wasn’t a dream, people could have heard it across the street. The demon fumed, guiltily angry. I’d seen *that* face before.
“You’re just not the right human for me!” He exploded. “I want to possess someone who’s going to meet me half-way. Someone who’ll shoplift or spread rumors, or Hell, even go past second base! You’re a stay-at-home, goody two-shoes who doesn’t even try to be evil!!”
I was sobbing, hiccupping with anger. “You’re an asshole!” I managed, tears welling in the corners of my eyes.
***“I’m a Demon!”*** he roared furiously. ***“I have needs!*** You don’t understand what it’s like, being around someone that won’t even *talk* about doing sinful things.” He glared at me with disgust. “You want to know the truth? You’re the worst human I’ve ever possessed. Well, *we’re finished! Don’t* try to summon me!!”
The mirror clouded over, revealing my expression. I was crying, great gasping sobs that shook me to the base of my spine. I’d never felt so worthless in my life.
A movement made me look up. Another demon was in the mirror: gray fishscale face, black bloated lips and orange, roving eyes. His red horns were absurdly long, and stuck out at strange angles.
“Hey baby,” he said in a simpering voice that made my skin crawl. “I heard what happened between you and Agxzothlothig – he’s such an asshole. Just wanted you to know that I’m always available for a little possession...nothing serious.” He leered at me, licking his lips. “What do say?”
I sighed, turning away from the mirror in disgust. Horny beings are the same the world over. | "Mmhhh well...you know, its my first time doing this" the demon said, "Normally we time our visibility with your eyes closed, so we can change a few things".
"What? You what?"
"Well, you are not supposed to know I exist, so don't tell anybody" he said as he faded.
Was a strange thing that happend to me once, really, a few weeks ago, until yesterday. I was washing my hair.
"Hey human, are you there?", afraid of soap entering my mouth I didn't answered. "Everyone on the other realm bully me because I dont know how to time with your subconscious" he continued, "and I should have come every day since then, so I need your help".
"Who are you?" I ask rapidly.
"Call me demon Frank, my real name is not understandable for you, and Im asigned to you Frank, so call me that"
"So I may call you me, demon me, thats kind of strange... And what do I get back on helping you".
"Well emmhh, I don't know, I will have to do this things anyway. And no one will believe you I exist... So first, I need to hide your toothbrush somewhere you dont find for 2 weeks. Maybe below the sink".
"I wont find it if you dont tell me first" I said.
"Good point Frankie friend"
"And why you need to hide it?"
"Tomorrow you will meet the love of your life and I have to make thing hard for you, so your love last long... Shit! Demon Frank you didnt said that, and Frank you didn't hear it either"
....
That was yesterday, and that's how I know you are the love of my life.
| |
[WP]After washing all the soap off your face in the shower, you open your eyes to see the demon of your nightmares staring back at you. But he’s not here to frighten you, no, he’s here to talk. | I rubbed the soap out of my eyes and opened them to reveal a tiny floating devil in front of me.
"Hey bud." It said with a small, chipper voice.
"What in the hell." I whispered back.
"I'm the demon in your dreams. Don't you remember me?"
"Uh, yea, sure. Hi." I said quietly.
"Listen bud, I've been worried about you." The tiny devil said crossing his arms.
"Why's that little guy?" I said wistfully.
"Well, its 2 o'clock and you haven't done anything except take a two hour bath and get high. I mean, the water's not even warm anymore." He said motioning to the half filled tub.
"I'll get out soon." I said back dreamily.
"C'mon man, you haven't left your house in a week, how am I supposed to ruin your life when you don't have one?" The thing asked, perching itself on the tub rim.
"Alright, alright. I'll get up. Need to pick up food anyway." I said, lifting myself up.
"Get a real meal, not just microwave ramen, wouldja?" He said, flying onto my shoulder.
"Fine. Ill make a salad." I mumbled.
"Good, bud, good. Listen, I know I'm rough on ya but I do want the best for you. Just, y'know, the evil best. It worries me when you get like that." He said, sitting down next to my ear.
"I know, I've just been in a kind of.... slump." I said looking away.
"It's alright kiddo. Baby steps. How about after dinner I help you find a job that pays well and slowly erodes the core morals of the world. Maybe in television! Then we can download tinder and I'll tell you all the horrible things you can say that only girls with daddy issues will respond to." | "Mmhhh well...you know, its my first time doing this" the demon said, "Normally we time our visibility with your eyes closed, so we can change a few things".
"What? You what?"
"Well, you are not supposed to know I exist, so don't tell anybody" he said as he faded.
Was a strange thing that happend to me once, really, a few weeks ago, until yesterday. I was washing my hair.
"Hey human, are you there?", afraid of soap entering my mouth I didn't answered. "Everyone on the other realm bully me because I dont know how to time with your subconscious" he continued, "and I should have come every day since then, so I need your help".
"Who are you?" I ask rapidly.
"Call me demon Frank, my real name is not understandable for you, and Im asigned to you Frank, so call me that"
"So I may call you me, demon me, thats kind of strange... And what do I get back on helping you".
"Well emmhh, I don't know, I will have to do this things anyway. And no one will believe you I exist... So first, I need to hide your toothbrush somewhere you dont find for 2 weeks. Maybe below the sink".
"I wont find it if you dont tell me first" I said.
"Good point Frankie friend"
"And why you need to hide it?"
"Tomorrow you will meet the love of your life and I have to make thing hard for you, so your love last long... Shit! Demon Frank you didnt said that, and Frank you didn't hear it either"
....
That was yesterday, and that's how I know you are the love of my life.
| |
[WP]After washing all the soap off your face in the shower, you open your eyes to see the demon of your nightmares staring back at you. But he’s not here to frighten you, no, he’s here to talk. | I turned towards the showerhead, eyes screwed shut, and cupped my hands beneath the steaming hot water. As I began to wash the soap from my face, taking care to work the slight crevices on either side of my nose, I hummed a few bars of a song quietly beneath my breath. The gurgling of the water down the drain was enough to drown the soft notes as they vibrated in my mouth, lost among the steam that billowed in plumes towards the yellowed ceiling.
Sensing that I had washed the last of the soap away, I turned my back on the flow of water once again, and blinked open my eyes. With my vision still blurred, most of my field of sight was filled by a dark shape that seemed to originate just inches from where I stood. I blinked again, trying to clear this residual darkness away, expecting stinging from what had to have been nothing more than missed trails of soap.
Instead, my vision cleared, and a man stood in the shower with me, his nose inches away from my own.
A scream tore itself free from my throat, and I stumbled backwards, pressing my back into the tiles. The knobs that controlled the water jammed themselves into the fleshiest part of my back, but the pain didn’t even register. My feet slipped beneath me, and in an attempt to stop myself from falling, I reached out my hand to the tiles beside me.
“Go ahead, keep screaming, it’s not like anyone is home,” a voice whispered into my ear. The lips of the man in front of me matched the gravely tone that crooned to me, but there was no way that he could have sounded so clear to me with such a quiet whisper. As my scream faded into breathlessness, I realized that to call him just a man would be incorrect. Where his eyes should have reflected back into my own, there were hollow sockets that glowed all shades of red, as though embers had made a home in his skull. The shallow smile on his lips parted to reveal obsidian teeth, their tips filed into points that looked like daggers.
My breath hitched in my throat, and rather than scream again, I blinked, shaking my head as my body began to tremble. *No*, I thought, not daring to speak the words aloud. *There’s no way that I’m actually seeing this*. I reached my hands up towards my chest to cover myself, panting as my heartbeat continued to spike, and my knees trembled against one another. I wanted to speak, but no words came. How could I put what I was thinking into words?
What sense would there be in talking to something that I had only seen in my worst nightmares?
“Are you done now?” The voice asked me, the same grating vibration filling my ears. It was as though he were talking directly into my skull, as he had done countless times in my dreams. The water still poured down between us, some of it pouring down the front of his blackened cloak, sticking it to his gaunt frame, though he didn’t even seem to notice.
“I-- how are you--” I stuttered, words failing me. The many sleepless nights I had were far outweighed by the nights that I fell asleep, only to be haunted by the creature in front of me. I couldn’t count the endless hours he had spent taunting me, showing me horror stories inside of my head, threatening me, making me live my worst fears over and over again. Nothing had freed me of him, not drowning my feelings in liquor, not smoking them away, not even swallowing half a bottle of sleep aid. But never had I expected to see him in my waking hours.
“Relax,” he said, his voice softened ever so slightly. “You’re not going crazy. I’m not just in your head right now, I’m standing right here in front of you. I could even touch you if you want to,” he offered, and outstretched his hand, pointed black nails reaching towards my naked skin. Terror still blinding me, I pressed myself back even further against the wall of the shower, willing the wall to swallow me up and take me away from whatever hell had descended upon my shower.
“Alright, we don’t have to do that,” he said, his hand retreating back to his side. “But we really do have to talk.”
“T-talk?” I said, surprised that I was able to form words. Even breathing was hard enough at the moment, my chest still heaving up and down as I tried to collect myself. Every second felt like an eternity, the fires where his eyes should have been staring deep into my soul.
If I thought demons could sigh, that’s what I would have said that he did. His shoulders rose and then fell, his head lowering ever so slightly as he did so. He was silent for a moment, seeming to contemplate what he should say next. When he did speak, it sounded calculated, as calculated as his rough and scraping voice could sound.
“I know that I’m not the first person you would speak to about your future, much less your past,” he said, head tilting slightly to the side. “But in a way, I’m the one that knows you the best. I’m the one that knows things about you that no one else does.”
“And you use them to torture me,” I spit, rage filling my heart as I remembered his cackling laughter as he laid his hands on me, night after night, fire igniting wherever he touched.
“That’s what demons do best; we torture people. But we do that because we know things, things that only you are capable of knowing. Sometimes, we also know the future. That’s just part of the deal.”
“Then is this about my future?” I breathed, hazarding a guess. The thought of a future beyond what I had now was nothing more than a fantasy, but to hear a glimmer of hope from the being of my nightmares was enough to make my fear lessen. Much to my dismay, the demon shook his head ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly.
| "Mmhhh well...you know, its my first time doing this" the demon said, "Normally we time our visibility with your eyes closed, so we can change a few things".
"What? You what?"
"Well, you are not supposed to know I exist, so don't tell anybody" he said as he faded.
Was a strange thing that happend to me once, really, a few weeks ago, until yesterday. I was washing my hair.
"Hey human, are you there?", afraid of soap entering my mouth I didn't answered. "Everyone on the other realm bully me because I dont know how to time with your subconscious" he continued, "and I should have come every day since then, so I need your help".
"Who are you?" I ask rapidly.
"Call me demon Frank, my real name is not understandable for you, and Im asigned to you Frank, so call me that"
"So I may call you me, demon me, thats kind of strange... And what do I get back on helping you".
"Well emmhh, I don't know, I will have to do this things anyway. And no one will believe you I exist... So first, I need to hide your toothbrush somewhere you dont find for 2 weeks. Maybe below the sink".
"I wont find it if you dont tell me first" I said.
"Good point Frankie friend"
"And why you need to hide it?"
"Tomorrow you will meet the love of your life and I have to make thing hard for you, so your love last long... Shit! Demon Frank you didnt said that, and Frank you didn't hear it either"
....
That was yesterday, and that's how I know you are the love of my life.
| |
[WP]You've discovered time travel three times now. Each time, shortly after you complete and test your time machine, it has stopped working. This time, however, will be different. | When it worked the first time it was a feeling of the infinite, of moving from the shore to the sea. And when it had stopped... Well, I knew I would never rest until I got it back online. In the end, it was a completely different approach to wormhole topology that got things working a second time. And then that time, too, it had stopped. I had been suspicious. More cameras, more security, checked every component, but found nothing. This third time, though. This was it. Nothing could stop me.
Or nothing, I thought, until I came home and switched on the light and saw a man sitting in my corner chair, a silenced gun on his lap. He looked relaxed, peaceful even.
He gestured to the seat opposite, and I sat. Strange to be directed around my own house. The device itself was sitting on a side table. I had been able to miniaturise it a lot over the iterations.
He didn't speak, so I opened the conversation.
'It was you, last time?' I asked.
He nodded.
'How?'
'The Rosen subduction chips. Applied just enough heat to throw them off.'
'Ah. Good approach.' I had checked them, but not closely enough. The error was probably intermittent.
'Thanks,' he said. 'But it's decision time now.'
'Build or die?'
'Exactly.'
'Who is sending you, each time? How do they know?'
'I can't answer that, I'm afraid,' he said.
'What about if I choose to die? Can you answer then?'
This clearly came as a surprise, and he thought about it. 'It's a sort of institute,' he said finally. 'You mightn't believe me, but we do this for your own good. For the good of humanity.'
'It doesn't seem like that from where I'm sitting.'
'No. I'd imagine not.'
There was a moment of silence while we looked at each other. Something was niggling at the edge of my mind.
'Are you an engineer?' I asked.
He nodded.
'And you... You invented a machine, right? At some point?'
He nodded again.
'And you discovered something... About time travel. Something that makes you willing to do anything to stop it.'
'William,' he said. 'You're getting very close to having only one option instead of two.'
My eyes were drawn back to the gun.
'Where did you go?' I asked him. 'When you got it working?'
I could see he wanted to answer, but he controlled himself and didn't
'I was thinking of going to the Crucifixion,' I said. 'See how it all went down with Jesus.'
'That would be a good destination.'
'Have you been?'
Again the control.
'Or I was thinking about the Titanic. Return to this time before it sinks, you know? Though I must admit it seems morally questionable.'
'It's all morally questionable,' he said, and it seemed to me the remark has just popped out. 'Please,' he said, sitting forward. 'Don't follow this path. It leads nowhere good. You have to trust me that I know what I am talking about.'
'It's my life's work,' I said simply.
'It will be your death.'
'So be it. There is nothing else I could do now.'
'That's a pity,' he said.
I nodded.
And then he lifted the gun and shot me twice in the chest. I was still conscious when he stood over me and fired once into my head, and all went black.
I wasn't there to see it, but the device on my belt worked flawlessly. It sensed the slowdown in my heartbeat. It sensed the additional gunshots that the man fired into the time machine. And then it sensed the room was empty.
It activated the real time machine, the one bricked into the wall. The fields spun up, the deep hum rose to a roar, and then I was standing outside my house. A full day before I was shot.
'Dead man walking,' I murmured to myself.
I had plenty of time now to get set up across the road from my house. I'd take pleasure in my revenge, but it would be quick. The pull of a trigger on a 308. I wasn't a monster.
I just wasn't being stopped this time.
\--
Check out more stories at [r/HouseBlendMedium](https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseBlendMedium/) and thanks for reading! Comments and requests most welcome. | There's no reception where I am. That’s the second worst thing.
Of course, where I am is my house. 317 Stanhope Rd, nestled in tall trees of Occidental. This is home.
That’s the worst thing.
It’s been seven years. My current calendar is floating in midair, somewhere in the den. By the time it hits the floor, I’ll be *long* dead.
The moon never rises. The sun never sets. Time doesn’t pass in any meaningful sense. Not since the last jump.
My time machine is still here. I can see it, humming inky-blue midnight and weaving the eternal present. I can’t get within six feet of it. Any closer and start getting light headed and shaky.
Got to be careful. If I pass out, no one’s coming to rescue me.
She was my fourth machine, and the only one that survived. I’m not sure whether that makes her a success or a failure. Certainly, she took me farther than the others – right into the eye of Infinity.
Like I said, she survived. The others vanished after first use, snapping out of existence like that word you know you will never remember. At the time it made no sense, but now…well, let’s just say I have an inkling.
Number Four. I only got one ride out of her, but it was more than enough. I don’t think I would have dared to use her again.
My first jumps were relatively conservative. Six months. A year. I dropped in on 2035 for a few hours. Nigeria was a nuclear power and Google had created a corporate confederacy of nations in the Far East. As soon as I got back, Number Three popped out of existence.
I don’t know why I wanted to go farther. I’d realized that, short of some very risky sightseeing or manipulating the stock market, there wasn’t much point. But I went anyway.
Curiosity may have killed the Cat, but it also immortalized it. People always forget that part.
I don’t know how far I jumped. It might have been a thousand years, or a million. All I know is that when I arrived, the Earth was gone.
I was flying through a tunnel that might have been a mile wide. Blue light and strange echoes, and a sense of immensity that I can only compare to staring at the night sky. I had an eerie realization that organic life was no longer part of the picture. I felt that I was traveling through the bloodstream of some enormous, incomprehensible being.
The last thing I remember was entering a vast enclosed space at tremendous speed. All sense of scale had vanished at this point. I Was surrounded by a blinding light, and for just a moment I had the horrible sensation of being observed by Something – a cold, merciless presence.
I’ve never felt so naked and scared in my entire life. It was like being an insect under a magnifying glass, a virus under a microscope. I don’t know what was looking at me…but whatever it was, it didn’t like what it saw.
Then I blacked out.
When I woke up, I was home. Time had frozen up like the ice on Sebago lake, and from then to now, nothing has changed. I didn’t know what happened then, but I think I do now. Eternity gives you a lot of time to think.
Whatever I saw out there was immensely powerful. God the Supercomputer, or maybe something entirely alien. I don’t think it was malevolent, as such. But I believe it saw me as a threat.
I can’t really blame it. I was cruising blindly back and forth along the timeline, like a beetle in the working of some awesomely complicated computer. Perhaps it views temporal paradoxes the same way a human views cancer. Either way, it decided to deal with me.
When encountering an irritant, oysters deposit layer upon layer of mucous around the offending object. In time, this creates a pearl. I believe that the Thing Out There has done the same to me. It wrapped the offending object in a thin slice of eternity, where the sun never sets and dropped object never falls to Earth. An act of self-preservation.
And I can’t blame It. I really can’t. | |
[WP]: You can’t just smile, you are beaming. You can’t just be in a bad mood, you are brooding. Your coat flutters when you turn around. For some reason, you are incapable of doing things in a way that isn’t dramatic. | I remove my card from my purse's wallet, it flies upward in the air, flipped and rotating in a figure 8. I catch it by the back edge of it, with just the tips of my fingers and grin as I lower it toward the barista, Kevin. He's too far away, so I must stretch my arm out the entire length.
He takes the card with a fake smile and runs it through a white carder. He hands it back as he flips the iPad toward me.
I try to replace the card into my wallet, but I fumble and it flips and spins as it reaches the lip of the card slit. It lands with precision along the line of the slit so I can slide it in. The wallet drops into the center of my purse.
I lift the pen, but it slips and I must roll it through my fingers until it lands in the perfect spot for holding. I accidentally select a charitable tip in the process. I can see the box is small, so I try to sign small. My pen, instead, seems to slide high and low, leaving a massive footprint of a signature.
Kevin rolls his eyes as he rotates the iPad back toward himself. "Your drink will be out in just a moment..." he frowns at the receipt, "Keila-Anne-Christeighnine."
I curtsy. "My greatest obligations, Kevin."
He raises his eyebrows before beckoning the next customer in line.
I stand by the bar to wait, but my legs are killing me. I prop my leg up on the bar trim, it raises my leg halfway up. It makes my arms uncomfortable, so I rest my hands on my hips. As I begin to watch the baristas work, I get distracted by an odd sensation. I look to my left side and upward. It's an air vent, and it's rustling my hair, causing it to flow through the air.
A vexed barista wanders up to the bar, a large cup tilted in her hand. She stares down at the label as she speaks. "You must be Keila-Anne-Christeighnine."
I jump to attention. "Yes, that is I." Off balance, I bow as I reach for the drink.
"Oh, my God." She places the cup in my hand and is gone before I erect myself again.
I am over joyous, I cannot help but frolic as I make my way toward the elevator. My jacket and skirt bounce gleefully as I arrive at the doors just as they open. I step in and press the fourth floor button as my jacket bottom swings around and settles into place. The elevator is lined with mirrors, and I can see the glitter on my face twinkling around my big eyes and gratuitous grin.
The doors open and I continue my skipping on my way to my office, though I trip over the ledge to the elevator doors. I tumble, rolling excessively down the hallway to the receptionist's desk. When I land, finally, the floors are covered in a riverof coffee, my clothes are drenched. I am hovering on fours over my crushed coffee cup. I delicately lift it from the laminate and begin to weep. My lungs empty and fill entirely with each heave. The tears streaming from my face begin to outweigh the 24 oz of coffee I around me.
Alice, the receptionist at the desk groans. "Jesus fuck, Keila, can we skip this for one day?" | It was hard to see in the back of the van. They’d blacked out the windows, of course, so there was no sunlight. The nylon stockings they’d pulled down over their faces weren’t helping, either, but Jim had insisted. None of them had ever robbed a bank before, but weren’t you supposed to wear masks when you did?
It was, Mike reasoned as he inspected his pistol, hard to argue with that.
Jim and Chris were seated across from him, quietly, as was their way. Jim was reading a book, improbably, while Chris stared off into space, focused on the task at hand. Their bodies rocked silently as the van wove through the city traffic. Chris looked down for a moment, and their eyes met, briefly, through the gloom and through their makeshift masks. They shared a nod. *The past is behind us*, it said. *We’re partners now*. Nothing needed to be said.
“You guys,” said Montgomery excitedly from beside him, “I *cannot believe* we’re actually doing this!”
Montgomery’s voice was unexpectedly high-pitched for a man of his size. He was built like a first baseman, six foot three of solid muscle, and he wore a thick, rich, bushy beard that bristled down almost to his collarbone. Mike suspected he’d had it since he was about nine years old. It was clearly visible through the nylon mask, eliminating the point of the disguise almost entirely. He rocked back and forth in a different rhythm to the sways and rolls of the moving van, betraying his excitement. His eyes seemed to shine in the darkness, like stars against a particularly dark night sky.
“I mean, think about it! Four men, their backs against the wall, driven to crime by desperation! Do you think” – he stood, abruptly, and the van seemed to shift under his weight – “do you think they’ll make a movie out of us?”
“Only if they catch us, Mongomery.” Jim’s voice was quiet, almost resigned. Nobody ever called Montgomery by a nickname. It didn’t seem right, somehow. “Now sit down before you crash us.”
Rose, the driver, looked back from where she was. Her face was difficult to discern against the twilight through the windshield behind her. “Almost there anyway. Showtime, boys.”
Jim and Chris stood up, and Mike did the same. He didn’t bother holstering or hiding his gun, and neither did any of the others. They conspicuous enough that it didn’t matter. They knew that speed and surprise were going to make this job. If they had to use the guns, the situation was already probably unsalvageable.
Plus, there was a big difference between robbery and murder.
Rose called from the front. “Here we go. Hang onto something.”
Mike had the doors open before the van even stopped. Adrenaline flooded his system as he darted up the steps, checking behind him to see Chris and Jim following closely. Montgomery was further behind, having taken the ten-inch drop out of the van and landed in a three-point crouch. As he reached the top of the stairs, Mike noticed that Rose had turned on the double-parked van’s four-way lights. He grinned, crazily, in spite of himself. It was so like Rose to worry about a parking ticket while they were out robbing a bank.
They pushed open the double doors and hurried into the lobby, already scanning for threats.
Montgomery loped up the staircase behind them, his broad strides taking the steps four at a time. He held his pistol up alongside his face, like a secret agent, and his alert, shining eyes took in the lobby at a brief glance.
The three or four people who had been in the tellers’ line were beginning to notice them. One of the tellers had already ducked behind the counter, probably to stab at an alarm. Through the glass windows of one of the offices he could see one of the bankers, his back to them, engrossed in a phone call. He hadn’t noticed them yet.
Mike took up his spot by the door with Chris, watching for reinforcements. Jim stepped forward, his voice steel. “Alright, everyone get on the ground and we’ll be out of your way before-“
“**Put!”** Mongomery roared, leaping forward, thrusting the barrel of his gun into the face of a terrified customer who was halfway through complying with Jim’s instruction.
“**Your hands!”** He stepped forward again, getting uncomfortably face-to-face with the woman at the front of the line. She started weeping.
**“In!”** Another step, and he was at the teller’s counter. The poor man looked at him, his face a mixture of fear, confusion, and outright awe.
**“The air!”** With a final wild gesture, Montgomery spun, somehow pointing his gun at everyone in the room simultaneously. One of the customers knelt on the ground with her face down and her arms thrust out over her head, trying to comply with both conflicting demands at once. It looked like she was doing yoga.
Jim swore quietly and stepped up to the teller’s window, levelling his pistol at him. “Quick and quiet, now. Key to the ATMs out front. We’re on a schedule, here. Nobody needs to get hurt.” He looked meaningfully behind him at the customers.
The man swallowed, once, but there was bulletproof glass between him and the robbers. “I really shouldn’t – “
“**Do it now!”** bellowed Montgomery, his voice like a thunderstorm, dragging out the final vowel as he rounded on the teller and pressed his masked face directly up against the glass. The teller took a step back, shocked, and quickly produced an access key card from a drawer in his desk.
Jim reached for it through the small window in the glass, but Montgomery was faster. He clutched the card to his heart for a several long seconds before finally raising it over his head triumphantly. “We did it boys! Look, I got the key! We planned this for so long and it actually worked!” One of the customers actually clapped twice, and then stopped, looking surprised at herself.
Jim had to jump slightly to grab the key out of Montgomery’s hand. “Great, yeah. We’re the best.” He tossed the prize to Mike, underhand. “Get those open and let’s get out of here.”
Mike caught the card, but cocked his head as he turned. “Damn, that was quick. Out of time.”
The rest of them heard it as well, then. Sirens, distant, but approaching fast.
Jim swore again. “Fine, no problem. That’s a universal key, so it should pop a few machines before they get wise and change the locks. We’re still in good shape but we need to go – Montgomery, what are you – ?”
Montgomery was standing with the back of his hand pressed against his forehead, like a debutante with the vapors. “No, no! I can’t go to jail! They can’t send me there!”
Jim crossed the room quickly and grabbed his arm. “You won’t, but we need to –“
Montgomery collapsed to the linoleum, alongside the customer who was still splayed out in her yoga surrender pose. She turned her head surreptitiously to watch. “It’s too late! It’s all too late! We can run from the police, Jim,” – we all winced at his use of Jim’s real name – “*but it’s too late to outrun our pasts!”*
Jim looked helplessly back at Chris, who beckoned frantically. “I don’t understand what –“
“Go, all of you! Go and save yourselves! I can take care of myself!” Montgomery’s voice was panicked, almost hysterical.
The sirens were rapidly growing louder. Mike’s voice was insistent. “Jim, we don’t have time for this.”
Jim paused for a moment, swore once more, then turned and ran. Montgomery’s voice faded behind them as they bounded down the steps and into the van. “Yes, good! Get away while you can! Wait, no! Don’t leave me –“
Rose shut off the hazard lights and threw the van into drive.
Hours later, the four robbers sat in Jim’s apartment. They’d managed to hit three machines before the access locks had changed – a cool half million, split four ways. Not bad.
The small TV across the room was reporting on the robbery. No dead, one captured. Witnesses described the robbers as four males, one large and with a beard, and three of indeterminate build and features. Police were investigating.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jim said. “It actually worked.”
Mike smiled. “Sure it did. You know how they say you should wear a clown outfit when you rob a bank, because that’s all anyone will remember? Well, we just brought our own clown with us.”
Rose shook her head. “Poor bastard. He’s not going to do well in prison.” She took a contemplative sip of her wine. | |
[WP] Earth is in the midst of an Alien Invasion. They are winning. The armies of the world are making their last stand. But unbenknownst to both the invaders and the invaded, Humanity was not the only species native to the Sol System... | Pain.
The world was pain.
I winked. One eye. Two. Three. Four. All working. Tested all four arms. Slowly, oh so slowly, I rolled over onto my front. I felt, but did not hear, the powerful *THUD* of a mortar shell fall not far from my position, the dirt thrown up showering over my back.
The relentless ringing filled my head with no room for other sounds to filter in.
*One*
*Two*
Small calibre rounds ricocheted off my back, the exoskeleton screaming but holding strong. I gave brief thanks they were small calibre rounds. Anything larger...
The *crack* of a rifle filtered through the ringing in my head, and four arms became three.
The world was pain.
-----
The Bug ships hung in the sky, maintaining their low earth orbit like so many spiders suspended above their prey. A steady stream of drones filtered down, an endless March of young males desperate for glory. A steady stream of the dead filtered up. Food for the hungry horde.
Further out, spread about the blue marble, the Motherships spun their web. A web of observation and orders, synchronized and methodical, a perfect snare. Humanity was trapped in its cradle. And here it would be smothered.
Aboard *Dzzarak 1* two figures stood before the view screens.
"The ground assault is going well." Said one.
A non committal clicking was the only response.
The two insectoid aliens were immense. Far larger than any that Humanity had seen over the course of the brief conflict. The adolescents were more than willing to burn out their bright lights for the cause without the upper levels of the caste having to get involved. Ultraviolet light glittered across the pearlescent angles and sharp edges where exoskeleton met seam.
"But it was also unnecessary."
A clack.
"An orbital bombardment would have been sufficient. We both know that."
A thoughtful silence.
An answer.
"The youth must be allowed to let off some steam. Too much steam is dangerous. Too much steam, too much pressure, and even the strongest shell may crack. Do you understand?"
A thoughtful silence.
An answer.
"Yes your Excellency. I think I do. How much more steam should we release?"
In the distance a second sun filled the sky as a Mother Ship gave way. Without hesitation another moved to fill the void. The net trembled, but remained intact.
On the bridge an armored visage twisted itself into an almost human look of alarm.
"Where did that come from?"
"Your Excellency?"
"The blow that felled *Dzzarak 12*. Where did it originate?"
Computers clicked and flashed in similar fashion to their insectoid masters.
"From outside the net, Your Excellency." The confusion as apparent in voice as it was in every inch of the body. "Originating from the coronal ring of the local star."
"Bring us around."
----
As the ringing faded I slowly realized that I still wasn't dead.
From my prone position I swiveled one of my eye stalks, cringing as I beheld the ruined mess where my forearm used to be. Not far away the severed limb lay in the dirt, twitching, the slow loss of blood turning the alien soil into a purple ichor.
Carefully, ever so carefully, I reached out with my hindarm. Trying to dial back the strength of a limb not suited to fine tasks. Carefully, oh so carefully, I closed all three claws around the base of the limb. I pulled it back, not even knowing if it could be saved, only knowing I refused to leave something of myself behind on this alien world. A trophy for its masters.
Boots on stone.
I froze.
"Is it dead?"
The soft alien speech was an assault on my ears. The hollow holes on the sides of my head reverberated with its fleshy repugnance, and it was all I could do to keep my disgust from showing.
"I think so." Cloth and flesh entered my peripheral vision. "It sure looks like it."
"You'd best make sure. Weapon or no you've seen what these things do when they get going."
"True nuff." Said the one I could see, raising its weapon.
In the distant sky a star was born. I despaired. Not only at my own death, but at the loss of my brothers and sisters. In that moment I embraced the end. I closed all my eyes.
"Holy shit! We got one! We got one!"
I chanced opening an eye.
They weren't looking at me. They were looking at the sky.
I moved. Hindlegs at the ready. Fine motor control unnecessary.
The world was pain.
----
The net was falling.
On the bridge of *Dzzarak 1* there wasn't a single screen that showed the assault on Earth. Each and every one was focused somewhere else entirely.
A full 10% of the Mother Ships had fallen. The net had redundancy built in, but it wouldn't be long before the loss would be too much. Before the holes would grow to large to keep Humanity in.
To keep this new Invader out.
"What am I looking at?"
The silence that rang out across the bridge was deafening.
The vessels bearing down on Earth were like nothing that had ever been seen before.
"In all honesty your Excellency... I don't know."
The Commander's chair creaked under the strain as his hindlegs bore down on the armrests.
"But we're cross referencing known databases. Perhaps this Humanity has encountered them before."
The Commander stood, resuming his stance in front of the viewscreens. In front of him the vessels grew ever larger and ever stranger, refusing to conform to the known laws of the universe which he had always known. A shift in the air as his second in command took his place again.
"Should we retreat?"
The Commander scoffed, even though he had already been considering it. "We would never be permitted to return home." He said, neither a yes or a no.
Another Mother Ship flickered and died.
He opened his mouth to speak and found himself interrupted.
"Your Excellency! We have found recorded mention of the vessels in Human text!"
"On screen."
The alien gibberish appeared, flickered, and was translated in a moment. Quietly he began to read.
"... and their appearance and their work was as it were a wheel in the middle of a wheel..."
----
I looked up at the alien sky, the life of my enemy mingling with my own in the dirt below, as I was forsaken.
One by one I watched the heavens above me fill with stars. Some, I knew, were explosions. The others, the blue ones, were jump drives activating. Breaking rank. Leaving.
Retreating.
The dead body at my feet gurgled wetly. It laughed. I bent down, stunned by the impossible again.
"Looks like you lose." The human laughed through its abomination of a mouth. I shuddered. "Army musta got here. Pushed yer shit back in for ya."
I blinked. All four eyes.
"Might wanna do some prayin, Bug. Maybe they'll kill ya quick."
I walked away, leaving the human laughing in the dirt, hugging his bowels against his body.
I'd been told that was fatal in this species.
I wondered if I'd managed to kill any at all.
Above me most of the blue lights turned orange.
I stopped walking.
It's not like there was anywhere to go.
As the stars began to fade I saw the sky above me filled with pinpricks of light. Too many to count. An endless vista stretched to the horizon in all directions and a third of all the stars in the night sky descended upon me.
I didn't run. Where would I run? I waited.
The ground shuddered with the impact as one of these Stars landed in front of me, and I would have been thrown from my feet had I been unprepared. I closed two eyes, half closed the others, as this giant of light and flame straightened to its full height. Thunderous wings unfurled from its sides, a sword strapped to its thigh, more eyes than I could possibly imagine.
It raised a monstrous arm.
The world was darkness.
----
The official word on the Breach Conflict, as it came to be known in later years, was that it was little more than a short lived skirmish between a rogue Cyrian fleet and the entirety of Humanity. Easily responded to and easily repelled using conventional weaponry.
The core Cyrian command had arrived in Sol system a mere two weeks after the initial meeting between the two species, offering Humanity support in rebuilding a damaged world. They had even been more than willing to trade some of their advanced medical and spacefaring technology, asking nothing more in return than the opportunity to study any human religious texts they may find.
Humanity was more than willing to accept a sheep into the flock.
There were stories, of course, even after Humanity was accepted into the greater galactic brotherhood. Stories told by the few who had survived outside when the shock troops fell. Stories of swords of fire. Of beings of light. Of eye within eyes and wheels within wheels.
Of angels.
Humanity took its first stumbling steps out if its cradle. And in the endless depths of eternity a Father smiled. | “The humans are a stupid species. We’ve been living amongst them for thousands of years. I, myself, have been living with them for 300 years now. In my time, I’ve learned that humans will always screw themselves over, usually by killing themselves in one way, shape, or form.
“Then, you aliens invaded.
“I was enjoying some tea, earl grey if you must know, when I heard loud explosions all around me. Then, my house got exploded, in layman’s terms. All my possessions I had gathered during my 300 year old stay had been vaporized in an instant. I was furious.
“Now, what you have to understand is that my species vowed that we wouldn’t interfere directly with humans. Sure, you could persuade them to do your bidding, such as getting groceries or doing your dishes, but nothing along the lines of world domination as that would be too easy for us and, ultimately, make for an unfun existence.
“But alas, because you invaded, our precious home was being destroyed. The humans had the means to win, technically speaking, but they refused to work together. We had to act.
“I barged into the elder’s meeting area, something I made a habit of whenever I was in a poor mood, and demanded for us to take action. My species refused of course, mostly due to them adhering to a strict “sacred text” or something. I personally never got too involved with it; after all, 90% of it was fake anyway, created only to bring peace of mind. I tried speaking common sense to them as well as the rest of my people but, they refused out right, saying it will destroy the balance. Personally, I believe they were just scared to oppose you. I just shrugged and said I’d do it myself then.
“That is what led me to the first ship. I gathered a band of humans who seemed semi-competent and made a deal with them; I’d lead them to victory and all they had to do was sell their soul. Pretty simple, honestly. After taking your first ship down, others of my species saw that it was indeed possible to stop you. Some of the younger ones of our species decided to aid me. I even got the assistance of one of the Dukes.
“We continued to perform hit and run tactics against you, getting small victories here and there. It wasn’t until the Lord himself agreed to fight against you that we started making a dent in your forces. We had victory after victory, suffering only minor losses while most of your forces where destroyed. Eventually, you had to bring your mothership in and destroy Earth as you could not leave here as a failure.
“As we had planned, you recalled your troops to the ship in preparation of your ‘laser cannon deth sentence’ and snuck aboard your ship. From there, we made quick work of your inner defenses and made it so your engine will self-destruct in less than five minutes.
“Now, here we are, face to face. The enemy commander has surrendered, I got to run wild for once in my hundreds of years in existence, I have brought reform change for my species and am able to coexist with humans, I am now the captain of Space Pirate Crew, and, to top it all off, I’ll be getting a promotion and will have an endless supply of tea. How do you think I feel?” I was panting by the time my rant was over, grinning wickedly. My crew members had blank looks on their faces. Some of them were whistling quietly.
The alien general, Schwab, looked at me and said quietly, “I asked 'what are you,' not 'how are you.'”
\--------------------
What is she? The world may never know. Or you can guess and I'll tell you. Maybe. I am curious to see if people can figure it out. | |
[WP] Earth is in the midst of an Alien Invasion. They are winning. The armies of the world are making their last stand. But unbenknownst to both the invaders and the invaded, Humanity was not the only species native to the Sol System... | ‘My Lord, you wanted me to keep you informed about the War on Earth; here are the intel reports but suffice it to say the Humans are losing.’
A wet, gurgling yet unfathomably deep, bass voice tumbled around the chamber, ‘Gooooooood.’
The advisor shrunk back at this before nervously continuing, ‘Your eminence, shall I order the Military to prepare?’.
The form of his god surged forwards at this, enveloping him as he squealed and crushing him into silence. He was lifted up and held before a giant, yellow and red eye. The thunderous voice caused him to quiver in fear, ‘You presume too much.’.
L’shalak was summoned to the chamber, having been newly promoted to Primary Advisor. He slithered as fast as his slapping tentacles could move him and as soon as he arrived he prostrated himself, awaiting the Great One’s orders. The voice boomed off the walls and resonated within him, ‘The stars are aligned. Prepare the Military to attack Earth. Their oceans shall finally be ours.’
——————
The plan had been simple, crush the Alien Invaders between what remained of the Human defenders and our superior and fresh, Europan Cephalopod Legions before continuing on and performing the coup de gras on the humans once and for all.
The Xenos had been surprised by us and once we captured their vessels, their ground forces were crushed without supplies. At last we were so close to victory and dominion over Earth but like every other time, we underestimated the humans. They’re like ants, cockroaches; turn over a rock and you find one blasting your tentacles off with a shotgun or trying to fit you into a cooking pot. That’s one thing we learnt very quickly, never get taken alive by a Human.
| The crows have flocked to the battle field. So many crows feasting on the dead of both sides, some of them look so fat I'm not even sure if they can still fly. Not like they need to, they have enough food to last 10 lifetimes.
We aren't sure why the invaders haven't bombed us from orbit. Some argue that they ecologists, doing everything they can to protect the environment and that this is our retribution. The optimists among us say that they wish to show their dominance over us before offering a life of slavery or servitude to them.
The only thing we can all agree on is that this war has been the most bloody one in history. They possess shields that are almost impervious to all immediately dangerous kinetic and thermal energy entering about a meter away from their body. I once saw a truck hit a grunt at 120 kph and all it did was make his shell glow for a few minuets as it radiated heat.
The only way to effectively kill them is up close and personal. In a twist of fate that made every military annalist since WWII's head spin guns were replaced with knives, clubs, and spears.
Our only saving grace what that they are slow, weak, and evidently, not too bright. By ambush and possibly foolhardy bravery we've killed millions, but it's just not enough when they can lase us in half from a click away. In the last significantly populated city on earth we make our last stand.
As the battle begins the crows get excited. Their lust for the upcoming feast would put any high-schooler on prom night to shame.
We hide in our holes surrounding the city ready to attack after they walk over us. 'Like gooks in 'Nam' the older of us say.
The crows reach a fever pitch as the fighting starts. Confused reports come in from command over the wire, they can't figure out who started the attack. It doesn't matter, we'll all be dead anyway.
After 30 minutes we jump out with our spears, ready to die. We are met with a massacre. Crows have already begun their feast. Millions, no billions of them. Must of been damn near every crow on earth. Gouging out eyes, pulling apart the aliens pathetic plastic armor, picking at the delicate red flesh underneath, licking at every puddle of blue blood. That's when I saw him. The last of them, being chased by a flock of a thousand crows, feebly crawling away from the city.
They left after the battle. We think they decided our pitiful pollution riddled planet wasn't worth the effort.
Later on we went back an analysed recordings. The crows were trying to talk to us. We couldn't understand most of it, but we did learn "Food, get us all the tasty tasty food!" | |
[WP] After thousands of years on a generation ship sent out to colonize the universe, nobody alive on board the ship believes in the "myth" of Planet Earth anymore. Until they receive the first transmission from Earth in hundreds of years... | "What is it, Ensign?" I glanced over at Ensign Tam as she went silent, staring in awe at the translated message on her screen.
"Captain, it's..." She frowned. "It's a message. In the Old Earth language Russian."
"Well?" Lieutenant Morris glared at her. "What's it say?"
She took a deep breath. "*Are you there, comrade? We still live on.* It's just looping like that."
I sighed, leaning back in my seat. We had nowhere to go, and too much of the ship was breaking- we were running out of ways to repair it.
"Trace the signal." I turned to the Lieutenant. "How far away is the nearest ship?"
Ensign Tam went to work immediately, while Lieutenant Morris checked another screen.
"Approximately 4.24 light years." He reported.
Slowly, I rose to my feet.
"Ensign, do you have coordinates on that signal?"
She nodded, reading off a monitor. "4.24 light years away. In the... the..." The color drained from her face.
I gave her an impatient look.
"In the Milky Way galaxy, sir." She stared at the screen in disbelief. "Orbiting the star... Sol."
All chatter in the bridge abruptly stopped. I saw one officer nearly faint nearby.
I removed my hat, pressing it to my chest.
"Set a course for that signal. And tell the civilians..."
I smiled, forcing back tears.
"Tell them we found it. We're going home." | *TRANSMISSION FROM EARTH INCOMING...*
"Impossible."
What do you mean impossible?
"When we left it was ruins and ash."
Those were just stories our folks told us I thought?
"To scare us."
Check the log, this has to be a joke or a mistake.
"The sensors and computer verified origin of transmission along with the proper authentication codes. It has to be from earth."
What does the message say?
>!**"THE HUMANS FOUGHT BACK AND HAVE RECLAIMED EARTH AND MAJORITY OF OUR FLEET; TO ALL HEARING THIS MESSAGE CHANGE COURSE AND GO DARK. THEY INTEND TO HUNT YOU."**
**---END TRANSMISSION---**
|
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