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[WP] A demon can always turn someone's wishes into the most horrible of curses. But your wishes are so stupid and asinine that not even the greatest archdemon can turn them against you. | The red-skinned, scaly beast arched its long body down to the mortal. Its orange and gold eyes laid upon the human with wicked disdain and menacing mischief.
"To you, small mortal, I shall grant wishes three--your dreams and desires brought to be! However, beware, for that which you choose shall become the fate that devours you!"
The mortal straightened his hockey jersey and looked up through his hazy eyes. "Knee hats."
"Knee... Wait, what did you say?"
"Knee hats, bro."
"... What is that?"
"Well you know what a knee is..."
"Yes."
"You know what a hat is..."
"... Yes..."
The man pantomimed a hat going on to his knee. "Knee hats."
The demon coiled his body to bring his face down closer to the mortal. "I feel I haven't explained this very well."
"No one's perfect bro."
"Okay. You can have ANYTHING... Anything you want. Literally. Gold, women, fame. Anything."
"Oh!"
Relief swept across the demon's face and he lifted his body up again. "Now, earthly being, what is your choice?"
"You know those gloves where they have the fingers cutt off?"
The beast was silent.
"When I wear them in the winter, my fingers get cold. So a pair of those, but, like, the opposite."
"Hold on. You want gloves but only... The finger tips?"
"Like the last inch, yeah."
"Because in the winter..."
"My fingers get cold."
"..."
"It's because of the diabetes."
The demon puffed out its cheeks in consternation. What's a better way to pitch this?
"Okay, listen. Let's start over, shall we? From the top."
"Alright."
"I am the arch-demon Kazitrax, fulfilled of wishes, keeper of curses. And you are..."
"Paul. From the bowling alley."
"Okay, Paul. You get three wishes. Whatever you want. Do you like comic books, Paul."
"Yes!"
"Wonderful! Would you like super powers, Paul?"
"Definitely!"
"Outstanding! We're making progress! What super power, more than any other, would you like, Paul?"
Paul took off his Indianapolis Colts cap and ran his fingers through his long hair. "Oh man..."
"Take your time. Make it a good one!"
"I've got it!" He returned the cap to his head.
"What have you got, Paul! ?"
Paul showed the demon the joint he fished from his locks. "Thought I lost you, little guy."
"WHAT IS YOUR WISH, PAUL?"
"Oh yeah. Sweat pants, right, but they breathe and you can wear them to, like, Target. So like, uh...
"PANTS!?"
Paul snapped his fingers and pointed to the demon. "You get it." | " 'Nother pony!" Ben yelled. Azagaradathoth sighed irritably.
"What color?" he asked the little boy hopefully.
*Give me anything, puny mortal,* he thought. While the gift of absolute patience tended to come with absolute immortality, there was nonetheless a rage beginning to curl at the edges of his consciousness at this point. *Any excuse. Anything vague enough for me to twist around and upon you.*
*Anything.*
Ben subjected this question to the degree of pensive, thoughtful silence that most mortals literally ten times his age often failed to employ for far more dangerously double-edged wishes Aragaradathoth had granted in the past. Silence filled the cavern. The riches of ages past, the riches of all those Aragaradathoth had taken from his former masters as his own and left by his summoning pool as just the sort of easily-misinterpreted warning he knew would attract just the right type of arrogant fool, glittered under the interlopers' headlamps. Behind the most aggravating entity he had ever granted wishes to sat his parents, Linda and Mark. They were holding hands and smiling happily in that beatifically vacant, utterly infuriating way that certain parents did when their child was having a Learning Moment at the expense of another sentient being.
For a time that was but a gnat's eyeblink compared to Azagaradathoth's lifespan to date, but which, somehow, stretched unto eternity, the only sound at all was Ben, pensively sucking at that stupid, stupid pony-shaped lollipop. The closest the demon had gotten so far to malicious misinterpretation.
Ben was four.
Ben withdrew the lollipop.
"Pony!" he yelled.
At best, he could make the pony's coat a sort of Escher-esque pony-based stitchwork; at worst, it could only be interpreted as a repetition of the original command. The same command that Ben had uttered fourteen times now. Azagaradathoth's little cavern was becoming crowded. Physically and... odorously. All Ben had to do was utter some inane assertion that ponies couldn't poop, or something equally poorly-thought-out, and Azagaradathoth could finally have some *fun*.
Assuming his mother's fully-fluent Legalese that she'd managed to successfully add to the contract didn't prevent him from doing so.
There were over seven hundred different obscenities Azagaradathoth could have employed in that, the darkest moment so far of his long lifespan of darkness. Some of which were Abyssal in origin and would have thankfully melted the grotesque little simian larvae's head into a brownish-red slag, something he had begun to seriously consider doing within fifteen minutes of this obscene humiliating torture.
However, on top of everything else, Ben's mother was a lawyer, and had carefully coached Ben through three hours of lengthy contractual formalities before he'd made his first wish. Three hours for Ben, at least. Thirty minutes for anyone able to pronounce words longer than four syllables without significant difficulties.
There was surely nothing more insurmountable than a mind like a blunt object when it was being driven by a mind like a scalpel.
Azagaradathoth gritted his teeth, and snapped his fingers. | |
[WP] A demon can always turn someone's wishes into the most horrible of curses. But your wishes are so stupid and asinine that not even the greatest archdemon can turn them against you. | "Three wishes? You sure?"
"Positive."
"Alright! I'm going to change the world. Yeah, man, it'd be nice if there were no such thing as mosquitoes, you know? Or, wait, I got it! I wish that mosquitoes were nice and polite to us and always used their turn signals so we'd know where they're flying."
". . ."
"Don't give me that face, Just think about it. We have airplanes and stuff, right? Traffic controllers. So just use turn signals on mosquitoes. That's my first wish."
"Not, riches? World unity? You sure you don't want to wish for unity? I love it when they wish for unity."
"Nah, man, nice polite mosquitoes. With turn signals. That'll help out my wife, see, she gets so fed up with the little critters."
"Um. . . well, granted. Mosquitoes will now. . . use their. . . turn signals."
"You alright? Need a drink? You sound a little off. Ooh! I wish that you had a nice drink of water that you would be happy with. There! That should work, right?"
"I have never been so delighted by a human's idiocy before, and the fact that it's only my own power making it possible is simultaneously thrilling and nauseating. Please, just wish to be rich or something. Please."
"You think I should change my name? I dunno, that sound like a hassle. 'sides, I really don't feel like a Rich. Maybe Lo."
"It's times like this that I'm grateful for my inability to comprehend humans."
"Oh, you poor thing! I wish you could understand humans better."
"No, no, it doesn't work like that--"
"Doesn't it? I mean, we already fixed mosquitoes, so what else is there for me to wish for? It's better that you get the wishes anyway, since you're the one with the magic. How often do people let you have water instead of asking for money or whatever? Not often, I bet. So enjoy it. And yes, I wish you could better understand humans."
"You have no idea how much I hate you right n--"
"Watch out!"
"?"
"Mosquito incoming."
". . ."
"See? I told you I would change the world!" | " 'Nother pony!" Ben yelled. Azagaradathoth sighed irritably.
"What color?" he asked the little boy hopefully.
*Give me anything, puny mortal,* he thought. While the gift of absolute patience tended to come with absolute immortality, there was nonetheless a rage beginning to curl at the edges of his consciousness at this point. *Any excuse. Anything vague enough for me to twist around and upon you.*
*Anything.*
Ben subjected this question to the degree of pensive, thoughtful silence that most mortals literally ten times his age often failed to employ for far more dangerously double-edged wishes Aragaradathoth had granted in the past. Silence filled the cavern. The riches of ages past, the riches of all those Aragaradathoth had taken from his former masters as his own and left by his summoning pool as just the sort of easily-misinterpreted warning he knew would attract just the right type of arrogant fool, glittered under the interlopers' headlamps. Behind the most aggravating entity he had ever granted wishes to sat his parents, Linda and Mark. They were holding hands and smiling happily in that beatifically vacant, utterly infuriating way that certain parents did when their child was having a Learning Moment at the expense of another sentient being.
For a time that was but a gnat's eyeblink compared to Azagaradathoth's lifespan to date, but which, somehow, stretched unto eternity, the only sound at all was Ben, pensively sucking at that stupid, stupid pony-shaped lollipop. The closest the demon had gotten so far to malicious misinterpretation.
Ben was four.
Ben withdrew the lollipop.
"Pony!" he yelled.
At best, he could make the pony's coat a sort of Escher-esque pony-based stitchwork; at worst, it could only be interpreted as a repetition of the original command. The same command that Ben had uttered fourteen times now. Azagaradathoth's little cavern was becoming crowded. Physically and... odorously. All Ben had to do was utter some inane assertion that ponies couldn't poop, or something equally poorly-thought-out, and Azagaradathoth could finally have some *fun*.
Assuming his mother's fully-fluent Legalese that she'd managed to successfully add to the contract didn't prevent him from doing so.
There were over seven hundred different obscenities Azagaradathoth could have employed in that, the darkest moment so far of his long lifespan of darkness. Some of which were Abyssal in origin and would have thankfully melted the grotesque little simian larvae's head into a brownish-red slag, something he had begun to seriously consider doing within fifteen minutes of this obscene humiliating torture.
However, on top of everything else, Ben's mother was a lawyer, and had carefully coached Ben through three hours of lengthy contractual formalities before he'd made his first wish. Three hours for Ben, at least. Thirty minutes for anyone able to pronounce words longer than four syllables without significant difficulties.
There was surely nothing more insurmountable than a mind like a blunt object when it was being driven by a mind like a scalpel.
Azagaradathoth gritted his teeth, and snapped his fingers. | |
[WP] A demon can always turn someone's wishes into the most horrible of curses. But your wishes are so stupid and asinine that not even the greatest archdemon can turn them against you. | "Three wishes? You sure?"
"Positive."
"Alright! I'm going to change the world. Yeah, man, it'd be nice if there were no such thing as mosquitoes, you know? Or, wait, I got it! I wish that mosquitoes were nice and polite to us and always used their turn signals so we'd know where they're flying."
". . ."
"Don't give me that face, Just think about it. We have airplanes and stuff, right? Traffic controllers. So just use turn signals on mosquitoes. That's my first wish."
"Not, riches? World unity? You sure you don't want to wish for unity? I love it when they wish for unity."
"Nah, man, nice polite mosquitoes. With turn signals. That'll help out my wife, see, she gets so fed up with the little critters."
"Um. . . well, granted. Mosquitoes will now. . . use their. . . turn signals."
"You alright? Need a drink? You sound a little off. Ooh! I wish that you had a nice drink of water that you would be happy with. There! That should work, right?"
"I have never been so delighted by a human's idiocy before, and the fact that it's only my own power making it possible is simultaneously thrilling and nauseating. Please, just wish to be rich or something. Please."
"You think I should change my name? I dunno, that sound like a hassle. 'sides, I really don't feel like a Rich. Maybe Lo."
"It's times like this that I'm grateful for my inability to comprehend humans."
"Oh, you poor thing! I wish you could understand humans better."
"No, no, it doesn't work like that--"
"Doesn't it? I mean, we already fixed mosquitoes, so what else is there for me to wish for? It's better that you get the wishes anyway, since you're the one with the magic. How often do people let you have water instead of asking for money or whatever? Not often, I bet. So enjoy it. And yes, I wish you could better understand humans."
"You have no idea how much I hate you right n--"
"Watch out!"
"?"
"Mosquito incoming."
". . ."
"See? I told you I would change the world!" | The red-skinned, scaly beast arched its long body down to the mortal. Its orange and gold eyes laid upon the human with wicked disdain and menacing mischief.
"To you, small mortal, I shall grant wishes three--your dreams and desires brought to be! However, beware, for that which you choose shall become the fate that devours you!"
The mortal straightened his hockey jersey and looked up through his hazy eyes. "Knee hats."
"Knee... Wait, what did you say?"
"Knee hats, bro."
"... What is that?"
"Well you know what a knee is..."
"Yes."
"You know what a hat is..."
"... Yes..."
The man pantomimed a hat going on to his knee. "Knee hats."
The demon coiled his body to bring his face down closer to the mortal. "I feel I haven't explained this very well."
"No one's perfect bro."
"Okay. You can have ANYTHING... Anything you want. Literally. Gold, women, fame. Anything."
"Oh!"
Relief swept across the demon's face and he lifted his body up again. "Now, earthly being, what is your choice?"
"You know those gloves where they have the fingers cutt off?"
The beast was silent.
"When I wear them in the winter, my fingers get cold. So a pair of those, but, like, the opposite."
"Hold on. You want gloves but only... The finger tips?"
"Like the last inch, yeah."
"Because in the winter..."
"My fingers get cold."
"..."
"It's because of the diabetes."
The demon puffed out its cheeks in consternation. What's a better way to pitch this?
"Okay, listen. Let's start over, shall we? From the top."
"Alright."
"I am the arch-demon Kazitrax, fulfilled of wishes, keeper of curses. And you are..."
"Paul. From the bowling alley."
"Okay, Paul. You get three wishes. Whatever you want. Do you like comic books, Paul."
"Yes!"
"Wonderful! Would you like super powers, Paul?"
"Definitely!"
"Outstanding! We're making progress! What super power, more than any other, would you like, Paul?"
Paul took off his Indianapolis Colts cap and ran his fingers through his long hair. "Oh man..."
"Take your time. Make it a good one!"
"I've got it!" He returned the cap to his head.
"What have you got, Paul! ?"
Paul showed the demon the joint he fished from his locks. "Thought I lost you, little guy."
"WHAT IS YOUR WISH, PAUL?"
"Oh yeah. Sweat pants, right, but they breathe and you can wear them to, like, Target. So like, uh...
"PANTS!?"
Paul snapped his fingers and pointed to the demon. "You get it." | |
[WP] You were the only one crazy enough to take the immortality serum. It is now trillions of years in the future and you have witnessed the heat death of the universe... and its rebirth. You were not expecting what happened after the second big bang. | “Let’s bring him out” Topak muttered.
She worked some controls manually (she was a throwback who liked manual, old fashioned, but you know – arks!) The debug cylinder swirled with lights and gases as the Bose-Einstein field condensed, atoms slamming into place. After a moment, Reznik stepped out of the debug into the Architecture Programming room. Topak, San and Sraa all watched him.
Reznik slithered over to his seat and stared blankly at his Logozstation for a few blips before frowning.
“We’ve got an entropy routing bug” he explained.
Everybody groaned. Sraa shivered and whimpered “not again!”
“Yeah,” Reznik said. “So standard issue for this kind of universe is we get a big bang, we get energy and probability outbound through the construct based on the starting model. Eventually it just… spreads out, we get solid heat, eventually nothing is supported. That’s our save state.”
“Right!” San said. “Once we hit 100% heat death the construct ends, and all the occupants score. We can’t tally scoring without the thing in a static state. That’s the fucking finish line. But in this case –“
“it \*doesn’t\* end” whispered Sraa. Reznik nodded, then pulled up an index.
“Right. Once the last consciousness can’t stay viable, we get heat death. But we always get one consciousness that stays immortal. Because of this, we’ve got an Entropy Fault. We have to keep the thinker going so we keep routing entropy around them, which eventually causes a slowdown and then reverse of the outbound universal edge. It all then just sucks in and collapses. Which would have made a nice ending in its own right, but-“
“But the model coincidentally supported a big bang start” Topak said. “So when the ending conditions (all the matter/energy/probability in one place) equal the starting conditions, it just blows again, and it cycles. We don’t get a steady state, ever, which means we can’t FUCKING SCORE.”
“I know” said Reznik.
“People aren’t going to want to join a construct for billions of years if they can’t score!”
“I know, I know! Let me think.” Reznik slithered around the room. “We don’t have time to build a new starting engine. We’ve got people signed up and a start date to meet. We’re looking for something… not technical. Some way to spin it. “
Sraa frowned, then raised a limb. “What if we brand this a sort of… training universe. It’s not meant to score. It’s just a newbie zone, to help you learn how to build a life and.. y’know... navigate the physics engine.”
Reznik stared at Sraa. “So you mean they get yanked out of the sim when it collapses, while it’s still running? And then what?”
Sraa shrugged. “We move them to the ‘real’ universe, which is like, a lot better than this newbie one. I mean it’d have to be?”
San rolled his orbits. “We don’t have a second better kickass universe.”
Sraa looked at him. “We’d have a trillion years to make one? We’d have to hustle. I mean it’s either that or we delay the launch… and we’ve got a quintillion-ish customers signed up already. “
Everybody looked at Topak. Topak connected his sensorium to the comm.
“Get me marketing please.” | After having survived through natural disasters and every illness and battle known to mankind, I should have been more prepared. But nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
I watched as the world ended, the darkness engulfing me as the earth exploded into a million pieces. I couldn’t hear or see anything in the moment when darkness controlled my conscience but I felt everything.
I expected the pain but it didn’t stop the hurting.
My arms were being pulled like noodles, stretched until breaking point. My heartbeat was rocketing and I saw stars and planets pass by as my body convulsed. I’d always thought of space and the skies as a safe place, somewhere I could go when everything on earth was a mess.
Yet here I was, freewheeling through space as a resounding bang echoed through my eardrums, almost splitting me in half. I closed my eyes and wished for time to be nice, just this once. And then everything froze.
A breeze surrounded me, lifting me towards the white light. The wind stopped, and like a leaf falling through the air, I shifted from side to side through the atmosphere, with something soft cushioning my fall.
I shielded my eyes, trying to figure out where I was. The wind carried on and when my eyes adjusted I saw clouds below me. I was lying on my stomach, and I couldn’t get up.
Then I felt something kick inside my stomach, water pooling underneath me, and immense pain. The contractions were coming in waves.
“Oh god,” I gasped and I looked down at my baby bump.
Having a baby had been on my bucket list, but perhaps not after the world ended and definitely not without someone else.
Something floated down onto my stomach. It was a white note that looked like it had been torn off a diary. I picked the note up and I read the words before darkness enclosed around me once again.
“You’re welcome, Eve.” | |
[WP] You were the only one crazy enough to take the immortality serum. It is now trillions of years in the future and you have witnessed the heat death of the universe... and its rebirth. You were not expecting what happened after the second big bang. | No one made it out of the singularity. Despite the best efforts of the United Consciousness, entropy was an unassailable enemy. The heat death of the universe, and the ensuing void of all energy, blinked out the last light of consciousness.
Save for one.
With no earthly body left, his consciousness drifted freely across the void for an eternity, dwarfing any amount of time before the end. Time nor space no longer truly existed, and all he had were his thoughts; time to dwell on the trillions of years of his existence.
Had he lived well? After all this time, he could not say. He had done his best - but often, that is not enough.
Had he another chance, he would do better. Of that, he was sure.
*****
He spent the eons in something akin to meditation.
And yet, he could feel things changing. As if the universe was no longer expanding, but contracting.
Like a drop of water in a puddle, the ripple had finally hit against the edges, and now was beginning to return.
All matter, all energy; all was returning back. And he could feel himself, his consciousness, being dragged in with it.
Into the swirling, writhing mass of raw energy, forming at the center of the universe.
He became a part of it; or perhaps, the whole of it.
******
In one moment, an eternity or an instant, there was nothing. And then, an explosion. A Big Bang.
And once more the universe expanded, giving birth to itself.
And yet, now his consciousness was infused in it all.
The consciousness of the cosmos.
And He saw that it was Good.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | For time out of mind I drifted, and I dreamed. What sustained me in the delirious eternity of nothing was wilder and wilder imaginations—as the clear memory of creation faded, not unlike the fading of the last white dwarves, as the whole universe went dark—the limits of what I had known slipped further into obscurity.
In a million lifetimes, I believed I had seen all there was. The novelty of stumbling upon a fledgling alien race, making it's first infantile steps into the stars, had lost its luster aeons ago.. But the dreams of sentient minds, I consumed them, rapaciously. In life, (not mine of course, rather universe's) I suppose I became something of an anthropologist. And now in woken hibernation they mixed and morphed.
In my dream, boundless worlds took shape, with creatures born of multitude of fact and fiction from a billion billion galaxies. In round about an eternity, that strange substance I consumed, found in what had been thought to be the center of the universe, had granted me such wonderful visions. Worlds unbound by physics, strange and wonderful abominations.. a truly endless repository of things that could've been.
For how long, I do not know—without stars, or even their corpses in the form of black holes—I lost all sense of time. The only change I could detect, came from my body.. in moments of waking clarity I could feel my form changing. My arms and legs were shorter.. from so long without use. I found myself huddled in the fetal position.. so long without moving.. just adrift.
For time out of mind, I drifted and dreamed. Until.. my dream became too great. I had not felt pain, or anything for that matter, in so long, I did not understand the sensation. But all at once, I was imagining a strange little world, with furless primates who walked about on two legs and everything exploded—everywhere—I exploded. But still I did not die. And the quark soup turned into a gaseous fireball which turned into stars (much brighter than I remembered them) and well, after a little bit of waiting, I found the strange primates. The ones who walk about on two legs, and they are wonderful. | |
[WP] A family of the strongest super villains in the world was fighting over dinner. Apparently, the daughter is now dating a hero. | 'Who is it? I'll kill him!.' Vole suggested, steam wafing out of his ears. 'No damned hero will touch my sister and live.'
'Cool it, Vole.' Father demanded, tapping the side of his metal mask. 'You dont want to overheat the head and be stuck like this too.'
'Did you hear her? A hero! Not an alien, not a civil. A hero!' Vole snapped. His face was turning red.
'I heard her!' Father growled. His mask turned to me. I rose a brow to him, my arms crossed.
'You will stop seeing whoever it is as of now. You will be regulated to your chamber and you will tell us their name as well as their identity. This cannot be allowed to go unpunished.' Father said. I snorted.
'Yeah right. Who calibrates the shields? Who sets up the cameras? Who designed our security system? Who does upkeep on your mechanical components?' I challenged. My brother and Father were silent apart from a loud whistling from Voles ears. I rolled my eyes and waved my hand to him, iced air melting on contact with his face, cooling him down.
'And who keeps your son from accidentally killing himself? You act like this is a power. It's a medical condition! One you DESIGNED me to fix.' I continued.
'Yes, I created you! You have responsibilities and a role-' Father spat.
I laughed. I laughed so hard the room went cold. I laughed so hard the table had frost on it.
'What you did was give me power. Power over every inch of your life. Your home. Your body. Your future. What you did was put me in charge then act like you had the reins.' I said.
'Are you threatening us, Whisp?' Vole rumbled.
'No. I dont need to. The trap is already set.' I pressed a button on my wireless control bracelet. The skylight opened.
'Why could you have been gay or something? Why a hero?' Father groaned, scrambling to find a weapon.
'Well...' I said, pointing up. My family looked to the open roof.
A craze of red hair and curves was hovering in the opening. Her outfit black leather and a smirk visible under a half face mask.
With them distracted by their rage, I pushed my power stronger than I ever had and froze my family in place. My girlfriend swooped down and lifted me. She looked around and chuckled.
'Went that well, huh?' She asked as we flew away. I pressed the button on my bracelet again, closing the skylight. This would be their prison. For now.
'They would have killed you.'I said flatly.
'They have tried before,' she reminded me.
'Its different.' I mumbled, kissing along her jaw and leaving small crystal lip marks.
'No,' she said, grinning. 'YOU'RE different.' | "Count Tyranical, you better back the fuck up before you find the fuck out." Doomlord Junior said.
"Language, Dominic." Doomlord Senior said sternly.
"Brother, twice, the pride, double the-"
"Don't finish it, Mark. Don't you dare-"
"Boys." Doomlord Senior may have been retired, but his voice was as commanding as ever. "Put your squabbles aside. We're here for my granddaughter."
"Please, Honey." Mistress Madness, Doomlord's wife, spoke up. "Let's hear her out."
"I have nothing to hear! A hero? Really?!"
"Maybe's she's pulling the stunt I did, remember when I tricked that impressionable sidekick, turned him to our side? Super emotional battle against his old mentor?" Mistress Madness let slip a maniacal laugh over her memories of manipulation.
Doomlord Jr.'s eyes lit up. "Really! Well damn, she had me fooled to! You should have just said so!"
"I'm not betraying Emily!" Mary, referred to by her villain family as Nightfall, yelled in her defense before she realized her mistake.
"Emily?" Her mother asked.
"Well, uh," Mary started fidgeting, looking down at her lap. "Her hero name is Atlas, cause she wants to bear the world's pain on her shoulders, it's super touching really, and I guess you couldn't tell by her suit, it's not super revealing, unlike some other heroines, not that I'll complain about it, but she mentioned it can get kinda cold sometimes in just spandex, so she had her suit changed early in her career, I put my sweater around her when she first told me that, we were on a rooftop together..." she mumbled on about her, something she got from her mother. Mistress Madness had lost many a fight because of her tendency to monologue.
Count Tyranical looked disgusted. "Look at you, Doomlord! She didn't even have the confidence to tell you it was a women!"
Doomlord was hurt. "Tyranical, you know as well as I do that professionals have standards! Love who you love! It's the hero part that I hate unconditionally!"
"Maybe it's just a phase." Suggested Elenore, Count Tyranical's wife. Not a super villain, but definitely a super person, if you asked the Count. "Back when I was her age, I had my own rebellious streak." She winked at Mistress Madness. They had their adventures together back in the day. They ended up riding two different waves, but the love was still there.
"No! I really do like her!" Elenore grasped her heart as the sincerity in her voice pierced her. When she wasn't being bashful, her father's emotional nature really shown through. Elenore made a note to try and counsel Mary later, hoping her experience as a regular human married to a super villain might be of some help.
"Honey, Nightfall, dear, I get it, I really do, but try and understand how your Dad must feel." Mistress Madness began comforting her daughter.
"Your mother's right, you know! How do you expect to be a super villain while dating a hero!"
"WELL THEN MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE A VILLAIN!" Mary yelled, getting up and storming off to her room.
Gasps went around the table, which was particularly dangerous due to Count Tyranical's presence, as his superhuman lungs drew in quite a bit of air. Doomlord Senior, who was sitting next to him, started wheezing. Doomlord Junior put his head in his hands, and Mistress Madness wrapped an arm around him. His anger having subsided, he started sobbing.
"What did I do wrong? What did I say?" He said through sniffs and tears.
"Nothing, dear. It's alright. We'll figure it out."
"Well, looking back on it," Doomlord Senior began, "I can see why that might be her decision. I didn't much care for villainy either." The statement started another argument at the table while Mary texted Emily in her room with her new phone. Doomlord Senior couldn't help but spoil her. | |
[WP] A family of the strongest super villains in the world was fighting over dinner. Apparently, the daughter is now dating a hero. | 'Who is it? I'll kill him!.' Vole suggested, steam wafing out of his ears. 'No damned hero will touch my sister and live.'
'Cool it, Vole.' Father demanded, tapping the side of his metal mask. 'You dont want to overheat the head and be stuck like this too.'
'Did you hear her? A hero! Not an alien, not a civil. A hero!' Vole snapped. His face was turning red.
'I heard her!' Father growled. His mask turned to me. I rose a brow to him, my arms crossed.
'You will stop seeing whoever it is as of now. You will be regulated to your chamber and you will tell us their name as well as their identity. This cannot be allowed to go unpunished.' Father said. I snorted.
'Yeah right. Who calibrates the shields? Who sets up the cameras? Who designed our security system? Who does upkeep on your mechanical components?' I challenged. My brother and Father were silent apart from a loud whistling from Voles ears. I rolled my eyes and waved my hand to him, iced air melting on contact with his face, cooling him down.
'And who keeps your son from accidentally killing himself? You act like this is a power. It's a medical condition! One you DESIGNED me to fix.' I continued.
'Yes, I created you! You have responsibilities and a role-' Father spat.
I laughed. I laughed so hard the room went cold. I laughed so hard the table had frost on it.
'What you did was give me power. Power over every inch of your life. Your home. Your body. Your future. What you did was put me in charge then act like you had the reins.' I said.
'Are you threatening us, Whisp?' Vole rumbled.
'No. I dont need to. The trap is already set.' I pressed a button on my wireless control bracelet. The skylight opened.
'Why could you have been gay or something? Why a hero?' Father groaned, scrambling to find a weapon.
'Well...' I said, pointing up. My family looked to the open roof.
A craze of red hair and curves was hovering in the opening. Her outfit black leather and a smirk visible under a half face mask.
With them distracted by their rage, I pushed my power stronger than I ever had and froze my family in place. My girlfriend swooped down and lifted me. She looked around and chuckled.
'Went that well, huh?' She asked as we flew away. I pressed the button on my bracelet again, closing the skylight. This would be their prison. For now.
'They would have killed you.'I said flatly.
'They have tried before,' she reminded me.
'Its different.' I mumbled, kissing along her jaw and leaving small crystal lip marks.
'No,' she said, grinning. 'YOU'RE different.' | "You're kidding, right? You know it's the worst crime a villian can commit. You could get kicked out of the League of Evil Teens!"
"No, mom, I'm not kidding," Vanessa said with a kind smile on her face.
"What did we do wrong? We have you a stereotypical evil name, we punished you when you smiled..." Vanessa's mom paused briefly, then continued, "...we even bought you a book on how to be a successful supervillain!"
"Have you thought that I don't want to be evil? That maybe I learned about it myself and decided to be good because of free will?"
The entire family went silent, until Vanessa's dad finally spoke up. "Vanessa, if you do not break up with this superhero right now, I will take away your hacking privlages."
Again, the entire family went silent, and then Vanessa's little brother burst out laughing. While both of her parents congratulated him for laughing at an inappropriate time, Vanessa excused herself from the table. She calmly walked to her room, ready to make the same memory erasing potion she made almost every night.
-----
Sorry if this isn't very good, I haven't done a writing prompt in a while. | |
[WP] Due to ethical concerns, you can't use live humans for your teleportation experiments. In an attempt to prove its safe, you teleport a cadaver through-- it comes out on the other end alive again. | “Oh God.” said the crumpled mass. “Oh God.” I repeated mechanically.
I looked across the laboratory to the other teleportation node and back again. Grey eyes met mine. “I've done it!” I said. “And more still... Not to worry. No. We'll correct it later. A minor setback. Today has been a success.” And it had. I'd toiled many years. Many years spent suffering the institute's nagging. I smiled. There would be no nonsense about budget and resources after today.
I knelt down to inspect the mass. It had uncrumpled itself and sat against the wall.
“Oh.” It said. “What's the setback?”
“You're not meant to be alive.” I could detect no remarkable damage or change, except, of course, for the unexplained reanimation. Yes, today had been a success. Prior attempts at teleportation had culminated only in the addition of a cleaning staff to scrape charred meat from the laboratory's surfaces. And to think I had been expected to do that job myself! “Confidentiality be damned.” I'd said. “I'm an educated man, and I won't be put on spatula duty.” The institute had eventually folded, repurposing some of their excess meatheads into meat maids. “Well I can just lie real still. You won't even know I'm alive.” The mass said. It showed its teeth. “I'm afraid It won't do any good. The specification is clear in prohibiting any changes to a passenger's health. The specification is quite thorough.”
Just then I could hear the heavy automatic doors to the laboratory crack open. “Let's get you onto the table.” I said. Darlene was sent down after each trial to gather my report. She had been unkind in her assessments of my progress in the past. Not after today. She walked into the laboratory followed by two square shaped men who were equipped to scrape meat. “Have you begun? Should I come back?” She said. “No no. I've had a breakthrough.” I gestured to the examination table. She cocked her head and slid off a pair of silk gloves. “A complete success. Straight through one end and out the other.” I continued. The two square shaped men grinned and grunted happily and left.
Darlene looked at the mass lying still on the examination table. “He's breathing.”
“Hmm?” I said, turning to see. “Yes I suppose you're right.”
“This is unacceptable. What's to stop the live passengers from becoming dead ones?” “It's a minor setback.” said the mass, opening one eye and hardly moving its lips. “We'll correct it later.” “Yes.” I said. “In the meantime it will lie quite still. You can hardly tell the difference.” Darlene scowled and crossed her arms. “That will have to do for now. Good work otherwise. We'll see about expanding the budget.” She turned around and we bad her farewell.
I sat on the edge of the examination table. “Did you hear that? She said 'Good work.'”
The mass looked up at me. “Of course. You've done a fine job of it.” | ~~Incident report 1/17031-CSF~~
**Report Type**: Catastrophic Systems Failure. [UNREDACTED]
**Subject Status**: Unsecured. Reaction Force Non-Responsive. Site Command Non-Responsive.
**Report Summary**: At approximately 2:17am Pacific Standard Time, SORC and Zenith QRF teams were alerted to seismic activity beyond secure limitations at Outpost Morpheus, henceforth referred to as Site Beta. At that time, no alarm failsafes had been triggered within Site Beta. Upon 3 failed attempts at reaching Site Beta on secure lines, Zenith Team 3 and 9 were positioned at fallback points surrounding the epicentre of the seismic activity, while Teams 1, 2, and 4 through 8 were tasked with entry on Site Beta. Special Observations and Reconnaissance Command special liaison, Captain Torrance Lafayette, was in zone command, and will henceforth be referred to by his designation 1/17031-01b. All SORC and QRF task force members assigned to Incident 1/17031 have been confirmed Killed in Action, or filed as Anomalous Disappearance at the time of writing this document. 1/17031-01b remains at large.
Any and all surviving QRF helmet camera footage and Site Beta CC footage from within five (5) days prior to, or after, Incident 1/17031-CSF is to be considered extremely dangerous, and will hereby be referred to as 1/17031-02.
The following is a transcript of distinguishable conversation found within Audio Recording 1/17031-Observations Room.
*Dr. Rasmussen: You realize this is it, don’t you? 6 years of D Class cadaver invoices a mile long. Finally paying off. They’ve pushed us way above budget since they halted all D Class live experimentation.*
*Dr. Bouchard: We don’t know that yet. Pay attention to the meters please, I’m not doing this again tonight. I’m hungry and Claire is making empanadas tonight.*
*Dr. R: What did I tell you about bringing up food in my office, it totally throws my focus.*
*Dr. B: This is our office, Gerard. You’re doing it again, look at your tachyon gauges, asshole. He’s gonna fry up, then if it works, we have to clean it. When they run out of D Classes for us to use you know it’s dogs and cows right?*
*Dr. R: We both know the D Class are going to clean it, how about you relax. And I doubt they’ll run out anytime soon. They tried that whole clemency for D Classes when they brought back that old 05, remember that? Didn’t last long, after his whole meltdown they went out the window with the whole policy. Division command is probably running just as high a budget as ours and can’t afford them right now.*
*Dr. B: What’d you do to avoid the memory agents this time? You know they just demote you to D Class for that now? You’re not supposed to be able to freely recall that, Gerard. Don’t fuck around and get me killed too, okay?*
*Dr. R: They don’t kill D Classes anymore, remember? Initiating Device 17031.*
At this time, a loud electrical surge is heard and it is believed that Device 17031, henceforth referred to as Site Alpha, was successfully fired. Utilizing the properties inherent in the Keter Class anomaly 17031 to fold space-time for use as a teleportation device for live creatures.
*Dr. R: Leonard, call the QRFs.*
*Dr. B: I see him, I fucking see him... It’s not working...(unintelligible). Gerry, the signal isn’t going out...*
*Dr. R: I know what you’re going to say but this reminds me of that old 05, man.*
*Dr. B: Roger Sheldon went crazy, Gerard. You saw the same memo I did. And look at his this guys file, he was deployed researching 087. I’d sob uncontrollably too if I came back to life.*
*Dr. R: We both know those memos are afterthoughts and damage control. And that doesn’t explain the memetic anomaly failsafes auto-triggering. I don’t know. Something isn’t right. Look at the cameras. It’s like they’re jostling. Shit, wait, he’s saying something, run the filters and kick up his audio.*
At this time, an unintelligible voice screams incoherently for 31 seconds at various volumes while gauges are adjusted in the observation room, before abruptly pitching steeply downward and uttering the following.
“I can’t stop it. It came with me. You can’t let me out but don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me. I can’t go back to that. Anything but that. Promise you won’t kill me! Promise me!”
After this brief moment of coherence the agitated sobbing returned and the subject, henceforth referred to as 17031-01a, began to act erratically, evidently damaging the containment in the testing cell despite not appearing to move from his place.
*Dr. B: Gerry, don’t look at the fucking cameras! Fuck! We’re dead. We’re fucking dead. We have to kill the base*
*Dr. R: I already did. I looked Leo.*
*Dr. B: No, no, no. Don’t say that, idiot. You probably just looked close and you’re freakin’ out, lift your ass, let’s go.*
*Dr. R: I can feel it moving. You need to hit the switch, I’m paralyzed, Leo. I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe soon, hurry.*
*Dr. B: I told you not to talk like tha-*
*Dr. R: Do it now!*
At this point the audio equipment appears to have been destroyed and there is no longer any feed to examine. It would appear that Dr. Bouchard failed to get to the outposts killswitch in time and 23 seconds after the summation of the recording, vital signs for both observers would vanish.
Preliminary plans for follow up investigations put forth by Dr. Cavendish and Dr. Silvers are pending behind an 05 Cleansing Protocol Initiative.
**Addendum**: Follow up investigations denied, 05 Cleansing Protocol to be carried out at soonest opportunity.
~~+ Supplementary Report 17031-01b~~
^Access ^Denied | |
[WP] You've always heard " its darkest just before dawn". You have to believe dawn is coming soon; but it's been 36 hours and its only getting darker. | Gabriel had never considered himself a virtuous man. He didn’t believe in God, go to Church on Sundays, help the homeless, or even any of his neighbours, really. In fact, he wouldn’t even say he was a good person. Definitely not a good samaritan. But when The Night hit, like everyone else, he was on the streets doing what he could to either figure out what was going on, or to help calm the mass hysteria that had commenced around 8 A.M on the 21st of June.
He found it almost poetic, how what was supposed to be the longest day of the year turned into… well, not really a day at all. Once the 36th hour of straight darkness had hit, Gabriel had already decided that his main goal for the foreseeable future would be to stand by the hardware store he owned, and attempt to defend it and the surrounding stores from any looters that would try and terrorize the main street of Canterbury. Gabriel may not have considered himself a good or virtuous man, but he understood that the people of his town were gentle and kind folk, and he would do what he could to protect them.
The experts were saying that Earth didn’t just stop rotating. The sun hadn’t disappeared. The Earth had somehow magically teleported somewhere else in the universe. In Canterbury, the night had just continued, but in places like India and Saudi Arabia, day had turned into night in an instant, causing much more widespread and immediate panic.
Gabriel, in all honesty, was struggling to see what he could do in the scenario, as one would. He depended on the sales from his shop to survive, and while he could always loot the surrounding stores to survive, he wasn’t all that sure that his local police weren’t up and patrolling. If he was caught violating probation, he would go back to prison. Not great, in his mind. So, a law abiding citizen he would remain. At least for the time being.
At hour 48, Gabriel locked himself in his shop to sleep for the first time in two days. At this point, he was pretty sure that no one was going to loot or riot in the streets of Canterbury, but he’d rather remain in his shop anyways, in case someone needed something. And wanted to pay, of course.
It was at about hour 56 that Gabriel started noises from outside. Terrible sounds. Shots and screaming. Women crying. Thuds in the night. He wanted to help, but he had no idea what lay outside that door, except that it might spell death for him.
Hour 72.
Gabriel has no food left in the shop. The granola bars that he had were fine for the first day, but now that he was out, he found himself wishing that he had holed up in his home, where he had a fridge and food.
A knock rang out at the front door. Then another. Gabriel approaches the window ever so carefully so as to see who is outside. Gabriel was expecting a lot of things, but he definitely wasn’t expecting an afraid-looking, small, blonde woman dressed in what was essentially military camo garb, with added converse shoes. He heads back to the door and flings it open as quickly as he ushers her inside, away from the darkest night. As soon as she’s inside, it becomes apparent that she can’t stem the words from tumbling out of her mouth, and begins telling her story.
“Hi, okay, so… We’ve been in darkness for about 72 hours at this point, right? Right. Anyways, I’m just gonna like go right into it, and please don’t stop me, even if you have questions. I’m from the future! Cool, right? Basically what’s happened is that aliens have abducted our planet and moved it somewhere else in space. I got sent here so that we don’t lose 6 billion people to these aliens and so we can fight back! I have a bunch of information on this-”
She sits down and holds up a hard drive.
“and we can use it to defeat the aliens almost before The War even starts. You may be wondering why I’m here in your hardware store telling you all of this, but it’s because in the future, you’re some big, gruff resistance leader, and are an ex-con, so you’re really good at sneaking around? I don’t know. Your future self seemed pretty insistent that I come talk to you.”
Gabriel stares at her.
“Wha- what? Listen, lady, I don’t even know your goddamned name, and now you expect me to, what, follow you on some bullshit alien adventure to save the world because *my future self* told you about me? Why the hell would I believe you?”
The woman stares back.
“I’m your daughter.”
She stands up, and looks at him expectantly, as if she assumed that he would follow.
“And the name is Dawn”. | Sarah turned off the television and slowly stood up. Following nightly protocol, it was now 9:45pm, and she needed to get ready for bed. She stretched, and her shape caught my eye as she ever so slightly bent her body to the side. The first time I saw her do it was in college, and I still found it adorable.
''This is sooo crazy,'' she said as her stretch ended. Turning and walking to the bedroom, she casually added, ''I guess we'll see what happens in the MORNING.'' She laughed as she enunciated ''morning.''
She is the lighthearted one (ironic.) I am the cautious one. Not to a fault, mind you. I'm just in no rush to die, so I keep an eye on the news a bit more than most people. And what I saw yesterday was concerning, and it has only gotten worse.
Let me back up to yesterday morning. Everything started off completely normal. Coffee, shower, shave, Sarah, leave. Like clockwork. Totally normal.
Driving to work, there was a report on the radio about the tides being wrong. I didn't pay attention, because who really gives a shit about the tides? Maybe if you live on the coast, but we lived in Montana. Big skies, big animals, no coast, and no tides. Terrible radio at this hour. Nothing like Atlanta where we came from.
I was on my way to a new site. It was early, and the sun wasn't up yet. This new place was apparently in the middle of nowhere, and I was halfway between the mountains and highway. The road was pretty good. Smooth for this stretch. I started wondering why the hell this road was in such great shape when I glanced down at the GPS to figure out how far the next turn was. With the radio man talking about sea urchins or some other aquatic bullshit, I noticed the GPS signal was lost. When the hell did that happen?
It was right about this moment, on that dark road between the ribbon of highway and the dark Rockies, that I looked down at my watch. The drive had taken me longer than I thought it would. I was right: this place was in the middle of nowhere. But I wasn't paying attention to my own private joke about the job site, I was thinking about the time: 6:17am.
It's a Grand Seiko watch and I love it. Spent a fortune on it, too. Until I saw it, I never really understood the draw of watches. But the minute I first saw it, I knew I was going to buy it. Stupidly expensive, but superbly engineered, it is beautiful and perfect. And the best part is how accurate it is.
And it was telling me 6:17am.
That is an odd thing to see. Ordinarily, at 6:17am, the sky over the mountains would be deep shades of purple. But now, there was nothing. It was still completely dark.
I pulled the truck to the side of the road and left it running. I need to figure out this GPS situation. And where the hell is dawn?
And just as the radio man started talking about something like shipping channels (what the hell is a shipping channel), the radio cut out. And then my phone wouldn't connect to anything.
This was how the first of the dark days began. | |
[WP] You've always heard " its darkest just before dawn". You have to believe dawn is coming soon; but it's been 36 hours and its only getting darker. |
I can’t stop my foot from tapping. *Tap tap tap* is the only noise I can hear since the power went out. When I was on the strip, over 24 hours ago, and it was still dark everyone was elated. If they were at all concerned they sure fooled me. I, on the other hand, was just utterly confused. After a whole night of drinking and partying, I woke up to find that the sun hadn’t ever risen. Don’t get me wrong, I was excited at first to continue my previous night’s shenanigans, but when I realized it was 10am and still pitch black I started to feel the first lump of fear in my throat. My friends didn’t seem to care either. I finally decided to say bye and head back home to the valley.
That whole day I waited and waited. I eventually fell asleep, expecting to wake up to sunlight. Foolish. I woke up to even worse circumstances than before. It is still dark. I actually think it is darker than before. And now my lights won’t turn on. Or my tv. Or my car. My phone is even dead, with no way to charge it. Every electronic device I have, useless. So now I sit here waiting. And waiting. *Tap tap tap*. A few more hours go by, I think. It’s hard to tell time with no clock and no celestial beings above you.
Sitting outside on my old almond bench, I look into the sky, hoping to see something besides the black emptiness above me. I suddenly realize that the moon is no longer there either. Or the stars. It’s just...black. A moment after this realization a small light appears. A second later and *flash!* The whole sky is red! It’s like the sun is going down off the coast, but that beautiful red on the horizon that says goodbye as the sun dips behind the earth is now illuminating the entirety of my vision. I am dumbstruck, so mesmerized by the beautiful color that I barely notice myself getting warmer and warmer. Sweat starts to trickle down my face and into my eyes but I don’t even blink.
I know she is coming. Over a day ago she left us, then realized simply abandoning us would not do. She needed to take us with her. Fearing there was nothing I could do, but feeling the acceptance of at least *knowing* what was coming, I closed my eyes. I no longer hear a sporadic *tap tap tap*, but a slower, monotonous *thump thump thump* coming from my chest. The last thing I experience before being engulfed is the smell of burning almond wood. One last smile, and I am gone. | Sarah turned off the television and slowly stood up. Following nightly protocol, it was now 9:45pm, and she needed to get ready for bed. She stretched, and her shape caught my eye as she ever so slightly bent her body to the side. The first time I saw her do it was in college, and I still found it adorable.
''This is sooo crazy,'' she said as her stretch ended. Turning and walking to the bedroom, she casually added, ''I guess we'll see what happens in the MORNING.'' She laughed as she enunciated ''morning.''
She is the lighthearted one (ironic.) I am the cautious one. Not to a fault, mind you. I'm just in no rush to die, so I keep an eye on the news a bit more than most people. And what I saw yesterday was concerning, and it has only gotten worse.
Let me back up to yesterday morning. Everything started off completely normal. Coffee, shower, shave, Sarah, leave. Like clockwork. Totally normal.
Driving to work, there was a report on the radio about the tides being wrong. I didn't pay attention, because who really gives a shit about the tides? Maybe if you live on the coast, but we lived in Montana. Big skies, big animals, no coast, and no tides. Terrible radio at this hour. Nothing like Atlanta where we came from.
I was on my way to a new site. It was early, and the sun wasn't up yet. This new place was apparently in the middle of nowhere, and I was halfway between the mountains and highway. The road was pretty good. Smooth for this stretch. I started wondering why the hell this road was in such great shape when I glanced down at the GPS to figure out how far the next turn was. With the radio man talking about sea urchins or some other aquatic bullshit, I noticed the GPS signal was lost. When the hell did that happen?
It was right about this moment, on that dark road between the ribbon of highway and the dark Rockies, that I looked down at my watch. The drive had taken me longer than I thought it would. I was right: this place was in the middle of nowhere. But I wasn't paying attention to my own private joke about the job site, I was thinking about the time: 6:17am.
It's a Grand Seiko watch and I love it. Spent a fortune on it, too. Until I saw it, I never really understood the draw of watches. But the minute I first saw it, I knew I was going to buy it. Stupidly expensive, but superbly engineered, it is beautiful and perfect. And the best part is how accurate it is.
And it was telling me 6:17am.
That is an odd thing to see. Ordinarily, at 6:17am, the sky over the mountains would be deep shades of purple. But now, there was nothing. It was still completely dark.
I pulled the truck to the side of the road and left it running. I need to figure out this GPS situation. And where the hell is dawn?
And just as the radio man started talking about something like shipping channels (what the hell is a shipping channel), the radio cut out. And then my phone wouldn't connect to anything.
This was how the first of the dark days began. | |
[WP] You've always heard " its darkest just before dawn". You have to believe dawn is coming soon; but it's been 36 hours and its only getting darker. | Darkest before the dawn they said. One day at a time they said. Let go and let God they said. Well it’d been 36 hours and, AA platitudes aside, I still didn’t feel any better. 36 hours ago was my last hit, my last injection of heroin. I was supposed to be over the hump by now.
Well not quite, but it wasn’t supposed to be getting worse. Last night was awful, the restless legs, unable to lie still. Imagine the feeling you get when you begin to yawn, and how it feels if you stifle that yawn? That’s how my entire body felt, and only movement could relieve the hideous sensation. But relief was short lived, lasting mere moments.
When I could achieve a few moment of fitful sleep, horrible dreams plagued me. They were so real, more hallucination than dream. People were watching me, listening to me. Monitoring my every move. Mysterious omniscient enemies. Their perceived powers left me feeling hopeless. Completely powerless. What could I hope to do against such powers? Alluding them was useless, I couldn’t even find a place to hide in my small studio apartment. When I awoke from such dreams relief flooded me. Until I realized the predicament I now find myself in.
The nausea was so persistent too. I should be over the nausea by now, this wasn’t my first rodeo, after all. But it wouldn’t go away. You know when you get sick, or maybe you drink too much and you get nauseous? Well, when you finally puke you get some relief after. Not in my case. The nausea would just return worse after purging myself. Darkest before the dawn I was told. Well it was pretty damn dark right now. My phone was ringing, probably my old plug. It wasn’t my plug, it was my mom. My mom? I hadn’t talked to my mom in forever. Maybe this was my dawn? | Sarah turned off the television and slowly stood up. Following nightly protocol, it was now 9:45pm, and she needed to get ready for bed. She stretched, and her shape caught my eye as she ever so slightly bent her body to the side. The first time I saw her do it was in college, and I still found it adorable.
''This is sooo crazy,'' she said as her stretch ended. Turning and walking to the bedroom, she casually added, ''I guess we'll see what happens in the MORNING.'' She laughed as she enunciated ''morning.''
She is the lighthearted one (ironic.) I am the cautious one. Not to a fault, mind you. I'm just in no rush to die, so I keep an eye on the news a bit more than most people. And what I saw yesterday was concerning, and it has only gotten worse.
Let me back up to yesterday morning. Everything started off completely normal. Coffee, shower, shave, Sarah, leave. Like clockwork. Totally normal.
Driving to work, there was a report on the radio about the tides being wrong. I didn't pay attention, because who really gives a shit about the tides? Maybe if you live on the coast, but we lived in Montana. Big skies, big animals, no coast, and no tides. Terrible radio at this hour. Nothing like Atlanta where we came from.
I was on my way to a new site. It was early, and the sun wasn't up yet. This new place was apparently in the middle of nowhere, and I was halfway between the mountains and highway. The road was pretty good. Smooth for this stretch. I started wondering why the hell this road was in such great shape when I glanced down at the GPS to figure out how far the next turn was. With the radio man talking about sea urchins or some other aquatic bullshit, I noticed the GPS signal was lost. When the hell did that happen?
It was right about this moment, on that dark road between the ribbon of highway and the dark Rockies, that I looked down at my watch. The drive had taken me longer than I thought it would. I was right: this place was in the middle of nowhere. But I wasn't paying attention to my own private joke about the job site, I was thinking about the time: 6:17am.
It's a Grand Seiko watch and I love it. Spent a fortune on it, too. Until I saw it, I never really understood the draw of watches. But the minute I first saw it, I knew I was going to buy it. Stupidly expensive, but superbly engineered, it is beautiful and perfect. And the best part is how accurate it is.
And it was telling me 6:17am.
That is an odd thing to see. Ordinarily, at 6:17am, the sky over the mountains would be deep shades of purple. But now, there was nothing. It was still completely dark.
I pulled the truck to the side of the road and left it running. I need to figure out this GPS situation. And where the hell is dawn?
And just as the radio man started talking about something like shipping channels (what the hell is a shipping channel), the radio cut out. And then my phone wouldn't connect to anything.
This was how the first of the dark days began. | |
[WP] You make a deal with a witch, but instead of them demanding your firstborn, they hand you theirs. | The little girl sat beneath the tree, an untidy mop of ruby red hair standing out against the dark oak tree trunk. Golden sunlight fell around her making her hair shine even brighter. A playful breeze made her hair even messier, and she shook her head against the wind. The branches shook and a rain of emerald green leaves fell.
She looked up at them, eyes sparkling with delight as they fell. For a moment the leaves seemed to slow their descent, as if they suddenly started to fall through syrup rather than air. Finally they stopped completely, a cloud of leaves hung suspended in the air around her. A cracking twig made her head whip around and the leaves fell to earth at their normal speed.
"Daddy!" she squealed as an older man came through the forest. Rising to her feet she hurtled herself at him colliding with his stomach.
"Selena!" he grunted as he caught her. "What did I tell you about headbutting me like that?"
"That you like it when I hug you." Amethyst eyes glinted mischievously.
"Well that's true," the man admitted to her raucous giggling. "What else did I say about when you were playing?"
"I was by myself." She looked away. "I was careful."
He lifted her up and she buried her face in his neck. "You have to be *very* careful sweetie," he sighed running his fingers through her hair. "It's for your own good." He chuckled softly as he felt her nod against him, hearing the tiniest sniffle. "Okay, let's go home. It's lunchtime." His chuckles transformed into full laughter as she cheered.
Later that day after they had their lunch the girl was put down for a nap. The man sat outside their home, enjoying the afternoon sun. The wind still carried the scent of summer around him, making the branches sway and the leaves dance. Eventually the wind brought a sound to the man, making him open his eyes.
A dark shadow appeared over the treetops, slowly coming closer. The sound became flaps and the shadow became a raven, inky black feathers against the green leaves and blue skies. The man watched as it flew closer, pouring out a bowl of water and arranging the leftovers of lunch on a plate.
The raven landed on the table, cawing softly as it ruffled its feathers. Without delay it dipped its beak into the bowl, drinking lustily before cheeping with satisfaction. It looked at the man with amber yellow eyes, utterly unperturbed.
"Hello there Melodia. Long flight?"
The raven sighed almost like a person would, bobbing her head up and down. She squawked as the man scratched her head, fluffing up over her legs.
"Well then you can have a nice rest, as long as Moira says so of course."
The raven stiffened slightly, eyes blinking slowly. The amber eyes turned purple and Melodia seemed to go into a trance. "Of course she may. She works hard for me, she is entitled to a rest. I am starting to think she enjoys your company more than mine." The voice flowed from the raven's beak, feminine and cultured.
"Because I feed her more fancy foods than you do," the man replied easily with a smile.
"You are a better cook than I. My talents lie elsewhere." Moira sounded amused.
"That's true," the man admitted. "How goes your work?"
"Well, thankfully. The latest shifts have revealed a huge ruin for me to comb through. All the artifacts and relics, records, magic..." Melodia sighed that human sigh again but this one was filled with longing. "It is a dream. I sure could use your assistance here to be honest, like the old days."
The man chuckled. "Sure, but where you see treasure and feel joy, I see danger and feel fatigue. Just listening to you makes my bones ache." His tone turned wistful. "Though those were good old days."
"They sure were. We will have good days to come yet however." Moira's voice turned wistful. "How is she?"
"Getting bigger every day," the man replied. "She looks just like you, and she shows talents much like yours."
"Well I should hope so!" Pride rang out, pride and pain. "I knew I could trust you to look after her."
"I still don't know who won out on the deal."
"I think we both won. You got out of the business and can live a life of peace. I get to know my daughter is well taken care of away from the chaos and the danger." Her voice grew somber, even sad. "Though, you may have won more really."
"Don't worry, I am sending you some pictures back with Melodia. Pictures of her and her drawings. You better keep your promise and come at the equinox."
"Nothing will keep me from coming." Another sigh, of determination. "Well, I better get back to work if I aim to come soon. Let Melodia rest for as long as she wants. Just make sure she can fly after stuffing her." The raven's eyes blinked, having remained wide open during the conversation. After the third blink they returned to their amber hue and a look of affront crossed her face.
"Oh don't pay her any attention," the man soothed the bird. "She's just stressed is all." He looked off towards the sunset, hands petting the raven's back as the bird ate. He saw the sun, and yesterday, and the future to come. | All I wanted was a six pack. I worked out, starved myself, and could never make it work. My body is the most important thing to me, and I want it to show. The bitches arent going to fuck me if they dont like what they see.
I tried surgical options but they were too expensive and dangerous and the Doc said it might screw up my boners so screw that. Then one day I'm just walking down the street and theres a witch! She says that she can give me a permanent six pack that will never go away and the only price is a firstborn child!! I never wanted kids anyway so I figure this deal is amazing for me. So I sign this scroll in my own blood, and then theres a dazzling flash of light.
On the ground in front of me was a baby wrapped in a blanket, and a pack of diapers. A pack of SIX diapers. I groaned out loud. I reached down, and pulled one of the diapers out of the pack, and it immediately refilled to 6 diapers. FUCK!
A note pinned to the blanket just said "suckah!" And when I tried to drop it off at the fire department, it reappeared back in my car as I was driving away. I'm now stuck with a magic baby. Maybe I can sell loose diapers to poor moms to make some money to care of this kid. Oddly enough, the stress has caused me to gain 50 pounds. | |
[WP] Through an ancient ritual you magically tore your heart out of your body and sealed your soul in there, granting you immortality. The trouble is you were trying to do another ritual at the time, and you are absolutely freaking out after seeing your still beating heart lying on the floor | The room was quiet. The 13 figures standing around me were still. We were all staring, horrified, at the heart beating on the ground. I could barely feel the hole in my chest. I looked at the woman who had directed the ritual.
"What have you done? Why- HOW am I alive?" I was panicking. If this hadnt worked, then they were still doomed. My whole team. Not only that but.....my heart was on the ground. What did that mean? How was that possible? I should be dead. I was supposed to be dead. That was the point! I die. The rest live.
"You are chosen. The powers that be will not take you. Not now. Not ever." The old woman whispered.
"That wasn't our deal!" I yelled.
"Alas, I cannot control the magic you called forth. Only beg of them. They heard our pleas. This was their answer." She said, bending down and scooping up my still beating heart. I got nauseous and looked away.
"Will you please just..put that down? Its vile!" I snapped at her.
Her face hardened. "Do not treat this lightly, young soldier. You may be immortal, but there is danger still. They who posses your heart may yet have power over you. Protect it as you protect the freedom you would have died to secure. Protect it as the lives you tried to have spared."
She held the beating mass to me. I swallowed hard and took it gingerly. It was hot like a campfire and pulsing. I resisted the urge to throw it as it pumped.
"What do I do with it?" I squeaked. The woman roles her eyes and gestured to a man. He held out a leather bad.
"Carry it in this until you find a safe place for it. Hide it away. Keep it protected. And go save the people you failed to trade your life for. This may have answered your prayers yet." She said.
"Thank you." I told her." When this is over, I will seek you out. Do what I can."
"Bring us peace, Daniel. That is help enough." She said.
And I ran. I ran and ran. I didn't tire. I didn't feel pain. I didn't burn in the sun. And the whole time my heart beat on my hip through the bag. Thumping out in pace to my breathing. By the days end my wound was healed. I had come to the edge of a mountain.
For two days, I climbed. Higher than the leftover signs of past camps. Higher than the trees. I climbed into the harsh cold. I took out a knife and dug through the sheet of ice and snow. A small place too high and cold for man to reach. Out of sight. I placed the leather bag containing my heart and buried it. No one would ever find it.
I ran again. For days. I ran to the last place I'd seen my team. The place they had to abandon me after I got wounded. I followed their tracks. I would save them yet. I had to. I was focused on that one thought. That one goal.
Hold on, Jack. I'm coming. | “Ah sh-“ Xe cut xerself off, frantically flipping through xer carefully printed spell book.
“What did I do this time....”
When xe had started the ritual of healing, they hadn’t expected to *expel* xer heart instead of healing it.
“There!” Xe gasped. Xe had found what xe had done.
“Oh no...”
Xe had never wanted immortality. Maybe a bit more health, sure. A real chance at life. But life was never supposed to last forever, and so xe tended to steer clear of any immortality rituals.
Xe knew the healing ritual would be complicated, painful, and have disastrous consequences if done incorrectly. Seemed the two spells were very similar. Made sense, sort of, since they both dear with the heart.
Xe slowly crumpled to the floor, clutching xer spell book to xer chest.
What were xe going to do now... | |
[WP] You wake up on a Monday morning late for work only to find out that a Zombie Apocalypse has started. | It's amazing how your mind focuses on the minutiae of life.
*bzzzz* <snooze> *bzzzz* <snooze> *bzzzz* <snooze> *bzzzz* <snooze> *bzzzz* <snooze>
Each snooze is ten more blessed minutes of sleep.
This weekend was so much fun that I barely remember it.
Hitting snooze five times?
Priceless.
I felt *GREAT*, to quote a certain tiger. Right up until I looked at the clock. Even then, I didn't feel bad; I just took it as a challenge to get to work before whistle-beak noticed.
I felt so good that I didn't bother with the news or anything else, I just got ready and dived out the door to my car.
Everyone else's car still in the driveway?
Perfect! Less traffic!
Pedestrians jay-walking?
Woohoo! Pylons that move!
Bodies on the ground?
Where are the cameras!?
Okay, yeah, I was feeling that good, but that last one finally hit me as being way too far over the top. Only I was already at work, and the parking lot was empty except for those few who I could barely remember being out with us Friday night.
Only — and this is what finally chilled my blood — whistle-beak's car was *not* in his reserved parking spot.
I should explain about *whistle-beak* since it was so pivotal to what happened later. He's our Company President, Founder, and Sole Owner.
Sounds like an ass? Not really, he was a pretty decent guy about everything except being late long enough that he noticed it. I mean, 6 am every workday was a bit much to ask for when we were a research company that worked however many hours the current project needed. It didn't matter to him if you'd been working at 5 am, you had to be at work no later than 6 am.
That's why his secretary — his wife of 50 years — worked with us to set up his morning schedule with either customer calls, prep for meetings, project reports, or anything else that kept him in his office until 10 AM.
Honestly, I think he knew all along what we were doing, and took it as a challenge.
As to whistle-beak? Well, what do you call a nose that sticks out like a hatchet, and when he snores sounds like a steam whistle? We even recorded it for him and asked him what it was.
"Why, that sounds just like the train whistle I used to hear as a child. Woke me up in the middle of the night, it was so loud. I sure do miss it." And wandered off, lost in his memories. His wife was waiting for us the next day, "Thank you, he was so happy to hear that whistle again, where did you get the recording from?" Think fast moment, right? We slid through by emailing it to her, without ever quite answering where we got it—a friend of a friend of a very good friend of mine, sort of thing.
Do not get the wrong idea, when it came to the company or projects, he had a near-perfect recall and could plan out in his head what we needed to do—such a waste.
Well, with him not there, I finally understood that something was drastically wrong. I got in, leaving the doors locked, and headed for the offices. No one. Not one person was in the office. I made my way to Mr. Whistler's office, no one, but the message light was blinking on Mrs. Whistler's phone. I decided to play them. They were all variations on a theme.
"To whoever receives this message, open the bottom right file drawer on the rightmost cabinet—the only one without a label. It's locked, you'll have to break it open. The fire ax near the stairs should do it. When you do, flip back to the Zees, and take out the Zombie Apocalypse folder. You will find everything you need to know and do in that folder."
That drawer was stuffed with emergency plans for every conceivable disaster, and a bunch that made no sense, including the Zombie Apocalypse one. I guess the old man was just that prepared.
The plan and resources listed were incredible. There were instructions for everything, including a complete list of employees, their families, and their friends. First thing, call the employees in. You needed manpower for everything else.
It was amazing. Because it was the old man's plan, *everyone* was willing to do what it said.
We had the whole building stocked with everything we would need for a year's worth of waiting.
The very last step? Call his house. It was clearly stated that you had to follow the instructions to the letter, or I would have done that first.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Whistler? It's Robert from work."
"Good, you followed the instructions?"
"Yes, Ma'am. How are you and Mr. Whistler?"
"Oh, I'm fine, but I'm afraid George got away from me this morning. He's been turned."
You couldn't have done more damage to us if you shot us through the heart.
"Mrs. Whistler, the plan we followed is complete, is there another plan? I checked the drawer and didn't find anything."
"Open the drawer above it."
She guided us through that drawer, where we got the biggest shock of our lives. *SHE* was the brains behind the company. They'd been a team their entire lives. Her husband knew he had a genetic predisposition to several degenerative diseases, so the two of them made plans for what to do. It worked for ten years. We never had a clue.
"You are the best and brightest we could find. Your friends and family as well. This is our legacy. Stay alive. Rebuild. Restart civilization."
"We need you!"
"No, you don't. Each of you is just as capable as we were, as long as you work together. There is one more plan. It occupies the remaining cabinets. I'm sorry, but it's the best we could do. George still had his lucid moments, usually from 6 am to 10 am. We got a lot done then—mostly updates. That plan lays out the rough outline of the full restoration of civilization. You are all more than capable of the first several decades. After that, your children will have to take over."
We argued some more about coming to get her. She settled the issue for us. The sound of the gun going off overrode our begging her not to do it.
It took weeks to shake that off.
When we finally got around to the first cabinet, the very first file included an allowance for time to grieve. We had hit the time target perfectly.
((finis)) | We were popping off champagnes, swallowing lemon meringues and
having a bubbly time over some odd boardgames I just found in my shelf, until
that is, the smoke alarm started blaring – the oven was smoking! My pizza was
so going to be scorched. I rushed to the greasy toaster and pried hard as I
willed to open the stubborn hatch, so hard I pulled myself awake, greeted by a
furious phone demanding me to wake up as if I hadn’t already.
*Are you kidding me* I thought, noting the shimmering light
piercing the openings in my curtain. I had to know how late I was going to be…
10:28am… That was good to know… And so were the other tons of notifications I
noted scrolling down the screen. 129 new unread messages on WhatsApp, 57 new
unread messages on Messenger, and so the list goes…
Hell, I’m never going to hear the end of it from my boss if
I stopped to read any of this, but still. I hastily unlocked my phone and
started typing up a text message for my boss, and just as I typed her number
into the recipients box, the screen populated, and I was elated to find out my
boss is telling me to stay home for today.
*Yes! *I exclaimed loudly with an itsy shake. I read
the message again to be sure – *Good morning Wallace, if you’re still at
home, please stay at home until further notice*. I read it again, and again…
A sinking feeling was starting to set in. I lifted my free hand and tapped the
Messenger icon with its now whopping number 163 submerged in red, and that number
kept raising.
I saw almost every group I had ever been in resurrect, with
messages from people who I hardly consider an acquaintance in my current point
in life. *Are you okay… Are you safe… *
*Please react to my message so I know you’re not infected*
- I dropped my care react on that message.
I got off my bed and opened my curtain to take an 8th
floor glance to the world outside. And I so closed immediately. The world was
crazy enough as it was but it really just seems like we’re part of a casual sim-city
playthrough. I sighed with heavy grief…
My phone began to ring. I smiled, seeing that it was my boss
calling. Maybe she wanted to see if I was okay.
“Hi Claire” “Good morning Wallace, bet you slept well” “Sure
did boss” “Good to hear that, hey…” Oh goodness please don’t say the words.
“You have a car right?” I rolled my eyes into the back of my
skull, “Yes…” “Great, since you’re an essential worker and all…” *No…* “According
to the government…” *Please no…* “You can still come to work since you’re
not high risk”.
“Claire, I am quite frankly as high risk as any supporting
character can be in a zombie apocalypse” I tried to assert to her that I was not
going to have it. “Yea, but according to the health records you provided last
time for COVID and the government standards, you’re not high risk”
“Claire...” “Wallace I am not going debate you over this!
You will come to the office today! And you will make up the hours you missed
this morning! Or so be it I will fire your entitled ass off the company!” and
so there it was, her ultimatum.
I had no rebuttal, and my student loan surely wasn’t going
to wait for the zombie apocalypse to blow over. I adorned my work attire, embarked
my vehicle, ready to brace another day of work.
_______
Edit: converted to bb code by mistake :S | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lydia felt pain shoot up her leg as her foot twisted amongst the rocks on the beach. She fell forward, towards the sandy beech. She reached her arms out to brace her fall. She felt palms sink into the sand as her ankle throbbed in pain.
“I don’t have much time,” she thought to herself as she turned her head to see three hulking men with assault rifles continue to pursue her.
“I have to keep going,” Lydia thought to herself again as she pushed herself up off the sandy beech. Wet clumps of sand fell off her as she stood up and limped forward. Lydia was almost to the Temple of Poseidon. An old temple that had long been abandoned as the old gods fell out of favor long ago.
The armed juggernauts continued to pursue her in a relaxed walking pace. She could hear them laughing at her limping gait as he progressed towards the temple.
Lydia arrived at the temple and limped up the steps, falling forward a few times she clamored up the steps and staggered into the temple.
“There has to be somewhere to hide!” screamed Lydia internally to herself. She quickly scanned the room and noticed a large circular pool in the middle of the large stone chamber. Just beyond the pool was a dias with a large statue of Poseidon standing proudly on it. The sight of the muscular god wielding a trident brought Lydia a small sense of comfort.
Lydia’s mind reminded that she wasn’t believe in gods. The thought quickly ran through her mind and was then followed by the image of the darkly cladded men who pursued her.
She looked around the room and deemed the room to have no sufficient hiding spots. Lydia felt her desperation grow with every second that ticked by. She recalled hearing stories in school about the gods intervening in the lives of ordinary people.
She looked back at Poseidon’s statue and felt again a small feeling of comfort as she looked at the statue.
Lydia heard the men’s voices from just outside the temple. Desperate and becoming increasingly open to the idea of divine intervention she staggered towards the bottom of Poseidon’s dias and fell onto her knees. She felt her ankle continue to ache but mentally pushed through her pain as she focused on her prayer to Poseidon.
She could hear the men now climbing up the steps, their voices filled her with dread.
Lydia prayed, “Oh god Poseidon, please protect me in my time of need from these men. I have not been a believer of you before. This time of need has forced me to you and your temple. I ask you now to please protect me and I will be forever in your debt.”
As soon as she finished her prayer a voice from one of the juggernaut’s boomed from behind her, “There she is! Enough of the chase girl!”
Lydia whimpered as she whispered “Oh please Poseidon help me.” The tension of the moment became too much for her. Tears began welling in her eyes and rolling down her face. She wept before the Poseidon’s statue as the men closed in around her.
Lydia opened her eyes in time to watch one single teardrop fall from her cheek and hit the stones beneath her.
The men stood around her. The man who spoke before grabbed her arm and jerked her towards him.
Lydia felt immense panic flood her senses. She thrashed around to escape the man’s grip but he firmly held onto her. She stopped when she heard one of the other men shout, “That pool is filling the room!”
Lydia stopped her escape attempt. She and the three men stared at the pool as the water level steadily rose. The water in the pool bubbled as its water level steadily rose.
“Grab the girl and lets get out of here!” said one of the men.
The juggernaut with his firm grip wrenched her forward with him as he stepped towards the temple’s entrance.
The man watched in horror as a large stone door rose up from beneath the temple floor. The door made a loud *thud* as it sealed the temple.
The water level was midway up her shin as the man dragged her through the water. The men shouted and yelled at one another in panic as they argued about how to escape the temple. The men and Lydia were midway to the door when Lydia noticed that her ankle no longer hurt. Confused but having more pressing priorities Lydia refocused herself on thrashing to escape the man’s grasp but his grip was firm.
The man wrenched her forward. Lydia fell into the waist high water that filled the room. She floated to the bottom of the flooded temple floor. Immersed in the water she felt the rough texture of the temple floor’s stones with her fingertips. Lydia resigned herself to the thought of staying under water, “I would rather drown then go with them,” thought Lydia to herself.
A man’s voice interrupted her thought, a voice she did not recognize whispered to her.
“When you reach the air again, take a deep breath.”
Lydia was confused and she questioned if she had heard a voice at all.
“Am I losing my mind?” wondered Lydia.
Her thought process was interrupted when one of the men’s hands plunged through the water and grabbed her, pulling her back up to the surface. Lydia let out a loud gasp as reached the surface.
“Clumsy girl!” shouted one of the men.
Lydia planted her feet beneath her and inhaled as much air as she could. She began holding her breath.
Immediately the temple began to shake. The rate of the water rising exponentially increased as it continued to flood the room. In a matter of seconds the room went from a water level of waist high to reaching the ceiling. Lydia and the men became fully immersed in water. The juggernauts struggled to breath.
Lydia opened her eyes and watched the men thrashing about, “Good, it’s their turn to thrash around,” thought Lydia.
As each man resigned himself to death Lydia felt more and more at peace. Once the last man joined his in floating lifelessly the water immediately drained from the chamber. Lydia and the bodies of the juggernauts crashed to the stone floor.
Lydia exhaled and gasped for breath, alarm flooded her senses along with the panic that she felt before. Those feelings quickly disappeared when she looked around the room and became aware of just how comfortable the feeling of the water seemed to her now.
Lydia again became aware of her painless ankle,
“Odd,” thought Lydia.
She turned towards the entrance of the temple, which was no longer sealed. She stepped towards the temple entrance but paused after taking a step. Lydia wasn’t sure why but she decided to look at Poseidon one more time.
She turned and looked at the god’s statue. To her surprise, a blue robe was draped over the trident wielding arm of Poseidon. Lydia glanced back at the lifeless bodies of the men.
“I have time to check this out,” thought Lydia as she walked over to the statue.
She pulled the robe off the statue’s arm. The water logged material felt heavy in her hands. The rich color of blue looked as beautiful as the color of the ocean. She slipped it on over her clothes.
The robe felt weightless despite how heavy it felt before.
Lydia turned around and faced the rest of the temple chamber.
She paused to admire the view when a now familiar voice whispered to her, “Honour me. Worship me. Spread my name and power. Make the people believe again. Do this for your life and your debt will be repaid.”
Lydia looked around the room but saw nothing but the bodies of the men and the statue of Poseidon.
Lydia looked at the statue of Poseidon and felt a great sense of peace. She felt no pain. She felt no panic or fear.
“I shall,” said Lydia aloud as she skipped off the dias.
A sense of ownership over the temple growing within her.
“First I am going to dispose of these bodies,” said Lydia aloud as her voice rang throughout the temple’s chamber.
“Then I am going to spread the great word of Poseidon,” said Lydia loudly. As a smile spread across her face.
“I’m a believer,” | Nia ran and ran and ran but those guys just wouldn't give up. Through the city, over the sea and now here in Greece, where she thought she had found solace, they were back on her trail again. The sun was setting and shops closing down, owners locking their doors and old men offering sacrifices to their old, forgotten gods. Nia seemed to be in an even older than usual area, with no lights and thin alleyways. She heard from behind her, "Search for her in the alleys! She can't be far now"
She cursed under her breath. Damn, these guys were good. She set off down the thin lane when suddenly, she started falling. She fell about 6 feet down and landed on hard rubble, a statue of a funky kind of god in front of her. She got up slowly and could hear footsteps coming towards her. They finally caught up and now she was going to die. She looked intently at the statue, the last face she was going to see before she was gone.
"I don't suppose you could help me out here?"
"Oh but i could dear."
The statue was starting to move and had now spoken.
"What the? I thought Greek gods didn't exist"
"Ah yes, unfortunately you dumb mortals forgot all about us and threw us aside. Now only us major gods exist, living on the few people that still give us offerings."
"So what god are you?"
"Oh you must have heard of me. It is I Apollo, god of music, poetry, archery, the sun, prophecies, protector of the young, ah the list goes on. Quite honored aren't you" he said with a wink.
"Protector of The Young? Oh then you have got to help me out here. These merc-"
"Yes, yes I know all about your situation. But tell me why should i help you?"
Why should he help me? Nia knew about these gods. She had an interest in Greek mythology back at the mansion. Apollo always wanted something in return. But what could she offer?
"Well, dear child, do you have nothing to give to me?"
"Wait, wait. I could tell people of your great tales and spread your glory."
"Hmmmm. Is that all?"
"Uhhh oh and I can give offerings to you everyday. Im sure a handsome young god like yourself would want offerings from a cute little girl" Nia tried to make herself look as cute as possible in the moment.
"Well that is true" Apollo looked quite pleased at being called handsome. "Fine, i will help you, cute little mortal"
"But don't forget your promise." And in that moment the God bursted into a great white blinding light and Nia fell down, unconscious.
When Nia came to, she was in a pastry shop, eating some yellow tarts, her favourite food. She looked up at the sky and said,
'Thanks Apollo"
And the sun seemed to smile back at her. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lilly scrambled up the cracked stone steps, her heart thundering in her chest. *why,* she thought, *why are they chasing me, what do they want?* She ran past old stone pillars and dropped to her stomach, she had to shimmy to fit through the crack at the base of the wall. The large doors were luckily blocked by chunks of stone that had fallen ages ago. *Hopefully, that will slow them down.* she thought
A faint light streamed into the large room through small windows near the ceiling along both walls. Dust danced in the light. Lilly took a tentative step forward. Shouts from the outside stirred her into motion. She ran past the large statue in the center of the room, ducking into the shadows behind it.
"She went in here!" a gruff voice called from outside, "but the doors are blocked."
"Clear it out," another called, "she's got nowhere to run."
Lilly cowered in the shadow behind the statue. She closed her eyes, "Help," she said quietly, "please." She didn't know if anyone was listening, or who she was praying to. But anyone would be better than nothing.
"Come out of the shadow child." a kind voice said.
Lilly froze, *who...* she turned looking around the statue. A large man in a simple brown tunic stood watching her. He leaned on a wooden cane. "Who are you?" she asked hesitantly.
The man smiled, "my name is Hephaestus."
*What?* she thought, "where did you come from, how did you get in here?"
The man knelt slowly, "I am here because you called me."
"I..." Lilly stood slowly walking out of the shadow, "I called you..." Her eyes glanced up at the statue which she now realized looked an awful lot like the man in front of her.
The man's eyes twinkled with mirth, "Yes, child, you called me." He placed a hand on her shoulder, "Listen, those men outside. they are after you because of the power you hold."
"Power? What are you talking about?"
"You hold within you the last of the god's powers. We are dwindling, our time in this world is almost up. I am one of the few left."
Lilly was struggling to comprehend what he was saying, "but how, I'm nobody."
"I do not know child, nor do I know what the future holds for you, that was Apollo's realm, I only know that you are the last of the demigods. Our power lives in you."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't fight them," Lilly said gesturing to the men that were still working on clearing the doorway.
"You can, you have all of our power. The might of Zeus, the speed of Hermes, we all live within you." Hephaestus raised a hand, glowing golden power, so bright that Lilly had to squint, condensed in his palm. When the light faded, Hephaestus held in his hand the most beautiful sword, shield, and leather cuirass Lilly had ever seen. "Here," he said, handing them to Lilly, "take these, my last creations."
He stood as Lilly took the gifts. "What happens now?" She asked.
"Now," he said, getting a far-off look, "now I go rest." He turned away, fading slightly, "You got this kid." he said, disappearing. | Nia ran and ran and ran but those guys just wouldn't give up. Through the city, over the sea and now here in Greece, where she thought she had found solace, they were back on her trail again. The sun was setting and shops closing down, owners locking their doors and old men offering sacrifices to their old, forgotten gods. Nia seemed to be in an even older than usual area, with no lights and thin alleyways. She heard from behind her, "Search for her in the alleys! She can't be far now"
She cursed under her breath. Damn, these guys were good. She set off down the thin lane when suddenly, she started falling. She fell about 6 feet down and landed on hard rubble, a statue of a funky kind of god in front of her. She got up slowly and could hear footsteps coming towards her. They finally caught up and now she was going to die. She looked intently at the statue, the last face she was going to see before she was gone.
"I don't suppose you could help me out here?"
"Oh but i could dear."
The statue was starting to move and had now spoken.
"What the? I thought Greek gods didn't exist"
"Ah yes, unfortunately you dumb mortals forgot all about us and threw us aside. Now only us major gods exist, living on the few people that still give us offerings."
"So what god are you?"
"Oh you must have heard of me. It is I Apollo, god of music, poetry, archery, the sun, prophecies, protector of the young, ah the list goes on. Quite honored aren't you" he said with a wink.
"Protector of The Young? Oh then you have got to help me out here. These merc-"
"Yes, yes I know all about your situation. But tell me why should i help you?"
Why should he help me? Nia knew about these gods. She had an interest in Greek mythology back at the mansion. Apollo always wanted something in return. But what could she offer?
"Well, dear child, do you have nothing to give to me?"
"Wait, wait. I could tell people of your great tales and spread your glory."
"Hmmmm. Is that all?"
"Uhhh oh and I can give offerings to you everyday. Im sure a handsome young god like yourself would want offerings from a cute little girl" Nia tried to make herself look as cute as possible in the moment.
"Well that is true" Apollo looked quite pleased at being called handsome. "Fine, i will help you, cute little mortal"
"But don't forget your promise." And in that moment the God bursted into a great white blinding light and Nia fell down, unconscious.
When Nia came to, she was in a pastry shop, eating some yellow tarts, her favourite food. She looked up at the sky and said,
'Thanks Apollo"
And the sun seemed to smile back at her. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lydia felt pain shoot up her leg as her foot twisted amongst the rocks on the beach. She fell forward, towards the sandy beech. She reached her arms out to brace her fall. She felt palms sink into the sand as her ankle throbbed in pain.
“I don’t have much time,” she thought to herself as she turned her head to see three hulking men with assault rifles continue to pursue her.
“I have to keep going,” Lydia thought to herself again as she pushed herself up off the sandy beech. Wet clumps of sand fell off her as she stood up and limped forward. Lydia was almost to the Temple of Poseidon. An old temple that had long been abandoned as the old gods fell out of favor long ago.
The armed juggernauts continued to pursue her in a relaxed walking pace. She could hear them laughing at her limping gait as he progressed towards the temple.
Lydia arrived at the temple and limped up the steps, falling forward a few times she clamored up the steps and staggered into the temple.
“There has to be somewhere to hide!” screamed Lydia internally to herself. She quickly scanned the room and noticed a large circular pool in the middle of the large stone chamber. Just beyond the pool was a dias with a large statue of Poseidon standing proudly on it. The sight of the muscular god wielding a trident brought Lydia a small sense of comfort.
Lydia’s mind reminded that she wasn’t believe in gods. The thought quickly ran through her mind and was then followed by the image of the darkly cladded men who pursued her.
She looked around the room and deemed the room to have no sufficient hiding spots. Lydia felt her desperation grow with every second that ticked by. She recalled hearing stories in school about the gods intervening in the lives of ordinary people.
She looked back at Poseidon’s statue and felt again a small feeling of comfort as she looked at the statue.
Lydia heard the men’s voices from just outside the temple. Desperate and becoming increasingly open to the idea of divine intervention she staggered towards the bottom of Poseidon’s dias and fell onto her knees. She felt her ankle continue to ache but mentally pushed through her pain as she focused on her prayer to Poseidon.
She could hear the men now climbing up the steps, their voices filled her with dread.
Lydia prayed, “Oh god Poseidon, please protect me in my time of need from these men. I have not been a believer of you before. This time of need has forced me to you and your temple. I ask you now to please protect me and I will be forever in your debt.”
As soon as she finished her prayer a voice from one of the juggernaut’s boomed from behind her, “There she is! Enough of the chase girl!”
Lydia whimpered as she whispered “Oh please Poseidon help me.” The tension of the moment became too much for her. Tears began welling in her eyes and rolling down her face. She wept before the Poseidon’s statue as the men closed in around her.
Lydia opened her eyes in time to watch one single teardrop fall from her cheek and hit the stones beneath her.
The men stood around her. The man who spoke before grabbed her arm and jerked her towards him.
Lydia felt immense panic flood her senses. She thrashed around to escape the man’s grip but he firmly held onto her. She stopped when she heard one of the other men shout, “That pool is filling the room!”
Lydia stopped her escape attempt. She and the three men stared at the pool as the water level steadily rose. The water in the pool bubbled as its water level steadily rose.
“Grab the girl and lets get out of here!” said one of the men.
The juggernaut with his firm grip wrenched her forward with him as he stepped towards the temple’s entrance.
The man watched in horror as a large stone door rose up from beneath the temple floor. The door made a loud *thud* as it sealed the temple.
The water level was midway up her shin as the man dragged her through the water. The men shouted and yelled at one another in panic as they argued about how to escape the temple. The men and Lydia were midway to the door when Lydia noticed that her ankle no longer hurt. Confused but having more pressing priorities Lydia refocused herself on thrashing to escape the man’s grasp but his grip was firm.
The man wrenched her forward. Lydia fell into the waist high water that filled the room. She floated to the bottom of the flooded temple floor. Immersed in the water she felt the rough texture of the temple floor’s stones with her fingertips. Lydia resigned herself to the thought of staying under water, “I would rather drown then go with them,” thought Lydia to herself.
A man’s voice interrupted her thought, a voice she did not recognize whispered to her.
“When you reach the air again, take a deep breath.”
Lydia was confused and she questioned if she had heard a voice at all.
“Am I losing my mind?” wondered Lydia.
Her thought process was interrupted when one of the men’s hands plunged through the water and grabbed her, pulling her back up to the surface. Lydia let out a loud gasp as reached the surface.
“Clumsy girl!” shouted one of the men.
Lydia planted her feet beneath her and inhaled as much air as she could. She began holding her breath.
Immediately the temple began to shake. The rate of the water rising exponentially increased as it continued to flood the room. In a matter of seconds the room went from a water level of waist high to reaching the ceiling. Lydia and the men became fully immersed in water. The juggernauts struggled to breath.
Lydia opened her eyes and watched the men thrashing about, “Good, it’s their turn to thrash around,” thought Lydia.
As each man resigned himself to death Lydia felt more and more at peace. Once the last man joined his in floating lifelessly the water immediately drained from the chamber. Lydia and the bodies of the juggernauts crashed to the stone floor.
Lydia exhaled and gasped for breath, alarm flooded her senses along with the panic that she felt before. Those feelings quickly disappeared when she looked around the room and became aware of just how comfortable the feeling of the water seemed to her now.
Lydia again became aware of her painless ankle,
“Odd,” thought Lydia.
She turned towards the entrance of the temple, which was no longer sealed. She stepped towards the temple entrance but paused after taking a step. Lydia wasn’t sure why but she decided to look at Poseidon one more time.
She turned and looked at the god’s statue. To her surprise, a blue robe was draped over the trident wielding arm of Poseidon. Lydia glanced back at the lifeless bodies of the men.
“I have time to check this out,” thought Lydia as she walked over to the statue.
She pulled the robe off the statue’s arm. The water logged material felt heavy in her hands. The rich color of blue looked as beautiful as the color of the ocean. She slipped it on over her clothes.
The robe felt weightless despite how heavy it felt before.
Lydia turned around and faced the rest of the temple chamber.
She paused to admire the view when a now familiar voice whispered to her, “Honour me. Worship me. Spread my name and power. Make the people believe again. Do this for your life and your debt will be repaid.”
Lydia looked around the room but saw nothing but the bodies of the men and the statue of Poseidon.
Lydia looked at the statue of Poseidon and felt a great sense of peace. She felt no pain. She felt no panic or fear.
“I shall,” said Lydia aloud as she skipped off the dias.
A sense of ownership over the temple growing within her.
“First I am going to dispose of these bodies,” said Lydia aloud as her voice rang throughout the temple’s chamber.
“Then I am going to spread the great word of Poseidon,” said Lydia loudly. As a smile spread across her face.
“I’m a believer,” | The silence of the forest was broken by shouting as the girl burst through the treeline. In the distance behind her she could see figures making their way through the slender trees.
Sophia turned and saw a building where she could take shelter, a small marble temple. The dry heat of the summer gave way to a pleasant coolness and a distinct earthy smell, and she soon realised the temple extended further than the surface structure would indicate. The building had been slightly set into the ground to keep cool.
As the young woman made her way through the labyrinth, she could hear calls of “In here” echo down the halls. Her gaze fell upon an altar at one end of large room, which had a hole cut into the ceiling to allow light to cascade down onto a statue just behind the altar. She could not recognise the statue, it had been broken beyond recognition, but she was desperate and threw herself at the feet of the statue.
“Oh, whichever god calls this temple their home,” she cried out as her eyes welled up. “Please, save me!”
Her tears had begun to fall, creating darkened spots on the stone ground.
“It’s hopeless,” she said, to no one in particular.
And yet, she received a reply.
“What is hopeless?” Sophia jumped up to see a young man with a somewhat effeminate face looking at her quizzically.
“Oh my god!” She exclaimed, shuffling backwards awkwardly while shielding her eyes. “I can see your… you!”
The man looked down, and with a sigh seemed to realise the problem.
“These modern sensibilities…” He gave a tut, before continuing. “Better?”
Sophia peered through the gaps in her hands to see the man now wearing a full robe, similar to what was on what was left of the statue. Her confusion was interrupted by sounds of footsteps elsewhere in the temple.
“Please help, you must help! But, I’m sorry, I don’t know which god you are.”
The man seemed upset but rearranged his shoulders in a way which suggested an attempt at looking impressive.
“I am Dionysus!” he declared.
Sophia replied with a blank expression, and there was a slight pause in the conversation.
“The god of wine?”
“Oh! Then you *really* must help.”
The girl removed a brown, fabric bag from her back, which she had been wearing as a rucksack. Inside was a plant-plot containing a small grapevine; it looked sickly and only had a single, feeble fruit upon it.
“This,” she thrust the plant towards the god with both hands. “This is the last of my grandmother’s plants, there are people chasing me who want to destroy this. They will destroy my family’s vineyard, please!”
“Why on earth would you want to save such a pathetic vine? This could not possibly produce fruit for a harvest, and what has happened to the stem and the roots?”
Sophia withdrew the plant and held it protectively, cradling the pot in her arms. “Because it was my grandmother’s, and I love her… Loved her.”
She seemed reflective for a moment before gathering her energy to continue.
“Those people, they released a parasite on our vineyard, it destroyed nearly all of the plants and ruined the harvest. We were able to graft the roots from an American variety onto this plant, but it is the only one remaining. Please help!”
Dionysus smiled and nodded. In his hand a bottle of wine appeared, it was a squat bottle with a large, bulbous bottom and a slender, elegant neck.
“Give them this,” he said.
“There are ten of them intent on destroying my grandmother’s grapevine, how will this help?” Sophia gestured to the bottle dismissively and a look of frustration spread across her face.
“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Dionysus, producing a second bottle of wine.
Sophia scowled at the god.
“Look, offer them the wine and say it is from your family’s vineyard. Tell them that when they taste this most sumptuous of beverages, they will not be able destroy the plant, and if they disagree then you will allow them to take it without a fight.”
“They will never take the bait, and that won’t work!” Sophia turned and placed the plant on the altar.
Dionysus continued, “Give them a performance, as if this was your plan all along. They will respond to your charisma.”
“Charisma? Pah!”
The god leaned forward; his hands held out with the palms facing up. “I can lend you some of my satyrs if you like?”
“Satyrs?”
“Part-man, part animal, friends of mine. They’re always dancing naked, and they have permanent erections. Loads of fun!”
Sophia’s face turned expressionless. “No.”
She turned to survey the room, clearly thinking. The mercenaries would be here soon. Suddenly she spun around to face Dionysus.
“Can you decorate the room for a feast? Tables, chairs, glasses, wine?”
Dionysus nodded in agreement, and in the room there appeared avfine wooden table, set with wine glasses and many bottles of cooled white wine, as well as rich red and pink rosé. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lilly scrambled up the cracked stone steps, her heart thundering in her chest. *why,* she thought, *why are they chasing me, what do they want?* She ran past old stone pillars and dropped to her stomach, she had to shimmy to fit through the crack at the base of the wall. The large doors were luckily blocked by chunks of stone that had fallen ages ago. *Hopefully, that will slow them down.* she thought
A faint light streamed into the large room through small windows near the ceiling along both walls. Dust danced in the light. Lilly took a tentative step forward. Shouts from the outside stirred her into motion. She ran past the large statue in the center of the room, ducking into the shadows behind it.
"She went in here!" a gruff voice called from outside, "but the doors are blocked."
"Clear it out," another called, "she's got nowhere to run."
Lilly cowered in the shadow behind the statue. She closed her eyes, "Help," she said quietly, "please." She didn't know if anyone was listening, or who she was praying to. But anyone would be better than nothing.
"Come out of the shadow child." a kind voice said.
Lilly froze, *who...* she turned looking around the statue. A large man in a simple brown tunic stood watching her. He leaned on a wooden cane. "Who are you?" she asked hesitantly.
The man smiled, "my name is Hephaestus."
*What?* she thought, "where did you come from, how did you get in here?"
The man knelt slowly, "I am here because you called me."
"I..." Lilly stood slowly walking out of the shadow, "I called you..." Her eyes glanced up at the statue which she now realized looked an awful lot like the man in front of her.
The man's eyes twinkled with mirth, "Yes, child, you called me." He placed a hand on her shoulder, "Listen, those men outside. they are after you because of the power you hold."
"Power? What are you talking about?"
"You hold within you the last of the god's powers. We are dwindling, our time in this world is almost up. I am one of the few left."
Lilly was struggling to comprehend what he was saying, "but how, I'm nobody."
"I do not know child, nor do I know what the future holds for you, that was Apollo's realm, I only know that you are the last of the demigods. Our power lives in you."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't fight them," Lilly said gesturing to the men that were still working on clearing the doorway.
"You can, you have all of our power. The might of Zeus, the speed of Hermes, we all live within you." Hephaestus raised a hand, glowing golden power, so bright that Lilly had to squint, condensed in his palm. When the light faded, Hephaestus held in his hand the most beautiful sword, shield, and leather cuirass Lilly had ever seen. "Here," he said, handing them to Lilly, "take these, my last creations."
He stood as Lilly took the gifts. "What happens now?" She asked.
"Now," he said, getting a far-off look, "now I go rest." He turned away, fading slightly, "You got this kid." he said, disappearing. | The silence of the forest was broken by shouting as the girl burst through the treeline. In the distance behind her she could see figures making their way through the slender trees.
Sophia turned and saw a building where she could take shelter, a small marble temple. The dry heat of the summer gave way to a pleasant coolness and a distinct earthy smell, and she soon realised the temple extended further than the surface structure would indicate. The building had been slightly set into the ground to keep cool.
As the young woman made her way through the labyrinth, she could hear calls of “In here” echo down the halls. Her gaze fell upon an altar at one end of large room, which had a hole cut into the ceiling to allow light to cascade down onto a statue just behind the altar. She could not recognise the statue, it had been broken beyond recognition, but she was desperate and threw herself at the feet of the statue.
“Oh, whichever god calls this temple their home,” she cried out as her eyes welled up. “Please, save me!”
Her tears had begun to fall, creating darkened spots on the stone ground.
“It’s hopeless,” she said, to no one in particular.
And yet, she received a reply.
“What is hopeless?” Sophia jumped up to see a young man with a somewhat effeminate face looking at her quizzically.
“Oh my god!” She exclaimed, shuffling backwards awkwardly while shielding her eyes. “I can see your… you!”
The man looked down, and with a sigh seemed to realise the problem.
“These modern sensibilities…” He gave a tut, before continuing. “Better?”
Sophia peered through the gaps in her hands to see the man now wearing a full robe, similar to what was on what was left of the statue. Her confusion was interrupted by sounds of footsteps elsewhere in the temple.
“Please help, you must help! But, I’m sorry, I don’t know which god you are.”
The man seemed upset but rearranged his shoulders in a way which suggested an attempt at looking impressive.
“I am Dionysus!” he declared.
Sophia replied with a blank expression, and there was a slight pause in the conversation.
“The god of wine?”
“Oh! Then you *really* must help.”
The girl removed a brown, fabric bag from her back, which she had been wearing as a rucksack. Inside was a plant-plot containing a small grapevine; it looked sickly and only had a single, feeble fruit upon it.
“This,” she thrust the plant towards the god with both hands. “This is the last of my grandmother’s plants, there are people chasing me who want to destroy this. They will destroy my family’s vineyard, please!”
“Why on earth would you want to save such a pathetic vine? This could not possibly produce fruit for a harvest, and what has happened to the stem and the roots?”
Sophia withdrew the plant and held it protectively, cradling the pot in her arms. “Because it was my grandmother’s, and I love her… Loved her.”
She seemed reflective for a moment before gathering her energy to continue.
“Those people, they released a parasite on our vineyard, it destroyed nearly all of the plants and ruined the harvest. We were able to graft the roots from an American variety onto this plant, but it is the only one remaining. Please help!”
Dionysus smiled and nodded. In his hand a bottle of wine appeared, it was a squat bottle with a large, bulbous bottom and a slender, elegant neck.
“Give them this,” he said.
“There are ten of them intent on destroying my grandmother’s grapevine, how will this help?” Sophia gestured to the bottle dismissively and a look of frustration spread across her face.
“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Dionysus, producing a second bottle of wine.
Sophia scowled at the god.
“Look, offer them the wine and say it is from your family’s vineyard. Tell them that when they taste this most sumptuous of beverages, they will not be able destroy the plant, and if they disagree then you will allow them to take it without a fight.”
“They will never take the bait, and that won’t work!” Sophia turned and placed the plant on the altar.
Dionysus continued, “Give them a performance, as if this was your plan all along. They will respond to your charisma.”
“Charisma? Pah!”
The god leaned forward; his hands held out with the palms facing up. “I can lend you some of my satyrs if you like?”
“Satyrs?”
“Part-man, part animal, friends of mine. They’re always dancing naked, and they have permanent erections. Loads of fun!”
Sophia’s face turned expressionless. “No.”
She turned to survey the room, clearly thinking. The mercenaries would be here soon. Suddenly she spun around to face Dionysus.
“Can you decorate the room for a feast? Tables, chairs, glasses, wine?”
Dionysus nodded in agreement, and in the room there appeared avfine wooden table, set with wine glasses and many bottles of cooled white wine, as well as rich red and pink rosé. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lydia felt pain shoot up her leg as her foot twisted amongst the rocks on the beach. She fell forward, towards the sandy beech. She reached her arms out to brace her fall. She felt palms sink into the sand as her ankle throbbed in pain.
“I don’t have much time,” she thought to herself as she turned her head to see three hulking men with assault rifles continue to pursue her.
“I have to keep going,” Lydia thought to herself again as she pushed herself up off the sandy beech. Wet clumps of sand fell off her as she stood up and limped forward. Lydia was almost to the Temple of Poseidon. An old temple that had long been abandoned as the old gods fell out of favor long ago.
The armed juggernauts continued to pursue her in a relaxed walking pace. She could hear them laughing at her limping gait as he progressed towards the temple.
Lydia arrived at the temple and limped up the steps, falling forward a few times she clamored up the steps and staggered into the temple.
“There has to be somewhere to hide!” screamed Lydia internally to herself. She quickly scanned the room and noticed a large circular pool in the middle of the large stone chamber. Just beyond the pool was a dias with a large statue of Poseidon standing proudly on it. The sight of the muscular god wielding a trident brought Lydia a small sense of comfort.
Lydia’s mind reminded that she wasn’t believe in gods. The thought quickly ran through her mind and was then followed by the image of the darkly cladded men who pursued her.
She looked around the room and deemed the room to have no sufficient hiding spots. Lydia felt her desperation grow with every second that ticked by. She recalled hearing stories in school about the gods intervening in the lives of ordinary people.
She looked back at Poseidon’s statue and felt again a small feeling of comfort as she looked at the statue.
Lydia heard the men’s voices from just outside the temple. Desperate and becoming increasingly open to the idea of divine intervention she staggered towards the bottom of Poseidon’s dias and fell onto her knees. She felt her ankle continue to ache but mentally pushed through her pain as she focused on her prayer to Poseidon.
She could hear the men now climbing up the steps, their voices filled her with dread.
Lydia prayed, “Oh god Poseidon, please protect me in my time of need from these men. I have not been a believer of you before. This time of need has forced me to you and your temple. I ask you now to please protect me and I will be forever in your debt.”
As soon as she finished her prayer a voice from one of the juggernaut’s boomed from behind her, “There she is! Enough of the chase girl!”
Lydia whimpered as she whispered “Oh please Poseidon help me.” The tension of the moment became too much for her. Tears began welling in her eyes and rolling down her face. She wept before the Poseidon’s statue as the men closed in around her.
Lydia opened her eyes in time to watch one single teardrop fall from her cheek and hit the stones beneath her.
The men stood around her. The man who spoke before grabbed her arm and jerked her towards him.
Lydia felt immense panic flood her senses. She thrashed around to escape the man’s grip but he firmly held onto her. She stopped when she heard one of the other men shout, “That pool is filling the room!”
Lydia stopped her escape attempt. She and the three men stared at the pool as the water level steadily rose. The water in the pool bubbled as its water level steadily rose.
“Grab the girl and lets get out of here!” said one of the men.
The juggernaut with his firm grip wrenched her forward with him as he stepped towards the temple’s entrance.
The man watched in horror as a large stone door rose up from beneath the temple floor. The door made a loud *thud* as it sealed the temple.
The water level was midway up her shin as the man dragged her through the water. The men shouted and yelled at one another in panic as they argued about how to escape the temple. The men and Lydia were midway to the door when Lydia noticed that her ankle no longer hurt. Confused but having more pressing priorities Lydia refocused herself on thrashing to escape the man’s grasp but his grip was firm.
The man wrenched her forward. Lydia fell into the waist high water that filled the room. She floated to the bottom of the flooded temple floor. Immersed in the water she felt the rough texture of the temple floor’s stones with her fingertips. Lydia resigned herself to the thought of staying under water, “I would rather drown then go with them,” thought Lydia to herself.
A man’s voice interrupted her thought, a voice she did not recognize whispered to her.
“When you reach the air again, take a deep breath.”
Lydia was confused and she questioned if she had heard a voice at all.
“Am I losing my mind?” wondered Lydia.
Her thought process was interrupted when one of the men’s hands plunged through the water and grabbed her, pulling her back up to the surface. Lydia let out a loud gasp as reached the surface.
“Clumsy girl!” shouted one of the men.
Lydia planted her feet beneath her and inhaled as much air as she could. She began holding her breath.
Immediately the temple began to shake. The rate of the water rising exponentially increased as it continued to flood the room. In a matter of seconds the room went from a water level of waist high to reaching the ceiling. Lydia and the men became fully immersed in water. The juggernauts struggled to breath.
Lydia opened her eyes and watched the men thrashing about, “Good, it’s their turn to thrash around,” thought Lydia.
As each man resigned himself to death Lydia felt more and more at peace. Once the last man joined his in floating lifelessly the water immediately drained from the chamber. Lydia and the bodies of the juggernauts crashed to the stone floor.
Lydia exhaled and gasped for breath, alarm flooded her senses along with the panic that she felt before. Those feelings quickly disappeared when she looked around the room and became aware of just how comfortable the feeling of the water seemed to her now.
Lydia again became aware of her painless ankle,
“Odd,” thought Lydia.
She turned towards the entrance of the temple, which was no longer sealed. She stepped towards the temple entrance but paused after taking a step. Lydia wasn’t sure why but she decided to look at Poseidon one more time.
She turned and looked at the god’s statue. To her surprise, a blue robe was draped over the trident wielding arm of Poseidon. Lydia glanced back at the lifeless bodies of the men.
“I have time to check this out,” thought Lydia as she walked over to the statue.
She pulled the robe off the statue’s arm. The water logged material felt heavy in her hands. The rich color of blue looked as beautiful as the color of the ocean. She slipped it on over her clothes.
The robe felt weightless despite how heavy it felt before.
Lydia turned around and faced the rest of the temple chamber.
She paused to admire the view when a now familiar voice whispered to her, “Honour me. Worship me. Spread my name and power. Make the people believe again. Do this for your life and your debt will be repaid.”
Lydia looked around the room but saw nothing but the bodies of the men and the statue of Poseidon.
Lydia looked at the statue of Poseidon and felt a great sense of peace. She felt no pain. She felt no panic or fear.
“I shall,” said Lydia aloud as she skipped off the dias.
A sense of ownership over the temple growing within her.
“First I am going to dispose of these bodies,” said Lydia aloud as her voice rang throughout the temple’s chamber.
“Then I am going to spread the great word of Poseidon,” said Lydia loudly. As a smile spread across her face.
“I’m a believer,” | "There she is!"
Sophia cursed under her breath and dodged behind a decaying column. Why couldn't her father have picked an honest job instead of making illegal hooch for the cruise lines? The world may never know. Now she was on the run from Nikos Niehos' thugs, who were intent on making her a bargaining chip against her father.
She was half tempted to let them catch her to teach her worthless father a lesson. She had been begging for protection for months, after all.
The sound of heavy shoes on lose gravel brought her back from her happy reverie. She needed a place to hide. Her eyes raked the debris of the Heritage Site, looking for a rat-hole, and (as if by magic) she found one. A hole, just big enough for her to wiggle her 12 year old body through, and (hopefully) too big for the goons behind her to follow. She pushed her way through a short tunnel, and fell into a water filled grotto.
Her Mary Katrantzou outfit was now completely ruined.
She tried to ignore the shouts outside and looked for another way out. There was an altar in the middle of the water, a statue of sorts, covered with bas relief grape clusters. She didn't waste any time on it, looking for another way out.
"She's got to be down here!" a voice said. "Good luck, suckers," Sophia thought, but her hope was short lived. The sounds of furious digging came from the opening next.
Panic pushed a white hot wire into Sophia's frontal lobes, and she took up a hiding position behind.
"Look, I don't know who's altar this is, but if you get me out of this jam I'll serve you all my days," she whispered. "I will be your most loyal and faithful servant all my days."
Nothing. It was worth a shot.
The hole was not big enough for one of Nikos' thugs to push his rat like face through.
"Come out of there, you little bitch," he yelled. "Don't make us come in there after you!"
Sophia stayed quiet. "Last chance," he yelled again.
Sophia heard sloshing behind her. A lot of sloshing. Too much sloshing. The sloshing moved past her. Whatever was making the sound smelled of too many weeks without a shower and cheap gin. It staggered to the opening.
It coalesced into a seedy old man, dressed rags. He staggered to the opening and pushed his mug close to rat face's.
"Can't a man get some sleep? Or take a bath? Or drink his troubles away in peace?" He said. Ratface recoiled as if he were punched, then swore.
"You stinking old fart, get away from me!" ratface said.
A voice outside said, "Ask him about the bitch!"
"Anybody else rotting away inside there with you, old man?" ratface said.
"No, just me. Hey, you want to join me in a libation to..." The old man pushed a bottle toward ratface.
"Get that shit away from me, old man!" Ratface said, and pulled his head out of the hole.
"She's not here!" he said when he could breathe clean air again. "Keep looking!"
The sounds of the search receded into the distance. Sophia would have sighed in relief, if the air had been breathable. The seedy old man splashed over and slumped down next to her. Sophia almost retched. She was sure she would have to burn her clothes now.
"You're welcome, Sophia," the old man said. He took a long pull from his bottle. "Want a swig?"
Sophia was ready to say something trendy and biting, but one fact stopped her.
"How do you know my name?" she said.
The old man chuckled. It was actually a friendly chuckle.
"I know the names of all of my High Priestesses. It's a prerogative of being a god. No matter how irrelevant they've become." He choked back a sob, and took another pull from the bottle.
"Who are you, exactly?" Sophia said.
"Bacchus," he said, "The god of wine, and song, and fun!" He began to sob uncontrollably.
"Here, give me that bottle," Sophia said, grabbing it. "I think I need this more than you do now."
She took a long pull from it. It burned all the way down. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lilly scrambled up the cracked stone steps, her heart thundering in her chest. *why,* she thought, *why are they chasing me, what do they want?* She ran past old stone pillars and dropped to her stomach, she had to shimmy to fit through the crack at the base of the wall. The large doors were luckily blocked by chunks of stone that had fallen ages ago. *Hopefully, that will slow them down.* she thought
A faint light streamed into the large room through small windows near the ceiling along both walls. Dust danced in the light. Lilly took a tentative step forward. Shouts from the outside stirred her into motion. She ran past the large statue in the center of the room, ducking into the shadows behind it.
"She went in here!" a gruff voice called from outside, "but the doors are blocked."
"Clear it out," another called, "she's got nowhere to run."
Lilly cowered in the shadow behind the statue. She closed her eyes, "Help," she said quietly, "please." She didn't know if anyone was listening, or who she was praying to. But anyone would be better than nothing.
"Come out of the shadow child." a kind voice said.
Lilly froze, *who...* she turned looking around the statue. A large man in a simple brown tunic stood watching her. He leaned on a wooden cane. "Who are you?" she asked hesitantly.
The man smiled, "my name is Hephaestus."
*What?* she thought, "where did you come from, how did you get in here?"
The man knelt slowly, "I am here because you called me."
"I..." Lilly stood slowly walking out of the shadow, "I called you..." Her eyes glanced up at the statue which she now realized looked an awful lot like the man in front of her.
The man's eyes twinkled with mirth, "Yes, child, you called me." He placed a hand on her shoulder, "Listen, those men outside. they are after you because of the power you hold."
"Power? What are you talking about?"
"You hold within you the last of the god's powers. We are dwindling, our time in this world is almost up. I am one of the few left."
Lilly was struggling to comprehend what he was saying, "but how, I'm nobody."
"I do not know child, nor do I know what the future holds for you, that was Apollo's realm, I only know that you are the last of the demigods. Our power lives in you."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't fight them," Lilly said gesturing to the men that were still working on clearing the doorway.
"You can, you have all of our power. The might of Zeus, the speed of Hermes, we all live within you." Hephaestus raised a hand, glowing golden power, so bright that Lilly had to squint, condensed in his palm. When the light faded, Hephaestus held in his hand the most beautiful sword, shield, and leather cuirass Lilly had ever seen. "Here," he said, handing them to Lilly, "take these, my last creations."
He stood as Lilly took the gifts. "What happens now?" She asked.
"Now," he said, getting a far-off look, "now I go rest." He turned away, fading slightly, "You got this kid." he said, disappearing. | "There she is!"
Sophia cursed under her breath and dodged behind a decaying column. Why couldn't her father have picked an honest job instead of making illegal hooch for the cruise lines? The world may never know. Now she was on the run from Nikos Niehos' thugs, who were intent on making her a bargaining chip against her father.
She was half tempted to let them catch her to teach her worthless father a lesson. She had been begging for protection for months, after all.
The sound of heavy shoes on lose gravel brought her back from her happy reverie. She needed a place to hide. Her eyes raked the debris of the Heritage Site, looking for a rat-hole, and (as if by magic) she found one. A hole, just big enough for her to wiggle her 12 year old body through, and (hopefully) too big for the goons behind her to follow. She pushed her way through a short tunnel, and fell into a water filled grotto.
Her Mary Katrantzou outfit was now completely ruined.
She tried to ignore the shouts outside and looked for another way out. There was an altar in the middle of the water, a statue of sorts, covered with bas relief grape clusters. She didn't waste any time on it, looking for another way out.
"She's got to be down here!" a voice said. "Good luck, suckers," Sophia thought, but her hope was short lived. The sounds of furious digging came from the opening next.
Panic pushed a white hot wire into Sophia's frontal lobes, and she took up a hiding position behind.
"Look, I don't know who's altar this is, but if you get me out of this jam I'll serve you all my days," she whispered. "I will be your most loyal and faithful servant all my days."
Nothing. It was worth a shot.
The hole was not big enough for one of Nikos' thugs to push his rat like face through.
"Come out of there, you little bitch," he yelled. "Don't make us come in there after you!"
Sophia stayed quiet. "Last chance," he yelled again.
Sophia heard sloshing behind her. A lot of sloshing. Too much sloshing. The sloshing moved past her. Whatever was making the sound smelled of too many weeks without a shower and cheap gin. It staggered to the opening.
It coalesced into a seedy old man, dressed rags. He staggered to the opening and pushed his mug close to rat face's.
"Can't a man get some sleep? Or take a bath? Or drink his troubles away in peace?" He said. Ratface recoiled as if he were punched, then swore.
"You stinking old fart, get away from me!" ratface said.
A voice outside said, "Ask him about the bitch!"
"Anybody else rotting away inside there with you, old man?" ratface said.
"No, just me. Hey, you want to join me in a libation to..." The old man pushed a bottle toward ratface.
"Get that shit away from me, old man!" Ratface said, and pulled his head out of the hole.
"She's not here!" he said when he could breathe clean air again. "Keep looking!"
The sounds of the search receded into the distance. Sophia would have sighed in relief, if the air had been breathable. The seedy old man splashed over and slumped down next to her. Sophia almost retched. She was sure she would have to burn her clothes now.
"You're welcome, Sophia," the old man said. He took a long pull from his bottle. "Want a swig?"
Sophia was ready to say something trendy and biting, but one fact stopped her.
"How do you know my name?" she said.
The old man chuckled. It was actually a friendly chuckle.
"I know the names of all of my High Priestesses. It's a prerogative of being a god. No matter how irrelevant they've become." He choked back a sob, and took another pull from the bottle.
"Who are you, exactly?" Sophia said.
"Bacchus," he said, "The god of wine, and song, and fun!" He began to sob uncontrollably.
"Here, give me that bottle," Sophia said, grabbing it. "I think I need this more than you do now."
She took a long pull from it. It burned all the way down. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lydia felt pain shoot up her leg as her foot twisted amongst the rocks on the beach. She fell forward, towards the sandy beech. She reached her arms out to brace her fall. She felt palms sink into the sand as her ankle throbbed in pain.
“I don’t have much time,” she thought to herself as she turned her head to see three hulking men with assault rifles continue to pursue her.
“I have to keep going,” Lydia thought to herself again as she pushed herself up off the sandy beech. Wet clumps of sand fell off her as she stood up and limped forward. Lydia was almost to the Temple of Poseidon. An old temple that had long been abandoned as the old gods fell out of favor long ago.
The armed juggernauts continued to pursue her in a relaxed walking pace. She could hear them laughing at her limping gait as he progressed towards the temple.
Lydia arrived at the temple and limped up the steps, falling forward a few times she clamored up the steps and staggered into the temple.
“There has to be somewhere to hide!” screamed Lydia internally to herself. She quickly scanned the room and noticed a large circular pool in the middle of the large stone chamber. Just beyond the pool was a dias with a large statue of Poseidon standing proudly on it. The sight of the muscular god wielding a trident brought Lydia a small sense of comfort.
Lydia’s mind reminded that she wasn’t believe in gods. The thought quickly ran through her mind and was then followed by the image of the darkly cladded men who pursued her.
She looked around the room and deemed the room to have no sufficient hiding spots. Lydia felt her desperation grow with every second that ticked by. She recalled hearing stories in school about the gods intervening in the lives of ordinary people.
She looked back at Poseidon’s statue and felt again a small feeling of comfort as she looked at the statue.
Lydia heard the men’s voices from just outside the temple. Desperate and becoming increasingly open to the idea of divine intervention she staggered towards the bottom of Poseidon’s dias and fell onto her knees. She felt her ankle continue to ache but mentally pushed through her pain as she focused on her prayer to Poseidon.
She could hear the men now climbing up the steps, their voices filled her with dread.
Lydia prayed, “Oh god Poseidon, please protect me in my time of need from these men. I have not been a believer of you before. This time of need has forced me to you and your temple. I ask you now to please protect me and I will be forever in your debt.”
As soon as she finished her prayer a voice from one of the juggernaut’s boomed from behind her, “There she is! Enough of the chase girl!”
Lydia whimpered as she whispered “Oh please Poseidon help me.” The tension of the moment became too much for her. Tears began welling in her eyes and rolling down her face. She wept before the Poseidon’s statue as the men closed in around her.
Lydia opened her eyes in time to watch one single teardrop fall from her cheek and hit the stones beneath her.
The men stood around her. The man who spoke before grabbed her arm and jerked her towards him.
Lydia felt immense panic flood her senses. She thrashed around to escape the man’s grip but he firmly held onto her. She stopped when she heard one of the other men shout, “That pool is filling the room!”
Lydia stopped her escape attempt. She and the three men stared at the pool as the water level steadily rose. The water in the pool bubbled as its water level steadily rose.
“Grab the girl and lets get out of here!” said one of the men.
The juggernaut with his firm grip wrenched her forward with him as he stepped towards the temple’s entrance.
The man watched in horror as a large stone door rose up from beneath the temple floor. The door made a loud *thud* as it sealed the temple.
The water level was midway up her shin as the man dragged her through the water. The men shouted and yelled at one another in panic as they argued about how to escape the temple. The men and Lydia were midway to the door when Lydia noticed that her ankle no longer hurt. Confused but having more pressing priorities Lydia refocused herself on thrashing to escape the man’s grasp but his grip was firm.
The man wrenched her forward. Lydia fell into the waist high water that filled the room. She floated to the bottom of the flooded temple floor. Immersed in the water she felt the rough texture of the temple floor’s stones with her fingertips. Lydia resigned herself to the thought of staying under water, “I would rather drown then go with them,” thought Lydia to herself.
A man’s voice interrupted her thought, a voice she did not recognize whispered to her.
“When you reach the air again, take a deep breath.”
Lydia was confused and she questioned if she had heard a voice at all.
“Am I losing my mind?” wondered Lydia.
Her thought process was interrupted when one of the men’s hands plunged through the water and grabbed her, pulling her back up to the surface. Lydia let out a loud gasp as reached the surface.
“Clumsy girl!” shouted one of the men.
Lydia planted her feet beneath her and inhaled as much air as she could. She began holding her breath.
Immediately the temple began to shake. The rate of the water rising exponentially increased as it continued to flood the room. In a matter of seconds the room went from a water level of waist high to reaching the ceiling. Lydia and the men became fully immersed in water. The juggernauts struggled to breath.
Lydia opened her eyes and watched the men thrashing about, “Good, it’s their turn to thrash around,” thought Lydia.
As each man resigned himself to death Lydia felt more and more at peace. Once the last man joined his in floating lifelessly the water immediately drained from the chamber. Lydia and the bodies of the juggernauts crashed to the stone floor.
Lydia exhaled and gasped for breath, alarm flooded her senses along with the panic that she felt before. Those feelings quickly disappeared when she looked around the room and became aware of just how comfortable the feeling of the water seemed to her now.
Lydia again became aware of her painless ankle,
“Odd,” thought Lydia.
She turned towards the entrance of the temple, which was no longer sealed. She stepped towards the temple entrance but paused after taking a step. Lydia wasn’t sure why but she decided to look at Poseidon one more time.
She turned and looked at the god’s statue. To her surprise, a blue robe was draped over the trident wielding arm of Poseidon. Lydia glanced back at the lifeless bodies of the men.
“I have time to check this out,” thought Lydia as she walked over to the statue.
She pulled the robe off the statue’s arm. The water logged material felt heavy in her hands. The rich color of blue looked as beautiful as the color of the ocean. She slipped it on over her clothes.
The robe felt weightless despite how heavy it felt before.
Lydia turned around and faced the rest of the temple chamber.
She paused to admire the view when a now familiar voice whispered to her, “Honour me. Worship me. Spread my name and power. Make the people believe again. Do this for your life and your debt will be repaid.”
Lydia looked around the room but saw nothing but the bodies of the men and the statue of Poseidon.
Lydia looked at the statue of Poseidon and felt a great sense of peace. She felt no pain. She felt no panic or fear.
“I shall,” said Lydia aloud as she skipped off the dias.
A sense of ownership over the temple growing within her.
“First I am going to dispose of these bodies,” said Lydia aloud as her voice rang throughout the temple’s chamber.
“Then I am going to spread the great word of Poseidon,” said Lydia loudly. As a smile spread across her face.
“I’m a believer,” | "'ey, there, now, none of that! You're killin' the mood!"
Antha turned, and despite her utter exhaustion and the terror of her flight, flinched at the sight of a man who, despite his tone, had neither cares nor clothes. He was holding a stout wooden staff overgrown with ivy coated with honey, of all things.
"Look, sir, um, this is a really bad time ..."
"You're tellin' me! No kidding!"
"No, I mean, um, is there anywhere around here to hide?"
"Hide?!" the man looked scandalized at the thought. Then he gestured around the ruined temple, nestled in a tiny nook on the coast that she would never have found had she not half-staggered, half-fallen down the long wooded slope above it. The cliffs on either side were sheer and the cove was so choked with rocks about a hundred yards out that even smugglers couldn't use it. Could be a good place to fish or take a swim. "Take your pick! I've been *hiding* here for longer than you could count. Longer than I could usually count, too."
"Usually?"
"Well, you won't usually find me like this," the man noted, gesturing to himself in all of his naturalist glory. *I should hope not*, Antha thought to herself. The man continued, "you'll usually find me more like this!" He reached behind himself and lifted a massive amphora, four liters easily, one that he should never have been able to hide behind himself, and took a massive, awkwardly-long swing. "*Now* I have more trouble counting, so I can't tell you how long I've been hiding here. But you're welcome to hide with me!"
That only served to break the spell and remind Antha of what she was hiding *from*. "Sorry, but I think this place is about to get found. Do you have a basement? Or is there any way out of here along the coasts?"
The man brightened. "Guests! Oh, Olympus be praised, it's been too long."
"They're Ottoman mercenaries and they'll flatten this place as soon as they're done with me, and if you tell them this is your home, they'll kill you too. They might just for dressing like that. Now come on, how about we try to stay alive?"
"Pfagh. I've been staying alive for long enough. It's time to *live* a little!"
"Man, seriously, I'd love to, that was me until just a few months ago, but things have changed." Buried images hammered at the edges of her mind, memories she'd banished to preserve her sanity for flight. From the best day of her life to the worst--crowned summer queen on the old solstice festival that her little corner of the peninsula still celebrated, then the soldiers coming not two days later. They were used to getting the best the occupied lands had to offer and not taking no for an answer. Except she had told them no, right there on the village green, and they had taken it poorly enough to kill her father on the spot, and it had been clear enough that she was next after they had their way. So she ran, and had been running for five full days since then. She thought they'd have given up by now, but they apparently *really* didn't take no for answer.
"Well then, just change them back!"
Antha chuckled. "Make it sound so easy."
The man picked a honey-coated ivy leaf off his staff and handed it to her. "Antha Callista Galanis," he said. Her eyebrows climbed to the back of her head. *How did he ...?* "Summer queen. Be the change you want to see in the world."
She took the leaf, and cast a disbelieving but wondering look around the ruined temple. Ruined? The ceiling and all the pillars that supported it were intact. The damage was more what you'd see from parties that got out of hand. *Many* parties, perhaps. The overgrowth of vines and other flora made it look worse than it was.
She ate the leaf. The honey burned sweetly in her throat, and somehow in her lungs, too, as if she were breathing it as well as eating it.
The naked man was smiling at her, holding up his staff in one hand and his amphora in the other. "Live a life worth living, die a death worth dying!"
"If I die today ..." she said.
"Then you'll die a priestess, not a peasant."
The warmth from the leaf and honey coursed outwards from her stomach and lungs to the tips of her fingers and toes, and to her mind a heartbeat later. "We should get ready to receive guests, then."
The man smiled, and took another massive draught from his amphora. "I've been ready." He handed the amphora to her. Despite the two massive draughts he had taken, it was full to the brim. "I've been ready for far." There was a massive overturned stone table near one wall of the the open-air temple; he hooked his staff underneath it and righted it in a single motion. Antha took a sip of the wine, and watched in awe. "Too." He cast his empty hand, and eight massive goblets that had not been in his hand a moment earlier spun out and came to rest at eight of the chairs that also had not been there a moment earlier. "Long!" He grabbed the front of Antha's dress, and tore. The old peasant frock came free, and somehow all her underclothes as well, leaving her with not a stitch more than the man was wearing. A startled "eep!" escaped her, on instinct, but her breath steadied and she took another swig of wine. She allowed just the corners of her mouth a small smile at seeing the effect the view of her had on the man, though she knew it was time to stop kidding herself about whether a *man* was all he was.
He handed her a scandalously risque mockery of a classical peplum tunic, and a long bandolier that supported many pouches, including a large one at the hip. It was full to the brim with pure white powder. "Make yourself ready to give a proper welcome, my dear, we have guests coming. And if they're in the mood for something stronger than wine, hold back nothing. It has been so long since I had guests, and also so long since I had--other forms of sustenance for my kind."
Antha grinned in understanding and began wriggling into the little tunic. She felt like dancing.
&#x200B;
\[continued below\] | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Lilly scrambled up the cracked stone steps, her heart thundering in her chest. *why,* she thought, *why are they chasing me, what do they want?* She ran past old stone pillars and dropped to her stomach, she had to shimmy to fit through the crack at the base of the wall. The large doors were luckily blocked by chunks of stone that had fallen ages ago. *Hopefully, that will slow them down.* she thought
A faint light streamed into the large room through small windows near the ceiling along both walls. Dust danced in the light. Lilly took a tentative step forward. Shouts from the outside stirred her into motion. She ran past the large statue in the center of the room, ducking into the shadows behind it.
"She went in here!" a gruff voice called from outside, "but the doors are blocked."
"Clear it out," another called, "she's got nowhere to run."
Lilly cowered in the shadow behind the statue. She closed her eyes, "Help," she said quietly, "please." She didn't know if anyone was listening, or who she was praying to. But anyone would be better than nothing.
"Come out of the shadow child." a kind voice said.
Lilly froze, *who...* she turned looking around the statue. A large man in a simple brown tunic stood watching her. He leaned on a wooden cane. "Who are you?" she asked hesitantly.
The man smiled, "my name is Hephaestus."
*What?* she thought, "where did you come from, how did you get in here?"
The man knelt slowly, "I am here because you called me."
"I..." Lilly stood slowly walking out of the shadow, "I called you..." Her eyes glanced up at the statue which she now realized looked an awful lot like the man in front of her.
The man's eyes twinkled with mirth, "Yes, child, you called me." He placed a hand on her shoulder, "Listen, those men outside. they are after you because of the power you hold."
"Power? What are you talking about?"
"You hold within you the last of the god's powers. We are dwindling, our time in this world is almost up. I am one of the few left."
Lilly was struggling to comprehend what he was saying, "but how, I'm nobody."
"I do not know child, nor do I know what the future holds for you, that was Apollo's realm, I only know that you are the last of the demigods. Our power lives in you."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't fight them," Lilly said gesturing to the men that were still working on clearing the doorway.
"You can, you have all of our power. The might of Zeus, the speed of Hermes, we all live within you." Hephaestus raised a hand, glowing golden power, so bright that Lilly had to squint, condensed in his palm. When the light faded, Hephaestus held in his hand the most beautiful sword, shield, and leather cuirass Lilly had ever seen. "Here," he said, handing them to Lilly, "take these, my last creations."
He stood as Lilly took the gifts. "What happens now?" She asked.
"Now," he said, getting a far-off look, "now I go rest." He turned away, fading slightly, "You got this kid." he said, disappearing. | "'ey, there, now, none of that! You're killin' the mood!"
Antha turned, and despite her utter exhaustion and the terror of her flight, flinched at the sight of a man who, despite his tone, had neither cares nor clothes. He was holding a stout wooden staff overgrown with ivy coated with honey, of all things.
"Look, sir, um, this is a really bad time ..."
"You're tellin' me! No kidding!"
"No, I mean, um, is there anywhere around here to hide?"
"Hide?!" the man looked scandalized at the thought. Then he gestured around the ruined temple, nestled in a tiny nook on the coast that she would never have found had she not half-staggered, half-fallen down the long wooded slope above it. The cliffs on either side were sheer and the cove was so choked with rocks about a hundred yards out that even smugglers couldn't use it. Could be a good place to fish or take a swim. "Take your pick! I've been *hiding* here for longer than you could count. Longer than I could usually count, too."
"Usually?"
"Well, you won't usually find me like this," the man noted, gesturing to himself in all of his naturalist glory. *I should hope not*, Antha thought to herself. The man continued, "you'll usually find me more like this!" He reached behind himself and lifted a massive amphora, four liters easily, one that he should never have been able to hide behind himself, and took a massive, awkwardly-long swing. "*Now* I have more trouble counting, so I can't tell you how long I've been hiding here. But you're welcome to hide with me!"
That only served to break the spell and remind Antha of what she was hiding *from*. "Sorry, but I think this place is about to get found. Do you have a basement? Or is there any way out of here along the coasts?"
The man brightened. "Guests! Oh, Olympus be praised, it's been too long."
"They're Ottoman mercenaries and they'll flatten this place as soon as they're done with me, and if you tell them this is your home, they'll kill you too. They might just for dressing like that. Now come on, how about we try to stay alive?"
"Pfagh. I've been staying alive for long enough. It's time to *live* a little!"
"Man, seriously, I'd love to, that was me until just a few months ago, but things have changed." Buried images hammered at the edges of her mind, memories she'd banished to preserve her sanity for flight. From the best day of her life to the worst--crowned summer queen on the old solstice festival that her little corner of the peninsula still celebrated, then the soldiers coming not two days later. They were used to getting the best the occupied lands had to offer and not taking no for an answer. Except she had told them no, right there on the village green, and they had taken it poorly enough to kill her father on the spot, and it had been clear enough that she was next after they had their way. So she ran, and had been running for five full days since then. She thought they'd have given up by now, but they apparently *really* didn't take no for answer.
"Well then, just change them back!"
Antha chuckled. "Make it sound so easy."
The man picked a honey-coated ivy leaf off his staff and handed it to her. "Antha Callista Galanis," he said. Her eyebrows climbed to the back of her head. *How did he ...?* "Summer queen. Be the change you want to see in the world."
She took the leaf, and cast a disbelieving but wondering look around the ruined temple. Ruined? The ceiling and all the pillars that supported it were intact. The damage was more what you'd see from parties that got out of hand. *Many* parties, perhaps. The overgrowth of vines and other flora made it look worse than it was.
She ate the leaf. The honey burned sweetly in her throat, and somehow in her lungs, too, as if she were breathing it as well as eating it.
The naked man was smiling at her, holding up his staff in one hand and his amphora in the other. "Live a life worth living, die a death worth dying!"
"If I die today ..." she said.
"Then you'll die a priestess, not a peasant."
The warmth from the leaf and honey coursed outwards from her stomach and lungs to the tips of her fingers and toes, and to her mind a heartbeat later. "We should get ready to receive guests, then."
The man smiled, and took another massive draught from his amphora. "I've been ready." He handed the amphora to her. Despite the two massive draughts he had taken, it was full to the brim. "I've been ready for far." There was a massive overturned stone table near one wall of the the open-air temple; he hooked his staff underneath it and righted it in a single motion. Antha took a sip of the wine, and watched in awe. "Too." He cast his empty hand, and eight massive goblets that had not been in his hand a moment earlier spun out and came to rest at eight of the chairs that also had not been there a moment earlier. "Long!" He grabbed the front of Antha's dress, and tore. The old peasant frock came free, and somehow all her underclothes as well, leaving her with not a stitch more than the man was wearing. A startled "eep!" escaped her, on instinct, but her breath steadied and she took another swig of wine. She allowed just the corners of her mouth a small smile at seeing the effect the view of her had on the man, though she knew it was time to stop kidding herself about whether a *man* was all he was.
He handed her a scandalously risque mockery of a classical peplum tunic, and a long bandolier that supported many pouches, including a large one at the hip. It was full to the brim with pure white powder. "Make yourself ready to give a proper welcome, my dear, we have guests coming. And if they're in the mood for something stronger than wine, hold back nothing. It has been so long since I had guests, and also so long since I had--other forms of sustenance for my kind."
Antha grinned in understanding and began wriggling into the little tunic. She felt like dancing.
&#x200B;
\[continued below\] | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Sara ran the baying of the mercenaries' dogs tracking her. Why they were hunting her she didn't know she was a student helping on a dig. As she raced through the back trails and paths that seemed to have only be used by animals for years her desperation grew and grew.
There a flash of dressed stone turning into it she saw the ruin of a temple. Its courtyard overgrown and evidence of wild boar having used it judging from the smell at least. But it was thick stone and had more than a few nooks to crawl into and hide.
Possibly from exhaustion or delusion but she felt like she was trespassing. "I'm sorry but I need to hide hope that's OK."
"Its fine though I have to say its not often that anyone called on me for sanctuary. even in my family's heyday." Turning Sara saw a man dressed in what she recognised as batterd and worn Hoplite armour with the helm and a spear resting on the alter behind him. Looking back at her he cocked his head to the side studying her. "So why do you call to Ares for sanctuary."
That was when one of the mercs ran into the temple being pulled by his hound who suddenly stopped and started to whine. The man however let go of it's lead and raised his rifle. "Look who ever you are get out of the way we only want the girl not you so don't be a idiot."
The laugh that rolled out of the man claiming to be Ares was a dark thing not made from one voice but from the rumble of men on the march, the clash of spear on shield of sword upon bone. that laugh would stick with Sara for the rest of her life she knew. However unlike the mercenary in front of her who fell to the floor in terror crying. She felt bolstered and confident her aches and pains fading away, and angry so very angry. she cast about looking for something to hit that man with this man who had hunted her like some kind of animal.
As if recognising what she wanted Ares for there could be no doubt who he was now, walked over to a corner and digging through some debris pulled out a green and chipped sword. Frowning at the state of the weapon he held he blew on it as Sara would blow the dust off a old book and as he did the patina disintegrated into thousands of small flakes and the chips and scratches also disappeared with a wipe of his hand. Tossing it to her unexpectedly Sara she was surprised when she caught it. She was even more surprised when the knowledge of how to use it slid up her arm and into her mind.
"Keep that with you in case there are some particularly hard headed morons out there". With that Ares walked up to the man on the floor and lifting him easily off the floor and with a voice that demanded obedience. "How many in your company?"
"Twenty"
"Twenty men to kill one girl. Hand over your speaking device." Taking up the radio Ares spoke in what Sara presumed was Ancient Greek into it for a few seconds. As he spoke a dazed expression came over the mans face when Ares put him back down he stepped backwards saluted him then tuned and left.
"What just happened and thank you." Confused and with the unnatural anger quickly draining away . "Your welcome and I am not just the god of war I am one of the gods of soldiers Athena and I argue on that topic, but I have enough influence to alter their orders so to speak. They won't trouble you again"
"Thank you. You are a lot different than the myths when I realised it was actually you...Well I thought it would go very differently"
"You thought I would kill them all. I wanted to I did but you humans what you have done to war I dare not risk unleashing myself. The gods of all of the pantheons were created to serve humanity not humans but the spirit of humans. With the weapons you lot have created a wild power like mine would wipe you lot of the face of the planet."
That was when Sara finally met Are's eyes something she realised she hadn't been able to do she looked war in the face and for a second knew it understood it and saw how he revelled in it. Then he was gone leaving her shaken holding a shining sword. | Okay so I'm no Saint, let's establish that right now. I kill whomever my bosses point at, and I ask no questions. Sure, they may be fathers, mothers, or even young adults who just started their lives but, i usually comfort myself by saying, "Well they had mercenaries after them, how innocent could they be?"
I'm a mercenary by the way, did I mention that?
Anyways the main thing I'm trying to get across here is 1. I'm a mercenary for hire, and 2. I kill adults and tell myself that they probably deserved it. But the key word here is "adults," I don't think I ever shot someone younger than 25. At least no one who looked younger than that.
But everything changed when I got sent to kill some cult in Greece. Now, this assignment was a lot easier for me to mentally prepare for not only because I could imagine my targets as Scientologists, and it was in Greece so afterwards I could take pictures for my mom.
So after I arrived I met up with the other guys, loaded up in an abandoned house, got ice cream, and we were off to slaughter an entire cult.
The eldest of our little killing party, Drew, who had fought in The Gulf War, said that we should wait until nightfall, not only for the tactical advantages of being hard to see and everyone being asleep, but also because an episode of the Bachelor was on and he wanted to see the new episode. Lucky for him, so did all of us.
So we ranted about our favorite girls and then went to scope out the area with the cult. It was a lot smaller than I expected, four cabins, a couple of decorative fences with flowers, and all of it out in an open grass field for them to frolic and...I don't know fuck each other's wives? I don't know what cults do to be honest.
Anyways, we all made our way ever so quietly to the cabins, went inside, pulled out our knives, and painted the walls red with their blood. It was simple, easy, and gave me enough time to get a picture of the beautiful view of the nearby lake for my mom.
There was just one thing bugging me though, we were getting paid $25,000, each, for this? I mean, I understand killing people comes with a big price but even one of us could have gotten this job done. None of them fought back even when they awoke to us stabbing their fellow members.
At least that's what I said awoke them when I explained it to the other guys. No way I was letting them find out my headphones unplugged and my 90's playlist blew my cover.
After I contemplated this and put on Barbie Girl, ready for the ride home, until we heard a scream from a little girl running out of one of the cabins.
"What the- who the hell forgot one?!?!?" Drew yelled at everyone.
No one wanted to take responsibility and we couldn't figure it out so we just blamed Kevin because Kevin got pistachio ice cream. Fuck Kevin.
We ran after this little girl through the woods, doing everything we could to convince her to slow down. When we realized the only thing our bullets were hitting were trees and Kevin, Cameron and Dean tried to convince the little girl it was all a game.
"Little girl don't worry! We're just playing house!"
"What? What the fuck does stabbing have to do with house?"
"Well at least I'm trying Dean!"
"Fuck you Cam! You're the reason this marriage is falling apart!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Damn it Cam, we almost had her believing this was a game of house and now you blew it!"
Yeah communication isn't our strong suit. Neither is catching little girls apparently because she ran into this ruined temple that couldn't have been bigger than the average American cul-de-sac. The only impressive thing about it was that it was wedged into the side of a hill, meaning the little girl ran into a dead end as we charged up behind her with our rifles raised.
It was at this point I lowered my weapon and looked at my companions, "Guys, I think killing a child is messed up," I said with genuine remorse for making this little girl run so far.
"The contract said we had to kill everyone! I'll do it if you don't! I have to pay off my kids college debt!" Drew yelled at me.
"Hey, me too!" Dean said happy to have someone who shared his pain.
"Same." Cameron said sounding dead inside.
"Damn you guys as well?" I asked thinking about the massive amount of debt I put myself in just to stay with my now ex girlfriend.
"Actually I'm looking to open a sports bar!" Kevin said gripping his bleeding leg.
"Fuck you Kevin." We said unanimously.
So, I know this sounds like it's out of nowhere, but then the Greek God Pan just appeared behind the little girl. I don't even know how it happened, we were also busy with our hatred of Kevin, I guess we never noticed the little girl praying for her life. Unfortunately the one who answered was the half goat jackass of nature.
That didn't prevent him from beating my companions to death however.
Now you may be wondering, how did I survive? Well it's simple, Pan may have been a god but the goat half of him was still weak to bullets.
I had done the impossible. I, a mere mortal had killed a god and stood with no wounds whatsoever. What was the next thing I did you may ask? I took a picture for my mother and sent it to her with the caption,
"My new daughter and I just killed Mr. Tumnus!" | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | She ran like she’d never run before. The idle, panicky thought that she’d broken all her old track records flirted through her mind as she dashed through the broken, rock-strewn terrain. The beauty of the West Virginia mountains was lost on her as she heard the men closing in as her stamina flagged.
Bursting into a clearing, she gasped, peering around for somewhere to hide, but all that remained of some long-abandoned farmstead was a ruined stone forge, a few bits of scattered metal thrusting from its darkened maw.
She cursed herself, all her years of study, engineering, mathematics and science useless compared to brutes with guns. Leaning against the stonework of the forge, she muttered an almost unbidden prayer to nobody in particular. If she got out of this she’d never waste her skills again, she’d make the world a better place, invent something to help mankind if only she lived long enough to do so.
She heard the distant crackle of a radio as they closed in, and an odd calm came over her, accompanied, oddly, by the fleeting memory of her ancient history coursework, of Hephaestus, god of the forge. God of all forges, came an unbidden thought, as he eyes flicked to the bits of metal almost at her fingertips.
The first of the men, dressed in the Walmart-bought camouflage, never saw the trap until the sharp snap sent a foot long metal rod into his throat. His weak gargling did nothing to warn his companion, a few yards away.
The second, the bright red and blue insignia on his cap the only relief from the Realtree of his garb saw her a moment before she slammed the stone against his face, his shotgun firing into the woods with deafening volume, hitting nothing as he fell to all fours, dazed. She raised the rock, and brought it down again.
The third man dashed for his companions, calling for them into the radio. He emerged into the clearing, and raised his gun towards the girl. “Just put it down now.” He instructed, seeing his companion’s shotgun in her hand, pointed his way. “A fancy college girl like you ain’t got no business with something like that.” Adrenaline surged through him as he realized her hands were covered in blood, and the MIT sweatshirt she wore was speckled with red dots that hadn’t been there before. “Dan? Pat? Answer me.”
No reply came, and he glared at her. “The fuck did you do, bitch? All we wanted was a little fun! Jeezus!”
She stared at him, her eyes cold and her breathing quick and shallow. “-This- isn’t fun for you?” She hissed out, hoping she sounded less breathless and panicky than she was.
“You crazy bitch!” He squeezed the trigger. -Click-. Nothing. The shell was a dud.
She squeezed her trigger. The sound deafened her further, and as the man crumpled to the ground, she fell to all fours, whispering silent thanks to a god she wasn’t sure existed.
-20 years later-
“And now we go to Kate Mallory in Houston.”
“Thank you Dave, behind me you can see the Hephaestus probe, designed to conduct the first large scale mineral surveys of Mars in preparation for human colonization, and I’m here with its lead designer Jeanette Willson.”
“Thank you Kate, if you could speak up a bit, I’m a bit deaf.” | Okay so I'm no Saint, let's establish that right now. I kill whomever my bosses point at, and I ask no questions. Sure, they may be fathers, mothers, or even young adults who just started their lives but, i usually comfort myself by saying, "Well they had mercenaries after them, how innocent could they be?"
I'm a mercenary by the way, did I mention that?
Anyways the main thing I'm trying to get across here is 1. I'm a mercenary for hire, and 2. I kill adults and tell myself that they probably deserved it. But the key word here is "adults," I don't think I ever shot someone younger than 25. At least no one who looked younger than that.
But everything changed when I got sent to kill some cult in Greece. Now, this assignment was a lot easier for me to mentally prepare for not only because I could imagine my targets as Scientologists, and it was in Greece so afterwards I could take pictures for my mom.
So after I arrived I met up with the other guys, loaded up in an abandoned house, got ice cream, and we were off to slaughter an entire cult.
The eldest of our little killing party, Drew, who had fought in The Gulf War, said that we should wait until nightfall, not only for the tactical advantages of being hard to see and everyone being asleep, but also because an episode of the Bachelor was on and he wanted to see the new episode. Lucky for him, so did all of us.
So we ranted about our favorite girls and then went to scope out the area with the cult. It was a lot smaller than I expected, four cabins, a couple of decorative fences with flowers, and all of it out in an open grass field for them to frolic and...I don't know fuck each other's wives? I don't know what cults do to be honest.
Anyways, we all made our way ever so quietly to the cabins, went inside, pulled out our knives, and painted the walls red with their blood. It was simple, easy, and gave me enough time to get a picture of the beautiful view of the nearby lake for my mom.
There was just one thing bugging me though, we were getting paid $25,000, each, for this? I mean, I understand killing people comes with a big price but even one of us could have gotten this job done. None of them fought back even when they awoke to us stabbing their fellow members.
At least that's what I said awoke them when I explained it to the other guys. No way I was letting them find out my headphones unplugged and my 90's playlist blew my cover.
After I contemplated this and put on Barbie Girl, ready for the ride home, until we heard a scream from a little girl running out of one of the cabins.
"What the- who the hell forgot one?!?!?" Drew yelled at everyone.
No one wanted to take responsibility and we couldn't figure it out so we just blamed Kevin because Kevin got pistachio ice cream. Fuck Kevin.
We ran after this little girl through the woods, doing everything we could to convince her to slow down. When we realized the only thing our bullets were hitting were trees and Kevin, Cameron and Dean tried to convince the little girl it was all a game.
"Little girl don't worry! We're just playing house!"
"What? What the fuck does stabbing have to do with house?"
"Well at least I'm trying Dean!"
"Fuck you Cam! You're the reason this marriage is falling apart!"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Damn it Cam, we almost had her believing this was a game of house and now you blew it!"
Yeah communication isn't our strong suit. Neither is catching little girls apparently because she ran into this ruined temple that couldn't have been bigger than the average American cul-de-sac. The only impressive thing about it was that it was wedged into the side of a hill, meaning the little girl ran into a dead end as we charged up behind her with our rifles raised.
It was at this point I lowered my weapon and looked at my companions, "Guys, I think killing a child is messed up," I said with genuine remorse for making this little girl run so far.
"The contract said we had to kill everyone! I'll do it if you don't! I have to pay off my kids college debt!" Drew yelled at me.
"Hey, me too!" Dean said happy to have someone who shared his pain.
"Same." Cameron said sounding dead inside.
"Damn you guys as well?" I asked thinking about the massive amount of debt I put myself in just to stay with my now ex girlfriend.
"Actually I'm looking to open a sports bar!" Kevin said gripping his bleeding leg.
"Fuck you Kevin." We said unanimously.
So, I know this sounds like it's out of nowhere, but then the Greek God Pan just appeared behind the little girl. I don't even know how it happened, we were also busy with our hatred of Kevin, I guess we never noticed the little girl praying for her life. Unfortunately the one who answered was the half goat jackass of nature.
That didn't prevent him from beating my companions to death however.
Now you may be wondering, how did I survive? Well it's simple, Pan may have been a god but the goat half of him was still weak to bullets.
I had done the impossible. I, a mere mortal had killed a god and stood with no wounds whatsoever. What was the next thing I did you may ask? I took a picture for my mother and sent it to her with the caption,
"My new daughter and I just killed Mr. Tumnus!" | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | Sara ran the baying of the mercenaries' dogs tracking her. Why they were hunting her she didn't know she was a student helping on a dig. As she raced through the back trails and paths that seemed to have only be used by animals for years her desperation grew and grew.
There a flash of dressed stone turning into it she saw the ruin of a temple. Its courtyard overgrown and evidence of wild boar having used it judging from the smell at least. But it was thick stone and had more than a few nooks to crawl into and hide.
Possibly from exhaustion or delusion but she felt like she was trespassing. "I'm sorry but I need to hide hope that's OK."
"Its fine though I have to say its not often that anyone called on me for sanctuary. even in my family's heyday." Turning Sara saw a man dressed in what she recognised as batterd and worn Hoplite armour with the helm and a spear resting on the alter behind him. Looking back at her he cocked his head to the side studying her. "So why do you call to Ares for sanctuary."
That was when one of the mercs ran into the temple being pulled by his hound who suddenly stopped and started to whine. The man however let go of it's lead and raised his rifle. "Look who ever you are get out of the way we only want the girl not you so don't be a idiot."
The laugh that rolled out of the man claiming to be Ares was a dark thing not made from one voice but from the rumble of men on the march, the clash of spear on shield of sword upon bone. that laugh would stick with Sara for the rest of her life she knew. However unlike the mercenary in front of her who fell to the floor in terror crying. She felt bolstered and confident her aches and pains fading away, and angry so very angry. she cast about looking for something to hit that man with this man who had hunted her like some kind of animal.
As if recognising what she wanted Ares for there could be no doubt who he was now, walked over to a corner and digging through some debris pulled out a green and chipped sword. Frowning at the state of the weapon he held he blew on it as Sara would blow the dust off a old book and as he did the patina disintegrated into thousands of small flakes and the chips and scratches also disappeared with a wipe of his hand. Tossing it to her unexpectedly Sara she was surprised when she caught it. She was even more surprised when the knowledge of how to use it slid up her arm and into her mind.
"Keep that with you in case there are some particularly hard headed morons out there". With that Ares walked up to the man on the floor and lifting him easily off the floor and with a voice that demanded obedience. "How many in your company?"
"Twenty"
"Twenty men to kill one girl. Hand over your speaking device." Taking up the radio Ares spoke in what Sara presumed was Ancient Greek into it for a few seconds. As he spoke a dazed expression came over the mans face when Ares put him back down he stepped backwards saluted him then tuned and left.
"What just happened and thank you." Confused and with the unnatural anger quickly draining away . "Your welcome and I am not just the god of war I am one of the gods of soldiers Athena and I argue on that topic, but I have enough influence to alter their orders so to speak. They won't trouble you again"
"Thank you. You are a lot different than the myths when I realised it was actually you...Well I thought it would go very differently"
"You thought I would kill them all. I wanted to I did but you humans what you have done to war I dare not risk unleashing myself. The gods of all of the pantheons were created to serve humanity not humans but the spirit of humans. With the weapons you lot have created a wild power like mine would wipe you lot of the face of the planet."
That was when Sara finally met Are's eyes something she realised she hadn't been able to do she looked war in the face and for a second knew it understood it and saw how he revelled in it. Then he was gone leaving her shaken holding a shining sword. | "Well this is a surprise. No one has come to this shrine in thirty years."
Of course I'm on the run from mercenaries who have just slaughtered my whole village, but apparently that was not the weirdest thing the gods planned for today. Standing in front of me was Nemesis.
"Why are you here? No one talks to ME anymore."
"I'm so sorry, my lady, it's just these guys sort of killed everyone I know and they were about to kill me to and-"
"Slow down. I will assist. Thank you for thinking to pray to me, I haven't have fun in a while."
I'm not going to tell her I didn't know this was her's, and she went right up to the army.
THEN SHE KIND OF KILLED EVERYONE AND YEAH REVENGE I GUESS BUT STILL
She came back over to me with blood on her silky robes. She used a wheel for a cart to kill them which is brutal.
"Did this give you justice? Because it certainly brought me satisfaction. Let me know if you need more help in the future."
I blinked and she was gone. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | She ran like she’d never run before. The idle, panicky thought that she’d broken all her old track records flirted through her mind as she dashed through the broken, rock-strewn terrain. The beauty of the West Virginia mountains was lost on her as she heard the men closing in as her stamina flagged.
Bursting into a clearing, she gasped, peering around for somewhere to hide, but all that remained of some long-abandoned farmstead was a ruined stone forge, a few bits of scattered metal thrusting from its darkened maw.
She cursed herself, all her years of study, engineering, mathematics and science useless compared to brutes with guns. Leaning against the stonework of the forge, she muttered an almost unbidden prayer to nobody in particular. If she got out of this she’d never waste her skills again, she’d make the world a better place, invent something to help mankind if only she lived long enough to do so.
She heard the distant crackle of a radio as they closed in, and an odd calm came over her, accompanied, oddly, by the fleeting memory of her ancient history coursework, of Hephaestus, god of the forge. God of all forges, came an unbidden thought, as he eyes flicked to the bits of metal almost at her fingertips.
The first of the men, dressed in the Walmart-bought camouflage, never saw the trap until the sharp snap sent a foot long metal rod into his throat. His weak gargling did nothing to warn his companion, a few yards away.
The second, the bright red and blue insignia on his cap the only relief from the Realtree of his garb saw her a moment before she slammed the stone against his face, his shotgun firing into the woods with deafening volume, hitting nothing as he fell to all fours, dazed. She raised the rock, and brought it down again.
The third man dashed for his companions, calling for them into the radio. He emerged into the clearing, and raised his gun towards the girl. “Just put it down now.” He instructed, seeing his companion’s shotgun in her hand, pointed his way. “A fancy college girl like you ain’t got no business with something like that.” Adrenaline surged through him as he realized her hands were covered in blood, and the MIT sweatshirt she wore was speckled with red dots that hadn’t been there before. “Dan? Pat? Answer me.”
No reply came, and he glared at her. “The fuck did you do, bitch? All we wanted was a little fun! Jeezus!”
She stared at him, her eyes cold and her breathing quick and shallow. “-This- isn’t fun for you?” She hissed out, hoping she sounded less breathless and panicky than she was.
“You crazy bitch!” He squeezed the trigger. -Click-. Nothing. The shell was a dud.
She squeezed her trigger. The sound deafened her further, and as the man crumpled to the ground, she fell to all fours, whispering silent thanks to a god she wasn’t sure existed.
-20 years later-
“And now we go to Kate Mallory in Houston.”
“Thank you Dave, behind me you can see the Hephaestus probe, designed to conduct the first large scale mineral surveys of Mars in preparation for human colonization, and I’m here with its lead designer Jeanette Willson.”
“Thank you Kate, if you could speak up a bit, I’m a bit deaf.” | "Well this is a surprise. No one has come to this shrine in thirty years."
Of course I'm on the run from mercenaries who have just slaughtered my whole village, but apparently that was not the weirdest thing the gods planned for today. Standing in front of me was Nemesis.
"Why are you here? No one talks to ME anymore."
"I'm so sorry, my lady, it's just these guys sort of killed everyone I know and they were about to kill me to and-"
"Slow down. I will assist. Thank you for thinking to pray to me, I haven't have fun in a while."
I'm not going to tell her I didn't know this was her's, and she went right up to the army.
THEN SHE KIND OF KILLED EVERYONE AND YEAH REVENGE I GUESS BUT STILL
She came back over to me with blood on her silky robes. She used a wheel for a cart to kill them which is brutal.
"Did this give you justice? Because it certainly brought me satisfaction. Let me know if you need more help in the future."
I blinked and she was gone. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | I didn't know where i was anymore. My legs felt like lead, and my lungs we're on fire. It was starting to get dark so i figured i had under an hour to make it back to the cruise ship before it left port. My family was probably worried sick. After all, I did ditch them halfway through the day to be on my own.
"There she is!" a grunted voice yelled behind me. I ducked through a crowd of tourists and flanked through some bushes into an open field. In the middle of the field were some broken down ruins which consisted of six or seven free standing century old columns. Beyond that was another group of about 100 tourists taking pictures behind a fence. "If i can get into that group of people, i might be able to get them off my trail...." i desperately thought to myself as i sprinted across the field.
As soon as i reached the ruins i took a brief moment to stop and catch me breath. I looked behind me but the four police officers or who ever they were seemed to have lost me. "I finally got them off my trail" I told myself while bending down gasping the air from exhaustion. But as soon as i turned to walk towards the large mass of tourists was when my heart stopped. Right in front of them facing me were four female police offers, all identical in look. Long black flowing hair, blue police uniform and black raybans. I instantly turned to run the direction I came but my luck finally ran out.
One of the officers pulled out her gun and shot me twice in the back of the leg. I let out a startling scream as I dropped to the floor at the edge of a column. Blood was flowing down my leg as the officers started closing in. With all hope practically lost I decided to try one more idiotic thing. "Please...so-someone p-please help me.." I cried out with tears flowing down my face. Almost instantly an explosion of silver light illuminated in front of me.
When I opened my eyes i couldn't believe what i saw. In front of me was a college age looking man, with curly brown hair, a white toga and winged sandles.
"Well isn't this a surprise!" the man said with a large grin on his face. "I haven't been here in like 3,000 years or so...dang, ya'll did an awful job keeping up with the place" he exclaimed while laughing.
"Anywho, Zues is busy at the moment so I'll relay your message for him" he said joyfully.
"wh-wh-what?" I tried to say the best I could.
"Oh man haha, looks like you've gotten yourself in quite a pickle! What is that? One of those modern day arrow heads lodged in your leg? Bullets i think? " The curly hair man said scratching his head while kneeling over me.
"Oh well, your in luck, I have just the thi-" "HERMES" a voice bellowed from behind me. When i looked the direction of the voice, i saw the four police women merge into one.
"Athena?! Your here to? No way! What a small wo-" "SHUT IT" Athena yelled as pointed she pointed the gun at Hermes head.
"This *mortal* thought she had the audacity to steal from my temple's gift shop and get away with it!" Athena yelled while giving me a murderous look.
"Really Athena?... Really? Your expecting *me* the God of thieves to feel remorse for this girl for stealing from you?!" Hermes said as he stood up, gun still aimed at his head
"I mean honestly, do you not have anything better to do than to protect your dumb washed up temple? That was *so* 3,000 years ago! Get with the times!" he said rolling his eyes.
"Don't you **dare** tempt me in my own city fool" Athena said back firmly.
"Or what! What are you going to do huh? Call your daddy down and complain that the mortals haven't built a city dedicated to you in centuries? What a spoiled brat!" Hermes mocked Athena back.
"At least I have a city named after me you-". Just then a flash of gold lightning erupted from the sky touching the ground right in between them all. In the place the lightning touched, was an older looking man, with long fierce white hair and flowing beard. Instead of wearing white tunic or police uniform he was wearing what looking like a million dollar tuxedo.
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO BICKERING ABOUT!" the old man yelled angrily. "I WAS TRYING TO ENJOY MY DATE NIGHT WITH HERA WHEN YOU **IMBECILES** INTERRUPTED IT!!" he continued with sparks flying out of his body.
"What. The. *Hell. Is. Going On."* I yelled out interrupting there little argument. "Who are you people, what's happening and why did you freaking chase me around town trying to kill me for five hours just for stealing a stupid blanked!" I screamed.
"uh this is my boss and Athena's dad Zues!" Hermes said as if I should have already known that.
"Who is she?" Zues said just now noticing I was laying here with blood pouring out of my leg. "and what is she doing in my old temple? I thought the mortals forgot about us years ago?"
"Athena here, chased her down to your temple and attempted to murder her for stealing from her temple gift shop" Hermes said proudly.
"Athena is this true?" Zues responded.
"Yes dad" she said looking at the ground as if guilty.
"Your grounded for a decade young lady. As for you Hermes, your suspended from a week, come back to Olympus immediately! Oh and send this mortal girl back home with her family Don't worry about wiping her memory, no one will ever believe her." Zues said. Then my vision when dark. When I woke up, i was back on the cruise ship the next morning. I looked down at my leg and saw a nasty scar where the bullet hole was. "Oh my darling, what happened to your leg?" my mom said startling me.
"You don't want to know mom, trust me" | "Well this is a surprise. No one has come to this shrine in thirty years."
Of course I'm on the run from mercenaries who have just slaughtered my whole village, but apparently that was not the weirdest thing the gods planned for today. Standing in front of me was Nemesis.
"Why are you here? No one talks to ME anymore."
"I'm so sorry, my lady, it's just these guys sort of killed everyone I know and they were about to kill me to and-"
"Slow down. I will assist. Thank you for thinking to pray to me, I haven't have fun in a while."
I'm not going to tell her I didn't know this was her's, and she went right up to the army.
THEN SHE KIND OF KILLED EVERYONE AND YEAH REVENGE I GUESS BUT STILL
She came back over to me with blood on her silky robes. She used a wheel for a cart to kill them which is brutal.
"Did this give you justice? Because it certainly brought me satisfaction. Let me know if you need more help in the future."
I blinked and she was gone. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | "Please, please help me!" She whimpered to the statue she was hiding behind. The boots were getting closer. The doors to the temple were flung open-
With a flash of green and the scent of fur, a woman with a bow and steely stare stood where a statue had been a moment before.
The mercenaries stood in confusion. They couldn't see her behind the other woman, the young girl realized and crouched even lower.
The woman looked puzzled and glanced around.
"Who has called upon me?" She asked softly and curiously. "Its not often my help is requested."
One of the mercenaries stepped forward and in the blink of an eye the strange woman let loose and arrow that struck his center. The young girl cried out in fear, curling herself into a small ball.
The woman's eyes shot to her. The woman took in the sight of the terrified child with a torn dress and turned back to the men.
"I see." She said, then flung a hand to her quiver in succession so fast only one man was able to move. He had his hands in the air.
"We were only sent after the girl, ma'am! We ment your temple no disrespect! It was the girl who disturbed it!" He rushed.
"The girl? And what had this child done to to be 'sent after'?" The woman asked.
"Her father refused to stand down to his majesty. Refused to swear fealty. The girl was taken as ensurance of a change of mind." He said uncomfortably.
"And what was to become of this child, should a change of mind not happen?" The woman asked as she stepped closer.
"She would have been kept..." he shuffled nervously.
"And?" She pressed.
"And made use of." He winced.
"Made use of. I see. And had she been made use of in her stay yet?" The woman asked, face to face with the man.
"I'm not sure." His eyes flicked to where the girl was hiding. "I imagine her escape was due to an attempt..." he trailed off, unable go finish.
"To make use of her." The woman finished flatly. She grabbed his throat and lifted him. "To take her innocence. To defile and abuse her."
There was a snap and the woman tossed his body aside, then turned to the girl.
"Child," she called. The girl peaked up over the statues perch. "You may go home and face what may come next. Or, you can come with me and my women. We will protect you. Train you. You will never be at a mans mercy again. It is your choice."
A few hours later, a group of men on horseback surrounded the temple. A king cursed as he saw his men dead on the ground. He approached the statue.
It was of a strong proud woman. A bow and quiver artfully carved. And, beside her, a young girl with a steely gaze and smile. Engraved, Artemis and her huntress. | An ancient, decrepit temple, too small for the tourists, too small for preservation groups. The young woman fumbled into its depths in the inky, humid darkness. The mercenaries, laser lights leading the way, followed her, stopping just inside the only door in, waiting for their eyes to adjust.
She stumbled and tumbled her way deeper, hidden by chunks of crumbling marble and granite. When she knocked over an ancient, tarnished bowl, she silently cursed her bad luck, and, idly, wondered if she'd ever have Lady Luck smile on her, instead of kicking her while she was down.
"Mmm, it's not Tyche you seem to need, Maya. My distant cousin has not looked in this temple since before the fall of Caesar."
Maya couldn't even scream in terror. Divine intervention tends to do that. Before her stood a woman wearing clothes of some kind of hide or leather, with goose feathers adorning. Her left hand bore a wicked, metal-tipped lash of something like brass, with a sheen of a color difficult, if not impossible, to describe. Her right hand bore ancient, weathered reins, and a short sword, leaf-bladed, hung on her left hip.
Her skin was the color of olives, her features plain. She smiled at Maya, then spoke again.
"Ah, yes. Let me introduce myself, I suppose. I am the bringer of balance. I bring retribution to those who my distant cousin favors too freely. I am Nemesis, goddess of indignation against and vengeance toward evil deeds. And you... are Maya, so Tyche said. She does apologize for not having been there for you. She's sent me to fetch you to her, for a little family talk." | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | "Please, please help me!" She whimpered to the statue she was hiding behind. The boots were getting closer. The doors to the temple were flung open-
With a flash of green and the scent of fur, a woman with a bow and steely stare stood where a statue had been a moment before.
The mercenaries stood in confusion. They couldn't see her behind the other woman, the young girl realized and crouched even lower.
The woman looked puzzled and glanced around.
"Who has called upon me?" She asked softly and curiously. "Its not often my help is requested."
One of the mercenaries stepped forward and in the blink of an eye the strange woman let loose and arrow that struck his center. The young girl cried out in fear, curling herself into a small ball.
The woman's eyes shot to her. The woman took in the sight of the terrified child with a torn dress and turned back to the men.
"I see." She said, then flung a hand to her quiver in succession so fast only one man was able to move. He had his hands in the air.
"We were only sent after the girl, ma'am! We ment your temple no disrespect! It was the girl who disturbed it!" He rushed.
"The girl? And what had this child done to to be 'sent after'?" The woman asked.
"Her father refused to stand down to his majesty. Refused to swear fealty. The girl was taken as ensurance of a change of mind." He said uncomfortably.
"And what was to become of this child, should a change of mind not happen?" The woman asked as she stepped closer.
"She would have been kept..." he shuffled nervously.
"And?" She pressed.
"And made use of." He winced.
"Made use of. I see. And had she been made use of in her stay yet?" The woman asked, face to face with the man.
"I'm not sure." His eyes flicked to where the girl was hiding. "I imagine her escape was due to an attempt..." he trailed off, unable go finish.
"To make use of her." The woman finished flatly. She grabbed his throat and lifted him. "To take her innocence. To defile and abuse her."
There was a snap and the woman tossed his body aside, then turned to the girl.
"Child," she called. The girl peaked up over the statues perch. "You may go home and face what may come next. Or, you can come with me and my women. We will protect you. Train you. You will never be at a mans mercy again. It is your choice."
A few hours later, a group of men on horseback surrounded the temple. A king cursed as he saw his men dead on the ground. He approached the statue.
It was of a strong proud woman. A bow and quiver artfully carved. And, beside her, a young girl with a steely gaze and smile. Engraved, Artemis and her huntress. | “Please, please help me Persephone! Please you’ve got to help! I don’t know what I did wrong!” I beg, falling to my knees as tears start to sting my eyes.
There’s multiple bangs on the door and I let out a whimper, anxiety overtaking me. I don’t want to die! I’m too young!
As I let out a desperate sob, light branches out around me. Vines wrap around the door handles, holding them together.
Persephone is the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. Her long, flowing hair sits on her shoulders and her purple eyes shine with a smile. She softly places a hand beneath my chin. “No one will hurt you now, my child.”
“Yo-You’re here? Why are you here?”
“Because you called out to me for help. And I always help those who believe in me.”
“Thank you so much!” I whisper, wiping my face dry.
She smiles before holding a pomegranate out to me. “If you eat this, you’ll be safe. You wouldn’t be able to leave the underworld, but Hades and I would take good care of you. The decision is yours though, my child.”
I pause, glancing at the pomegranate then the door and the pomegranate again, mulling over my decision.
The vines snap and the door is throw open. I stare down at the pomegranate again and only hesitate for a moment before taking a big bite from the pomegranate. | |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | "Please, please help me!" She whimpered to the statue she was hiding behind. The boots were getting closer. The doors to the temple were flung open-
With a flash of green and the scent of fur, a woman with a bow and steely stare stood where a statue had been a moment before.
The mercenaries stood in confusion. They couldn't see her behind the other woman, the young girl realized and crouched even lower.
The woman looked puzzled and glanced around.
"Who has called upon me?" She asked softly and curiously. "Its not often my help is requested."
One of the mercenaries stepped forward and in the blink of an eye the strange woman let loose and arrow that struck his center. The young girl cried out in fear, curling herself into a small ball.
The woman's eyes shot to her. The woman took in the sight of the terrified child with a torn dress and turned back to the men.
"I see." She said, then flung a hand to her quiver in succession so fast only one man was able to move. He had his hands in the air.
"We were only sent after the girl, ma'am! We ment your temple no disrespect! It was the girl who disturbed it!" He rushed.
"The girl? And what had this child done to to be 'sent after'?" The woman asked.
"Her father refused to stand down to his majesty. Refused to swear fealty. The girl was taken as ensurance of a change of mind." He said uncomfortably.
"And what was to become of this child, should a change of mind not happen?" The woman asked as she stepped closer.
"She would have been kept..." he shuffled nervously.
"And?" She pressed.
"And made use of." He winced.
"Made use of. I see. And had she been made use of in her stay yet?" The woman asked, face to face with the man.
"I'm not sure." His eyes flicked to where the girl was hiding. "I imagine her escape was due to an attempt..." he trailed off, unable go finish.
"To make use of her." The woman finished flatly. She grabbed his throat and lifted him. "To take her innocence. To defile and abuse her."
There was a snap and the woman tossed his body aside, then turned to the girl.
"Child," she called. The girl peaked up over the statues perch. "You may go home and face what may come next. Or, you can come with me and my women. We will protect you. Train you. You will never be at a mans mercy again. It is your choice."
A few hours later, a group of men on horseback surrounded the temple. A king cursed as he saw his men dead on the ground. He approached the statue.
It was of a strong proud woman. A bow and quiver artfully carved. And, beside her, a young girl with a steely gaze and smile. Engraved, Artemis and her huntress. | *Tap tap tap tap tap*
"H-How long will they chase m-me!"
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
"There she is, behind those bushes, get her!"
But they would not get her, like hell they wouldn't. Diana would keep running until the end of the world. Through cities and fields, deserts and-- in this case-- forests.
Wildly she threw sticks and rocks behind her, leaping over fallen trees and storming through bushes, anything to slow her predators down. But they were persistent, a tad too much.
Well, she hadn't expected anything less. Trying to run away after being sold is no easy feat, so she had been told by her friends. If she even dared, she'd be traced and brought back by the Hounds. 'Actaeon's Hounds'-- a tacky name, but they were ruthless efficient if they got the money.
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
Diana panted. Hastily she looked from left to right, trying to spot a place to hide. To her own surprise she saw something that resembled a little white house, vines and moss covering its white, dilapidated walls. With nothing left to lose, she went inside.
It all felt a bit off. Like there was supposed to be a witch or a portal to a magical dimension, but there was none of that. A few rotted benches and a half-crumbled statue, a marble bow laying shattered at its feet.
"Do you think she went in there?" Said an approaching voice.
"Might as well check." Responded another, clearly as exhausted as she was.
Fuck.
Diana slammed the door shut and pushed one of the benches in front of it. She took a step back feeling lightheaded, caused by breaths so fast that they could only be matched by her heart. This was it. She'd be knocked out, taken back, punished and then shipped off to the next dirty mucker who'd pay a hideous amount for her body.
With trembling hands placed tightly against her chest she yelled something that was supposed to resemble a prayer.
"Please for the love of all that is good, whatever thing lived or lives here give me a hand or so God help me!"
*Crack!* The door burst open with a violent bash.
Shocked she opened her eyes, right as an arrow zipped over her shoulder. A streak of light, striking a hound in the heart.
"What the--" Diana screamed.
"MAN DOWN!" The alpha yelled, raising his firearm.
*Zip!*
Another arrow flew past. Two down, two to go.
Somehow, Diana forced herself to turn away from the mercenaries and look up at whoever loosed those arrows. A seven-foot-tall woman with one eye closed in complete focus.
*Zip!*
In a small flash of light a new arrow appeared in her hand, nocked like she had done this from birth. Diana tried to say something, yet she could merely stand in silent awe.
*Zip!*
The lady lowered her arms, putting the bow on her back. Diana briefly glanced over her shoulder, but quickly turned back when she saw the mess of blood.
"T-Thank you..." She stammered.
"I should be the one thanking you." Her saviour responded, her voice surprisingly soft.
"Okay... W-Who, a-and why and... How and--"
"My name is Artemis. Your prayer called me down here-- it has been quite a while since that happened."
"Artem-- as in, the goddess?" Diana laughed. "I'm going insane from exhaustion." Confidently she reached out. "I'm Diana!"
With a tight grip Artemis shook her hand. "What a nice name. It sounds familiar..."
"Okay, but... Why me? Why'd a goddess like you come to help?"
"This is the first time I-- or any Olympian, as a matter of fact-- had received a prayer, a call for help that wasn't merely a joke, in thousands of years. I could not simply stand by."
"Well, thank you nonetheless. But I have to keep going, I don't want to get caught..." Diana rubbed her shoulder, looking back towards the entrance-- aaand back to Artemis to avoid the blood.
"You could stay with us for a little while. I promise I shall keep you under my protection at all times." But the deity still noticed a hint of fear and uncertainty in the air. "And I can... Perhaps, teach you to speak with animals and shoot a bow."
"That sounds nice, yeah!"
"Come then." Artemis reached out with a slender hand, though her fingertips were hardened from the ages of archery. Diana held on, and in a flash of divine light they went off to Olympus. | |
[WP] it is the distant future. Humanity has discovered another planet with city lights. The planet is about 1000 lightyears away. They send you and a small crew on a ship that can travel faster than light. You get there in a week, but the society is long gone. And what replaced them is horrifying. | *As we return from our venture out into the Sister System, I, Captain Jorge Tomas Katya, have taken excerpts from the crews’ logs to explain our discovery.*
**Lt Cmd. Spokane, Head Science Officer’s Log:**
It was so much like our own system; eight major planets with wanders on the peripherals. Scientists probably debated about the dwarf planet that revolved the furthest from its inner star as long as they had about the Solar System's own dwarf planet, Pluto. But like Pluto, it also “failed to exert its gravitational dominance in its orbit,” thus, like Pluto, it was relegated to the “dwarf” status.
But, it was that third rock from the primary star that captured humanity’s attention. Artificial light was detected on its surface! Alien life! Wars almost broke out over the discovery. Religious fanatics, unwilling to let go of their single-sentient-being beliefs, tried to tear apart the entire science community. In the end, saner heads prevailed and humanity developed a laser focus on its desire to make friends in the cosmos.
During the worldwide Religion Riots, as they came to be known, a discovery was made by a young Vietamese scientist. Together with the top minds from around the world, they were able to construct the Van Minh reactor. The reactor could accelerate objects to .121c, where it would then open a hole in time-space, allowing for greater than lightspeed travel.
Over the next decade, governments came together to build the *Lief Erikson*, humanity’s first ever FTL starship. It would only take a meer week to reach our sister system. Billions threw their hat into the ring, wanting to be any part of the crew. I know I would have been happy as a janitor, let alone head scientist. But here I am. Tomorrow, we arrive. Our directive is to avoid contact. The ship has been designed so that we can pass through the system disguised as a rogue comet. We’re to observe the society before returning to Earth. What I wouldn’t give to go down to the planet…
**Lt. O’Hare, Communications Officer’s Log:**
It’s strange. Due to the distortion of traveling faster than light, we can’t get enough of the radio signals and other communication signals coming off of SE [Sister Earth] that we can decode it and hear what they are saying, but we sure can hear them, but that’s not what’s strange. We knew that’s what would happen.
As I predicted, as we get closer to SE, the signals exploded in strength and frequency as we race past them. SE’s oldest and weakest signals hit us first, followed by steadily stronger signals as their technology improved and the radiation leaked out into the universe around them. Of course, even the simplest of babies can explain this. That’s not why someone of my intellect was chosen for this mission.
No, what’s strange is as we’ve dropped out into normal space or slower than light speed or whatever that egghead Spokane calls not faster than light travel, I was expecting to be bombarded with their signals. Giving me, and I guess that pompous ass, so much information. However, all our sensors picked up was one giant mess. It’s like it was a boom or something. The graph looks like a feedback loop. No individual signal can be made out and it’s useless.
That wouldn’t be bad, but the planet has gone silent. I don’t really have much else to do than to try and pull a strand of hair from that hairball. Jerks, making me waste my talents on that.
**Lt Chester, Visual Officer’s Log:**
I can’t believe it. A week of waiting, listening to that arrogant prick O’Hare belittle me and Lieutenant Commander Spokane, go on and on about his “great discoveries” and “once again being proven right” about the growing signal strengths, when it’s my time to shine… nothing does.
We’ve arrived in system and it’s dead. The once twinkling city lights on [SE] are gone. The lights we’d seen decades ago back on Earth were over a thousand years old by then. So it’s not inconceivable that during that time something tragic happened on [SE].
However, as much as an arrogant prick as he is, O’Hare is at least brilliant at his work. He still doesn’t know what was said, but he does know whatever it was, it was said a week ago. And yet… There’s nothing. I can see almost pristine cities on the surface of the planet, but it’s like they’ve all been abandoned. They, like us, look like they built colonies on their moon. We’ve detected that most of the buildings are under the surface (again like ours), but O’Hare detects nothing from them audio-wise and visually, they’re as dead as the planet the moon orbits.
I can’t even detect any animal movement on the planet and all of the vegetation is dead where it stands. And that’s not even the weirdest thing. The Earth-like atmosphere that we detected on the planet’s discovery is gone. The current atmosphere is mostly water-vapor. And the active oceans we’d expected are frozen over, even as close as the planet is to the [primary star].
Interestingly, the remains of the cities, unlike human cities, are far away from any major body of water. There are signs that until recently most were built along the coast like back home, but the coast lines have moved dramatically. I’ve only got a few more days to investigate before the flip and we head back home. I hope I can uncover what’s happened by then. | Robots roam. They don’t acknowledge you. They eat metal. Other travelers have come, all were scanned ships for WMDs. Once they determine exactly how little of a threat the new arrivals are, they nonchalantly ignore you. They feed off solar energy. Plant life doesn’t exist. The air is still rich with oxygen, but without plants to digest it, the air proves unbreathable to humans. Most of the crew wants to set a journey for back home on earth after a few weeks on the ship. But the captain wants to keep exploring the planet, pointing out their mission to find a new habitable zone. With enough food to last for decades, sustainable artificial ecosystems, and a power plant of solar powered electric generators, it’s possible to stay and coexist with a population of peaceful machines for a long time. The lights never shut off. Under the unending glow of high wattage bulbs, the machines never stop swimming through the air. Swarms of metal creatures soar in all directions, as if blown from the wind. We thought another intelligent life form would have something to share without us, to lift us up to a new level of enlightenment. We thought they’d be biologically. But we were wrong. And they proved one thing - no one was going to save us from ourselves. And though they let one ship with a few thousand people land, they probably wouldn’t be so kind with millions of fleshy humans cluttering their planet. At least, that’s what the captain keeps saying. That going back will happen next year. But it’s been 15 years and the only thing that’s changed is the number of humans still around. | |
[WP] You are a human chimera. An individual with two different sets of DNA, with a secret twin. Except you are the secret twin, trapped in your shared mind, unheard. The morning after your 21st birthday you find out that you can communicate with your twin and have some control over your body. | When I was a kid, I had this imaginary friend named Ted. Like all kids, I had a pretty vivid imagination, and would honestly believe that Ted was telling me things. One rule Ted told me to never break was to not tell anyone his name. He didn’t care if anyone knew he existed, he just warned me to never tell anyone his real name.
Even back then, I thought this was a weird rule, but I went with it. One day I slipped up and accidentally called him Ted in front of my mom. I still remember the sound of the dishes shattering as she dropped them, her hands shaking. She turned to me, tears starting to form in her eyes, and asked me where I heard that name.
Ted told me again not to tell her anything, but my mom was scaring me, so I told her that Ted told me his name. She went into her room and I could hear her sobbing through the door. I asked Dad what was wrong, but he didn’t tell me. He looked like he was about to cry too. To distract me, he took me out to go get ice cream, and when we got back, Mom was back to normal. We never talked about what happened since.
And Ted? He stopped talking to me after that day. I was sad for a while, but then I moved on. All kids forget their imaginary friends eventually.
It wasn’t until years later I learned why my mom and dad freaked out about my imaginary friend’s name. My aunt told me that my mom was originally supposed to have twins, and she had both of their names picked out. But before she gave birth, I had absorbed my twin. My parents were devastated, but tried to never show it in front of me. The name of my brother who was never born? Ted.
When I first heard this story, I was freaked out. How the hell did I make an imaginary friend that happened to have the same name as my unborn twin? An irrational part of me said that Ted’s ghost was haunting me, but I snapped out of it soon enough. I reasoned that it was just an unfortunate coincidence, or maybe I had overheard my parents talk about Ted when they thought I wasn’t listening. Ghosts aren’t real, and that was that.
More years passed, and my 21st birthday happened, a perfect occasion to get wasted. It wasn’t my first time obviously, but legal drinking has a different feel to it. It feels less rebellious, so to compensate, you drink even more until you get to that rebel state again. The morning after was awful, meaning my birthday was a success. I went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror to see the damage, and then I heard him.
*You look like shit.*
“Feel like it too,” I said, turning on the faucet.
*You know where I’m from, we have alcohol too. Except ours is much stronger, so you have to be careful about how much you drink.*
After I splashed my face with water, I responded, “Really? Where are you from?”
*Mike,* the voice said sternly, *look around.*
I did as the voice asked, and sure enough, no one was around me. I looked back at the mirror, half expecting someone to be behind me. But of course there wasn’t, I was completely alone. Hesitantly, I asked, “Am I dreaming?”
*Does that hangover feel like you’re dreaming?*
My head was pounding. “No, it doesn’t. You sound familiar. Who are you?”
*Mike, think. Who could I possibly be?*
I concentrated on my reflection, like that was somehow going to help me figure out who it-
Wait. Reflection. “Ted?”
*The one and only,* he said, with what I imagine was a smirk.
“Are you really my twin?”
*So you’ve heard, huh? Yeah, I’m really your twin.*
“It’s been so long. Why did you come back?”
*Can’t a guy wish his brother a happy birthday?* Ted said, pretending to be hurt. *Also, I got to say, you’re taking this awfully well. I thought talking to your dead twin brother would freak you out a lot more than this.*
“To be honest, I’m still not fully convinced this isn’t a dream. Or a hallucination.”
*Mike, this isn’t a dream. Also, those brownies wore off hours ago, so it can’t be a hallucination either.*
“You...you saw me eating the brownies?” I asked, embarrassed.
*Look, Mike, I’m no prude. You can do what you want, I’m not going to lecture you like Mom and Dad.*
“Where are you anyway? Are you inside me?”
Ted laughed. *Yes, Mike, I’m inside you. I’ve been inside you for your entire life, and I’ve seen everything!*
I groaned and Ted continued to laugh. *I’m just joking, man. I’m not inside your body at all, I just pop in every once in a while to see what you’re up to. Usually I’m chilling somewhere else.*
“Somewhere else? Where would you go?”
*Mike, I know you’re hungover, but give it some thought. Where would a dead baby go after it dies?*
“You mean...you’re from-”
*Bingo.*
Heaven. I couldn’t believe I was talking to someone from Heaven. I went to church sometimes with my parents and I guess I sort of believed that stuff as a kid, but once I got older, I mostly just forgot about it. And now I was talking to my dead brother from Heaven.
“This is a lot to take in, Ted.”
*Well if it makes you feel any better, I’ve got a spot ready for you here. You can meet Grandpa! He’s an interesting guy.*
That was reassuring. And Grandpa? My mom’s parents were still alive, so he must have been talking about my grandfather on my- our dad’s side. Dad never talked about his parents, but if Grandpa made it to Heaven, I guess he must have been an okay guy.
“Ted, I still don’t understand why you stopped talking to me after that day.”
Ted was silent for a moment, which meant he knew exactly what day I was referring to. He finally said, *I didn’t want to bother you guys. You know how Mom reacted when she heard my name. I didn’t want to distress our parents again.*
I did know what he meant. My parents always had this hidden sadness about them. After what my aunt told me, I can’t help but think it’s because they’re thinking about Ted, what life would’ve been like if he survived.
*Look, I’m sorry I left you behind all those years ago. I know it must have been hard for you. That’s why my birthday present to you is being the older brother you deserve.*
“Older brother?”
*What? Who knows, maybe I would’ve been born before you.*
“Ted, we’re twins.”
*Still would’ve count.* | It huuuuuurts.
It huuuuuuuuuuurts.
It's such a nuisance. Why does Kevin have to be such a heavy drinker?
I'm a chimera. Science doesn't seem to know I exist. A full-blown person residing inside another's mind. I know this because Kevin, my twin, did an essays on human chimeras in high school. During the course of that essay, he discovered that his bean shaped birthmark was actually me. Well, what's left of my body, anyways.
I've been aware I exist since people are old enough to be aware, but realizing that I was my own distinct body way back when really jolted me into awareness. I've tried everything to -
“Shut uuuuuuuup”
What? No one was talking... anyways, I've tried everything I can think of to communica -
“You are talking! My head hurts, stoooop.”
Is he talking... to me?
“You're the only one talking.”
I watch through his eyes as Kevin lifts his head, scattering the pillows it was buried under. He looks around the room, and I can feel his confusion building.
“Where are you? Why are you talking like that?”
I'm inside you. It gets lonely when no one can hear you. I pretty much spend my day just narrating your actions to myself. It's such an ingrained habit I hadn't really thought about it, I just did it.
As these thoughts flitted through his mind, Kevin's eyes moved towards the numerous bottles of alcohol scattered throughout the room. Last night had been his 21st birthday, and he'd had quite a lot to drink.
“It wasn't that much,” Kevin said, defensively.
“I am not defensive,” he then said, his voice going tense.
As he pondered what to say next, he moved to the bathroom. He really had to pee – it really was a lot of alcohol.
“Stop that, shut up”
I can't. I don't have a mouth like you, I can't just filter things out. This is who I am, and I'm only just now being heard for the first time in 21 years. You're just gonna have to accept that.
Kevin shook his head as he looked in the mirror, utter confusion and disbelief covering his face.
Oh. Oh what's this? I can move the left eye. I can look over here!
“STOP FUCK AHHHHH”
It doesn't hurt, I can feel your body. Get over it, I've had to sit in here unmoving as you've lived your life. The least you can do is give me your eye some of the time. Doesn't seem like you can stop me anyways. I wonder what else I can do... | |
[WP] While you're dealing with your daughter's demonic possession, you find out a sorcerer is hunting down the spirit, but unlike an exorcist, he doesn't care about the well being of the host. | It was a wonderful Friday. Boss called in earlier, notifying us about the sudden maintenance due to a busted pipe that flooded our floor overnight with murky brown water. *Glad I wasn't there when that happened.*
"Day's off, I'll tell you guys if the problem's fixed by tomorrow," Boss said, and I was sure I could imagine a smile on his face as well. Our company operated only during weekdays, and this day off meant that we had a long weekend ahead of us.
Now then!
I stretched out my limbs as I prepped myself up before cooking breakfast. It's been a while since I last cooked something for the family. Ever since I served charred eggs sometime ago, my wife had me effectively banned from using the kitchen ever again.
This time, however, I decided to try my luck once more. There was currently no one in the house who could stop me. Sheila — my wife — was still sound asleep due to coming home late from work. Sandra, too, was still asleep in her room. *Summer break. How enviable.*
I opened the fridge. Inside was a neat stack of beer cans, a half-eaten blueberry cheesecake, assorted vegetables in the chiller, *another* stack of beer cans, and maple syrup. I clapped my hands upon noticing the last item. *Today's menu: pancakes!*
I opened my phone and looked up tutorials on Youtube. I propped it nicely on the countertop and went about following the instructions down to the very last detail.
Roughly half an hour later, I had a stack of golden brown deliciousness on a plate, topped with maple syrup. *I suppose I should've followed instructions back then instead of just winging it.*
I took a bite out of mine, surprised at the simple yet satisfying flavor of my hard work. *The girls are going to love this!*
I turned off my phone. Their rooms were upstairs, and I took great caution in handling the plates in each of my hands as I went up. I made an effort to make the food appealing, and it would be a shame if—
Suddenly, a great force slammed on me from the front, knocking me out of my feet. I crashed down into the base of the stairs, dazed and confused. It took me a few seconds to get a bearing on my surroundings. The walls and my clothes were splattered with syrup, and around me were the remains of my hard work, shattered pieces of ceramic and the pancakes, squashed beyond recognition. Thankfully I sustained no major injuries, only a couple of bruises and torn clothing.
I stood up, brushing myself off and thinking, *What the hell was that?* I recalled the force coming somewhere in front of me, which was weird. *Was that an earthquake?* It most probably was, and if that was the case, I had to check on my family.
Thankfully, the shaking appeared to have already stopped. I rushed up the stairs, taking three flights at once, and banged open the door to my and my wife's bedroom. She must have been still sleeping before my boisterous arrival. The sound of the door sent her scrambling out of the bed sheets in no time.
"What? What's happened? Why—" she asked, her voice cut off as she gestured wildly at the mess that was me.
I looked around the room, taking note of any changes. *Nothing seems to be out of place?* "An earthquake. This? Syrup. Are you okay?"
"Earthquake? Syrup?" She took a look around the room for herself. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Everything's fine. How's Sandra?"
"I'm about to go grab her. Go downstairs, we don't know if another one is hitting us soon," I said to her as I moved towards the adjacent room. *Was I imagining things?*
This time, I simply knocked on the door instead of kicking it open. "Sandra, honey? Are you alright?" I called out. No one answered. I knocked on the door again, harder this time. "Sandra? Wake up, honey!" Still no answer. Anxiousness was starting to swell in my chest. My daughter was probably still asleep, but I had the feeling that that was not the case.
Another voice beside me called out, "Sandra? Open the door, its your Mom and Dad!" Sheila stood next to me. I stared at her with questioning eyes, but she simply stared me down.
*Damn it, what is happening?!*
"Sandra, I'm opening the door! If you're there, back away from it. On three! One, two, three!" I slammed my foot down on the door, tearing it off of its hinges. The door slammed down squarely on the floor, unsettling dust. I was both thankful and concerned that the door was easily broken down, but that only lasted for a second.
Hovering on top of the bed was... something. Something that looked like Sandra. Red and green veins pulsated visibly underneath her pale white skin. Her golden hair flowed eerily around her head, strands of gold suspended in the air like some sort of divine being.
Her eyes stared at me, calm and emotionless. There was none of the familiarity and the love with which my beloved daughter looked at her parents.
None.
That was *not* Sandra.
Sheila stumbled down on the floor.
*What the hell do I do? What the fuck is happening?* The calm demeanor that I was known for by my friends and relatives was nowhere to be had. In its place was crippling fear, fear that appeared to have frozen my entire body solid.
Sandra simply stared down at us, unmoving and ethereal.
"Charles! Do something, please!" Sheila cried out as she clutched at my pants.
I snapped back to my senses.
I mentally slapped myself and made my way towards my daughter, my steps slow and deliberate. "Y—you! Who the hell are you?! Leave my daughter alone, you—"
"Silence." Sandra blinked, and yet another unseen force rammed into me like a truck, knocking the breath out of my lungs as I collided against the wall on the hallway.
The collision left me battered, and for a moment I simply lied on the floor in a heap of pain. From where I lied down on the floor, I looked up at Sandra and came upon a horrifying realization.
There was no earthquake.
There was only that *thing.*
Sheila rushed over to me and felt around my body as she sputtered unintelligible words of concern. This entire situation was probably an ordeal for her, knowing that she hated horror movies and was living in one.
I struggled to get up and regretted trying to. White lights filled my vision. The impact left me with a concussion, and my eyes were watery from the pain that wracked my entire body. I could not stand up, and I belatedly realized why.
Protruding out of my leg was something jagged and white. Sheila noticed it too, and she nearly fainted from shock. I would have up and fainted myself if not for the adrenaline that coursed through my body at that moment.
Moving my leg in any way at all earned me a staggering amount of pain. I had no choice but to lie down in defeat and watch helplessly as the events unfold on their own. On the other hand, Sheila was trying to contact the cops, and her shaky hands made that a challenge in itself.
I let out a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down.
"At long last. Full possession," Sandra said as she looked down at her own hands, inspecting them. Her voice was a deep, reverberating bass that sent countless chills down my spine. I was starting to question whether or not my beloved daughter was still alive somewhere inside that possessed body.
"Now, where to?"
*Demon. Exorcist. We need an exorcist.* I was about to inform Sheila of this when a voice rang through my hazy mind with vivid clarity.
"How about you stay right where you are?"
Standing in front of us, appearing out of thin air, was a person fully clad in a hooded black robe, its edges trimmed with the dark red color of blood. In his right hand was an open book, its visible pages filled with archaic symbols that shone silvery-white. In his left hand was a twisted wooden staff, and on its very tip was an orb of pure darkness that seemed to suck the life out of the very air itself.
The mysterious person's appearance was accompanied by a loud piercing shriek from inside the bedroom. I looked and saw Sandra struggling mightily against the chains that snaked out from the book and latched onto her arms, legs, and neck, binding her in place to where she hovered in the air. Her body was starting to contort visibly as she continued her struggle, shrieking and screaming as she did so. I choked on my own saliva as I saw her limbs bend all the way back, the bones inside snapping audibly with a loud *crack*. Sandra — the demon itself did not seem to be bothered by this at all.
Worried, I looked beside me. Thankfully, Sheila had already passed out and was lying motionlessly on the floor, her phone still clutched in her hand. She did not deserve to see any of this.
Neither of us did.
"HOW?! HOW DID YOU?!" the demon cried out, its eyes turning red with unbridled hatred.
"How? Your luck simply ran out, Berus."
I don't know what was happening anymore. I just wanted my daughter back.
Without thinking, I pushed myself off of the wall, screaming internally in agonizing pain as I felt the protruding bone shift due to the sudden movement. I reached out with my right hand and managed to grab the hem of the man's robe. There was nothing else I could do but beg.
"Please. My daughter, she—she's possessed, I think. She's a good girl, please, you have to trust me." My voice came out as a hoarse whisper, barely audible even to my own ears.
The hooded man turned around and looked down at me. He nodded. "Worry not, Mr. Jefferson. I know better than anyone that this young lady is possessed."
Hope began to fill my eyes, clouded only by a tiny sliver of doubt as to how he knew my name. That does not matter. *I can have my girl back!*
"Th—then, please! Please save her!"
The man seemed to think for a moment, undisturbed by the screams that erupted from behind him. When he finally came to some sort of conclusion, he sighed and looked at me squarely in the eyes.
"You see, I could. But I won't. The soul needs Purging, since that is where a Demon resides in." I felt a sudden chop to my nape. "Sorry."
I watched as the world went black. | "Kaz'hum the Sinful," snarled the man. "I can sense his foul presence wherever he walks."
Three sets of eyes stared blankly at him, yet he continued. "He is the guardian of the shadow realm. We must extinguish him from the world."
"So," I interrupted. "What do you suggest? Some therapy, some prayers? I'm willing to pay for the expenses." I remembered my daughter's smile, her radiant grin from all those years ago.
"What I suggest is magic," he answered. "She must undergo the Red Purification."
Dubious, I looked at him for more explanation. "Death by fire," he elaborated. "Very painful, but it must be done."
My face must have betrayed my indignation, for he quickly added, "There is another way."
"What?" I mumbled darkly.
"The White Purification," he announced. "Death by electrocution."
"Listen," I demanded. "I don't care if your dumb demon spirit is killed or banished. All I ask is for my daughter's recovery."
"That leaves only the last method," he proclaimed. "The Black Purification."
I was beginning to slam the door when he pulled out a box of chocolate milk.
"Oh," I said, relieved. "Let's try that strategy then."
"Okay," he responded. "Death by drowning in chocolate milk." | |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough. | PART 1
&#x200B;
A cold gust blew just outside the stone walls of the castle. Weak as the wind was, it still shook the bricks of the room that a single man sat in, chained to a wooden chair. The man shivered, and as he did the wooden legs of the chairs shook and shuddered, appearing as though they were ready to give in and snap in two, as the wood was splintered and weak.
The door pushed open as Luvierra carefully put her hand against it, creaking all the while. The lock had worn down over the years, and now failed to function as it should. Without the magic chains holding the man down, he could have simply walked out of the room at any time. *Perhaps that would have made my job easier,* Luvierra thought to herself bitterly. She gently pushed the door closed again and made eye contact with the man.
"Enjoying your stay?"
No response. She had expected as much.
"Not to worry. I will take care of you to the best of my - "
"Cut the crap please."
The smile she had forced on her face twisted downward. She took a deep breath.
"Is that any way to treat your host? You will be staying here until your friends come for you, you know."
"I told you already, they won't come for me. I'm replaceable."
Luvierra raised an eyebrow. She couldn't tell if the words he spoke were a mere bluff, or if they were what he honestly thought. His voice held a tinge of sorrow which Luvierra found hard to ignore.
"I am willing to wait as long as it takes."
She turned away and pulled the door open slowly, stepped through, and closed it behind her. He did not say a word as she did this, simply sitting in silence, head turned downward.
When she had first captured him through a carefully planned trap, she truly did believe that they would come and rescue him. He was beyond simply smart, immediately recognizing spell after spell and protecting his friends from the worst of the magic simply by stating the spells name and a quick instruction. It was this very man that caused her so much trouble in the countless battles she had with the heroes and his companions.
And yet, they would not come for him. He truly believed this down to the bottom of his heart.
So Luvierra waited. The winter grew colder as each day passed. Her confidence was worn and chewed through by the cold, the energy her body possessed disappearing alongside it.
A week had passed since she had captured the brains of the hero's team. And yet, nothing happened. No word of a scout sent to find their companion, no word of an army growing in number to storm this ancient castle. Each night the man would cry. No matter how much Luvierra tried to steel herself, it had always tugged at her heart to listen to. He would cry himself to sleep every night, cursing himself for believing someone would stay by his side.
The next morning, eight days after she had kidnapped him, she once again walked into the room he was held in. He raised his head, and Luvierra could tell at a single glance that the hope he had was now gone.
Neither said a word for minutes, and each could only hear the other's breathing and the wind outside. The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, until eventually the man spoke.
"...you're not going to ask if I'm doing fine? How comfortable the chair is, perhaps?"
Her lips barely curled upwards. She simply shook her head and said nothing.
"I'm not just going to let myself die here," he spoke again. Though he sounded confident, the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him.
"...What is your name?"
"Pardon?"
"What is your name?"
"It's Kormad. Are you going to start mocking me with my own name now?"
She shook her head. Raising her arm, she closed her hand, then opened it again, and the chains around him shattered. He blinked, trying to process what just happened.
"Feel free to do as you wish. I send out a magic flare when it is time to eat, so please listen for that and head over to the mess hall when you see it if you wish to eat. You can stay in this room if you find it comfortable."
He rubbed his wrists and legs, testing to see if the chains had dug into his limbs. An incredulous look spread across his face.
"Why?"
"Though after saying all of this, I would recommend you stay inside. The cold is far more harsh without the walls to protect you."
Luvierra said nothing else and left the room, but peeked back inside. Kormad had gotten up and had already caught up to her.
*I suppose I should give him a tour of the castle, at least,* she thought to herself as she traversed the hallway, Kormad now a step behind her.
\---
Two weeks have passed since Kormad had been kidnapped, and still no sign that the heroes were on the move, let alone attempting to rescue him. Luvierra had given him a tour of the castle and sent out the flare to the sky, signaling that it was time to eat dinner. She sat across from Kormad and next to a little girl, whom was eating from a tray of steaming potatoes.
"Miss Witch, it tastes good!" The girl beamed.
Her mother, who was sitting next to her, laughed and pulled the girl in.
"Lia, the Witch is trying to eat her share as well. Let her finish first, ok?"
The girl nodded, a smile stretched across her face.
"This is not what I had expected from you."
Luvierra turned from the girl to Kormad.
"If not for all of these people, I would not be here today, you know."
He says nothing, but his expression told her he understood.
"Still though, to think that even without their memories of you wiped, they would not come for you..."
"You said before that you tried to do that. You know why it wouldn't work, right?"
Luvierra nodded. "The hero's power is incredible. If he had my level of experience, my life would already be over."
"Miss Witch, you can take on anyone!"
"Hush, little one. Let them speak."
Her gaze returned to Kormad. "To be blunt, if the hero and his companions had anything more to fight me with, or any more strength, I would not stand a chance. I am barely holding them off as is."
"Hard to believe, considering how fiercely you fight. Even the day after that battle you looked far more pale than I had ever seen."
She laughed weakly. She took the glass cup in front of her, filled with a red liquid, and swirled it around briefly.
"The Tyrant of the North," Kormad mused. "A vampire who would capture and suck the blood dry of any people she captured. One that would bring the world to ruin. And yet, here she is, in front of me, hesitating to drink blood."
" I am no vampire. And you could figure out the reason if you tried," she spoke, her voice weak. She raised the cup and took a sip from the glass. Her hand twitched as the liquid went down, then her legs shook weakly. He nodded, then looked around the mess hall.
"Around two hundred people, give or take a handful. They all live in this ruined village, overrun by the wildlife as the winter grew colder, where they can't grow much food, and the water is mostly frozen over. In other words..."
Luvierra coughed. She clutched her chest and waited for the pain to subside. The cough had shook the blood inside the glass, and some of it spilled out on the table.
"...they're malnourished. And so are you."
She nodded weakly.
"Then why fight like this? What do you have to gain?"
Luvierra said nothing as she downed the rest of the blood in a single gulp. She then patted Lia's head.
"I am only a villain because I must be. I will take the lives of those who threaten my life and those under my wing."
"Can you truly call yourself a villain?" | The crying had become intolerable. It wouldn’t be so bad if he had sound-proofed the room, but the last time he did that the ‘heroes’ had been able to make their escape plans without them knowing. Better to be safe than sorry.
Dr. Diabolical (*Not* his name, and he had a Ph.D., not that anyone cared) paced the command center. It had been a month since his top assassin had snuck into the enemy’s base and abducted their best technician. The boy (not even a man, a boy still in school trousers!) had sniffed into his sleeve and claimed that no one would come looking for him. The mad Doctor had rolled his eyes and sent the boy to a prison cell. Not unfairly treated mind you, but he wasn’t running a luxury hotel.
Now he was starting to wonder if the boy was right. And it irked him. He *hated* being proved wrong.
“It makes no sense.” He raved, waving his hands in the air as he paced. “The League of Heroes can barely go three days without destroying SOME part of my base, and now they just vanish!?” He whirled around. “They’re plotting something. They don’t have their brain, that’s why it’s taking so long.” He wagged his finger, thinking with a maniacal grin. “Any moment now they’ll finally get their act together and BURST through that window-” He pointed to the aperture in question, a nice circular one that let the daylight in. “-and fall RIGHT into my devious trap!” His fingers wiggled in anticipation. “It’s infallible!”
His cat stared at him from on top of the console before resuming his daily cleaning ritual. “Oh, you don’t like it?” Diabolical asked, droppings his arms incredulously. “Well, let’s see you try to come up with a better one.”
“Mew.”
“All right, yes, the plan *is* slightly hampered by the fact they haven’t shown up yet.” The doctor resumed pacing. “But it’s a minor hiccup in the grand scheme of things. Really, if they aren’t going to show up I can just proceed with my master plan. Waiting on them *is* only a formality.” And it saved him millions in drafting and recruitment fees for every new scheme. “Mainframe! What’s the weather like today?” He turned to his command console, a cup of coffee appearing out of a dispenser to one side.
“Weather is Overcast, 53 degrees Fahrenheit with a strong chance of thunderstorms this afternoon.” The mainframe to his complex replied, changing its screens in a ripple of information. “Here is the latest in World News. Your Unpopularity rating has dropped by 15% since the last Chrono Magazine poll.”
“Yes, yes, terrible weather as-” He stopped, a full mouth of coffee pouched in his lips. He carefully turned, walked down the stairs and stood in front of the guards at the door before partaking in an epic spit-take. “Go get a clean uniform.” He ordered. The guards nodded and left the room. Diabolical turned back to the Mainframe. “Did you say 15%?”
“Yes.”
He tapped his chin, staring at the screen thoughtfully. “I need…. A second opinion.” He growled. A button was pressed on the console. “Bring the prisoner to my command center.”
“Are you sure, sir? You know his IQ is-”
“Yes, I am sure.” He stepped away from the console, twirling his goatee nervously.
It only took five minutes for the boy to appear, flanked by two bulking guards that almost buried the kid in muscle. “Leave us.” He ordered. The two guards were, unfortunately, not as smart as the Prison master and left without questioning his orders. “Hello there, Issac.” He did his best to put honey in his voice. “I trust you have been enjoying your stay?”
“I… ah…”
“Good, good.” An arm was gingerly wrapped around the child’s shoulder as he was escorted across the floor. “Now, I can’t help but notice that your little friends haven’t come to rescue you yet.”
“I… I told you.” The tears were threatening to spill. “They don’t care about-”
“Young man, the only person I tolerate that attitude in is Devitoxia, and that is because she is my sister.” His voice turned cold. “I will not tolerate it in you. Understand?”
The boy nodded mutely. “Good.” The honey returned to his voice. “As I was saying, your little friends have yet to appear, and this interesting little puzzle dropped on my desk this morning.” He gestured up at the monitors. “What do you see?”
Issac looked up and adjusted his glass. “Twelve PH-brand Ultra-high def monitors, one of which seems to have a loose-”
“ON The screens, boy.”
He spent a minute analyzing the news reports. “There’s another supervillain about?”
“Well done!” Diabolical grinned.
“But isn’t that a good thing for you?” Issac asked. “Having someone to team up with and all?”
“What? NO! This is Terrible!” Diabolical grabbed His hair. “Your friends have gone AWOL the same time this guy comes to power.” He pointed at the screens. “With those little nuisances gone, do you know what he’s going to do?” He loomed over Issac. “He is going to conslidate his power and eliminate ANY competition.”
“So?”
“I’M any competition!” Diabolical exclaimed. “He’s going to destroy EVERYTHING I’ve worked for if he’s not knocked off his high horse.” He started pacing again. “Obviously, you and your siblings are the heroes best suited for the job. However, they seem to have disappeared off the face of the earth.” He stood to face the boy. “And *We* are going to find out why.” | |
[WP] "You are the chosen one!" boomed the old wizard. "I was there when the prophecy was written" replied the farmboy, "and you have no idea how wrong you are". | “Did you ever meet Harald the mad seer?” the farm girl asked.
“I have not. But his wisdom is of great renown. His prophecies have guided our kingdom into a golden age. His oracular powers are beyond compare.”
“He was a drunk who routinely smelled of his own sick.” said the farm girl. “And, for reasons which I would rather no go into, he was none too good at cleaning said sick off. The man could foul a mire. And mires are foul to begin with.”
“All of his words have led me here young woman. Do you not understand? You stand on the cusp of greatness. He has foretold that you will lead us all into the future with his passing” The old man had tears in his eyes when he spoke, his religious fervor that of a man who owes God a great deal of money and is attempting to pay it back in piety.
“Do you know how many impressionable young women he used that line on? I do. It was in the hundreds. And I had to tell every single one that she was not some savior of a broken land and to prepare herself for some intense itching. He was a fraud.”
“That cannot be. I hold the sacred star of the angels. I recovered it from a locked tomb, inscribed with his words. The deprivation and degradation that I had to endure would have driven most any man mad.”
At this the old man reached into his shirt and pulled out a small silver star that twisted in the breeze, reflecting the light off of its polished edges.
The young woman sighed and bent over, they rose with a basket. Inside were several dozen of the stars.
“He left them all over the place. He called it advertising. And honestly, the stories I’ve heard. You got off light. My father was, and continues to be even beyond the grave, an irredeemable asshole.”
At this the old man fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. His breaths were shallow, and he shook as he cried.
The young woman felt an emotion that she had carefully buried, lest it cause her pain. She dug it out from her heart and let herself feel it. It was pity. This poor old man had come so far and done so much to get so little. A young man might recover from that. An old man...
She knelt by his side and spoke. She didn’t remember what she said, but the man’s breathing steadied. He dried his tears and stood. He embraced her and walked away happy, as far as she could tell. On her better days she wished that she could summon the words that brought him such joy, but they were locked away in a part of her that she kept much safer than her heart.
The old man found his steps light and the road agreeable. When the young woman had spoken to him her voice echoed like a choir of angels, burning her words into his mind.
She had said to him “Return to your home Joseph. For in your absence your daughter has born a son. All of your travels and suffering have prepared you to be his teacher. He will be the one true king, and you shall be at his side.” then her voice returned to normal, and she said “old man, please get off my lawn.”
He was not sure if that was part of the prophecy, but he was quite careful as he walked away to not step on her grass. | So many wasted hours in the keep, studying. So many wasted months and years chanting and mixing. So much lost time. The white blight had devoured kingdom after kingdom, consuming every silo of grain, maddening the livestock, and sickening and killing prince and peasant alike. After the order had finally come to its senses, we’d deciphered the ancient prophecies, ultimately understanding the source. I had only a matter of seasons to locate the boy, train him, and bring him there.
To kill him. To kill it. To find and burn the Blightfather from within his lair and carefully restore nature to balance. At first we balked, realizing the old scrolls were weaving tales of a farm boy. I hope we hadn’t realized too late: the hero we’d need should wield not a sword or staff... but a hoe and spade… one who both administers death and encourages life all at once.
I’d been the one to find the location of his birth. A range of mountains where the forests of the two mightiest trees met. The fennelmaple and the brightoak, both known for their healing properties. As I entered the tiny village, I wondered if my readings had been correct. There we so few here.
After asking a few of the folk at the square, lightning shot down my spine as the locals recognized who I was looking for: A boy of eighteen years, born here or found abandoned in the nearby mountains. Raven-black hair, save a single lock of white hair above his brow. They pointed the way, bewildered at my hasty retreat.
I rushed to the farmstead, spoke briefly to his parents. “He’s always been odd, but he’s a pleasant boy. Found the poor thing cold and alone near a spring, surviving on what he could forage. He’s out back if you’d like to speak to him.” Enchanted by my staff, cloak and medallion, they quickly agreed to allow him to accompany me.
I found him inside the barn, stirring and tending to his crop. In so many ways, he seemed the hero I expected. Strong and lean, bright in his responses. As we conversed, however, he surprised me in how unready we both were. I recited the speech I’d been running in my head for the past fortnight, and he seemed to understand. I told him it was time to go.
“Why must we leave today?”, he said, stirring. “I have much to tend to here.”
“The blight gains potency every day, my young friend. The prophecies and the stars warn us of inaction. Every moment in delay is spent in greater distress.” His downcast gaze turned into a defiant smirk.
“I wasn’t born this corn season, ancient one. You don’t—”
"—You must understand! We lose lives with every passing day! Every night we pull the hoary dead from their cabins and burn the blight from their dead bodies. You must see! You must move! You are the chosen one!” Furious, I looked with jealousy to see what task had so enthralled him in a lonely barn so as to entice him to turn down the greatest of adventures with one of the most powerful wizards in the land.
“I am no spring cub, old man,” he spat. His voice grew deep and dark, and the muddy puddle he was idly stirring began to stink. “I was there when prophecy was written…” he mused. The pool at his feet clouded and went milky.
I glimpsed up and saw the telltale wispy white tendrils waving from every crevice of his grimaced face. His sweaty hair sprang like ebon spikes from a frosty mat of mold and decay.
“…and you have no idea how wrong you are.” | |
[WP] "You are the chosen one!" boomed the old wizard. "I was there when the prophecy was written" replied the farmboy, "and you have no idea how wrong you are". | “Did you ever meet Harald the mad seer?” the farm girl asked.
“I have not. But his wisdom is of great renown. His prophecies have guided our kingdom into a golden age. His oracular powers are beyond compare.”
“He was a drunk who routinely smelled of his own sick.” said the farm girl. “And, for reasons which I would rather no go into, he was none too good at cleaning said sick off. The man could foul a mire. And mires are foul to begin with.”
“All of his words have led me here young woman. Do you not understand? You stand on the cusp of greatness. He has foretold that you will lead us all into the future with his passing” The old man had tears in his eyes when he spoke, his religious fervor that of a man who owes God a great deal of money and is attempting to pay it back in piety.
“Do you know how many impressionable young women he used that line on? I do. It was in the hundreds. And I had to tell every single one that she was not some savior of a broken land and to prepare herself for some intense itching. He was a fraud.”
“That cannot be. I hold the sacred star of the angels. I recovered it from a locked tomb, inscribed with his words. The deprivation and degradation that I had to endure would have driven most any man mad.”
At this the old man reached into his shirt and pulled out a small silver star that twisted in the breeze, reflecting the light off of its polished edges.
The young woman sighed and bent over, they rose with a basket. Inside were several dozen of the stars.
“He left them all over the place. He called it advertising. And honestly, the stories I’ve heard. You got off light. My father was, and continues to be even beyond the grave, an irredeemable asshole.”
At this the old man fell to the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. His breaths were shallow, and he shook as he cried.
The young woman felt an emotion that she had carefully buried, lest it cause her pain. She dug it out from her heart and let herself feel it. It was pity. This poor old man had come so far and done so much to get so little. A young man might recover from that. An old man...
She knelt by his side and spoke. She didn’t remember what she said, but the man’s breathing steadied. He dried his tears and stood. He embraced her and walked away happy, as far as she could tell. On her better days she wished that she could summon the words that brought him such joy, but they were locked away in a part of her that she kept much safer than her heart.
The old man found his steps light and the road agreeable. When the young woman had spoken to him her voice echoed like a choir of angels, burning her words into his mind.
She had said to him “Return to your home Joseph. For in your absence your daughter has born a son. All of your travels and suffering have prepared you to be his teacher. He will be the one true king, and you shall be at his side.” then her voice returned to normal, and she said “old man, please get off my lawn.”
He was not sure if that was part of the prophecy, but he was quite careful as he walked away to not step on her grass. | “There? How can you have been there, boy? The prophecy is 500 years old.”
The farmboy stood mute before the wizard.
“Now calm down”, the Wizard continued, “I know you are not prepared for this news. I know the idea of facing the Dark Lord might seem daunting, but I promise you I will help you prepare. You will face him, and with the proper training, the Chosen One will prevail”.
“Wizard”, asked the farmboy, “do I seem flustered to you?”
“Flustered?”
“It’s just that telling someone to calm down is almost always stupid. A panicked mind cannot be salved by logic, while a calm mind has no need for your advice. I was just trying to work out who you are. If you thought I was flustered, your words are stupid, if you thought I was not your words are redundant”.
It was the Wizards turn to say nothing.
“Some of what you said was correct. The Chosen One, with the proper training, would prevail. And that is something I could never allow. That is why I had to shape what was written. There was no other way.”
The Wizard pulled his staff upright and began to gather his power. “It cannot be! You are not supposed to be able to walk the earth in human form.”
The farmboy knocked the Wizards staff from his hand with a raise of his eyebrow. The Wizard reached for the knife at his belt. Again the boy made a small gesture and the Wizard found his hand, his whole body trapped in space and time, unable to complete the drawing of his blade.
“You have spirit”, he said. “I can see why you were Chosen. Such a shame that you were too busy preparing for the prophesied child to prepare yourself, as you should have. Now though you are too old to complete the trials required. You cannot stop me.”
The farmboy dropped the remaining pretence of the disguise and allowed the flesh and bones to flow away from his true form until the Dark Lord unfurled into the human world, unencumbered.
The Wizard laughed and shrugged away the Dark Lords bonds. He finished the unsheathing of his weapon and tossed it easily from hand to hand.
“Apparently, you are less of a Lord, and more of a Dark Apprentice.” He smiled coldly. “Especially when it comes to codebreaking.”
“What code?” The Dark Apprentice had a tone of uncertainty for the first time in nearly a millennia.
“The code my ancestors used to write what must be done. The words between the words. The code that has led us here. You uncovered in the mortal plane, and I here with a simple knife. I trust that code. And the way you shrink back from me suggests I am right to do so.”
The Wizard dropped his cloak from his shoulders and took the most important steps of his life. Towards his destiny and the doom of the dark.
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r/TallerestTales | |
[WP] You think you’re an ordinary person until you start dating somebody. As soon as they tell you they love you, every single memory they have of you is completely wiped. | I've tried far too many times to tell them that the phrase would mean the end of it all. Every time, I'd warn them, and every time, they would brush it off or promise to not say the phrase, then accidentally let it slip while on a date. It's happened so many times that I learned exactly what to say after their memory gets wiped. After all, it's nice to have the situation explained to you after suddenly finding yourself sitting across from a stranger who knows a little too much about you.
I love you. What a lonely phrase.
It doesn't apply to familial or platonic relationships, only to those I date. I'm not sure how or when I got this curse, but whoever - or whatever - gave this to me really wants me to be single.
I've dated quite a few people these past few years. Some I met on my own, and some were people my friends set me up with. All my close friends know of my situation, and they've been trying to help me, though every person they've introduced to me had said the phrase. My friends do mean well, but there are some things that they just can't help with. That was until one evening while I was trying to search up recipes when my roommate burst in.
"Ari, bro, hooooollllyyy shit, I think I found the one!"
"The one for what?"
"YOU, dude! I think you'll really like her! She's a friend of a friend, and she's hella cute, especially by your standards, a-and she swings a whole lotta ways, which works for you, and-and she's real nice, a-"
"Woah, Jackie, chill for a second." I got up and patted her back. "I know you're excited, but we still have to be careful. You know what happens when people confess to me."
"Yeah, I know." Jackie was still bouncing a bit. "But still, I think she's a match for you." I smiled at her. I still go out with those my friends want me to see. After all, they do mean well.
We met at an ice cream place downtown. Jackie brought along their friend-of-a-friend, and she told me that she warned her of my weird curse. She introduced herself as Senna. I could tell she didn't talk much. It just meant that it would take longer for the other shoe to drop. It didn't stop us from hitting it off, though. Over time, I began to really fall in love with her. Of course, I loved all the people I dated, but she truly took my breath away. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months and years. Senna eventually moved in (Jackie wiggled her eyebrows at me whenever she could for a week), and we talked about rent costs, buying houses, and which one would work best for our situation.
Sometime during the winter, Senna slipped me a note and took my hand. I used the other to open the letter.
"I found this thing online and I think it could work for us too. Squeezing your hand three times means I love you."
I felt my heart drop. I turned to her to tell her not to do it, but it was to late. I looked down and felt my knuckles squeeze against each other.
One.
Two.
Three.
My head shot back up. Senna was looking at me. We stood there for what seemed like hours.
She smiled and squeezed my hand three times again, and I burst into tears.
After that, we told each other "I love you" a whole lot more. Passing each other by, holding hands on a date, cuddling while binging shows, and every other time we were close to one another. We tapped each other, we poked each other, and we smacked each other on the head - whatever it took to show affection. It seems like the thing that cursed me didn't take nonverbal confessions into account.
We faced each other, hand in hand. Senna tapped my hand with her finger. I tapped hers with my thumb. Both of us, grinning like idiots.
"You may now kiss the bride." | "I love you"
She looked at me like I was her greatest secret. I felt it though. It was like her hands got nervous.
She pulled away.
"I'm sorry, what's happening."
She stepped back from me, turning left and right looking for help. We were at the boardwalk.
I tried to grab her hands again.
"Emily-"
"Stop! Please, don't touch me."
What do you say to that?
She looked at me like a stranger. I watched her run into a cafe. I wonder if she knew we had our first date there?
**EIGHTEEN YEARS EARLIER**
"Why isn't he crying, is he okay?" Sam, already kneeling at the bed, turned his right ear to the baby.
She smiled down on him.
"He's special."
"He's cursed."
"Heros are always born from damnation."
"He'll be a hero then?"
"He won't have a choice." | |
[WP] You are on trial for a murder. There were a dozen witnesses, video footage of the murder, a signed confession, fingerprints on the murder weapon and more. But you really are innocent, and you can prove it. | "And you are certain you saw who pulled the trigger?" the prosecutor repeated, cocking his head at the trembling girl on the stand. She nodded quickly.
"Please verbalise that for the transcript," the prosecutor prompted.
"Yes."
"Alright, and who did you tell police it was?"
The girl looked straight across the courtroom to me, sitting in the dock. "It was him. Luke Roberts."
"That's the evidence in chief, your Honour," the prosecutor concluded, sitting down.
Direct identification evidence didn't look good for me. Or so my lawyer had told me. Not only that, but direct identification in a police statement, from a digiboard and now today, in the courtroom was damning. I looked across to the bar table where my lawyer was now standing up, shuffling his papers and preparing to cross examine Tayla. Poor guy, I thought, watching has he ran his hand through his thinning grey hair, I hadn't given him much to work with. Tayla was the last of twelve witnesses that had all 'seen' me round the side of Pizza Hut, knock the wind out of the poor delivery boy then stabbed him because he'd delivered my pizza with pineapple on it. The jury were all bored at this point too, it was such an open and shut case, with my signed confession and prints on the weapon, they all wondered why we were sitting here on day 6 of the trial of what should have been a plea of guilty straight away.
"And how well did you know Huw O'Connor?" my lawyer was asking.
"We were close yeah," the girl answered. "I knew he was the one this guy killed, if that's what you're getting at, it was definitely his body."
"Just answer the question you're asked, Ms Lyons," the judge interrupted.
I really did hate pineapple on my pizza though. Did that justify killing Huw O'Connor? Yep. In fact he could've been killed for any reason, and I wouldn't have cared. Huw O'Connor had to die.
"And how well do you know Mr Roberts?" my lawyer asked.
"Never saw him before that night," Tayla answered, looking at me briefly. I wondered if anyone on the jury had caught that slight smirk she threw at me. Tayla and I were childhood friends. She was just playing her part as I was.
"And so you saw Mr Roberts stab your friend, Mr O'Connor, yet you aren't able to tell us what happened to Mr O'Connor's body?" he asked, getting to the crux of the trial. A murder trial with no body. The police hadn't been able to recover Huw O'Connor's body. Everyone knew he was dead, there was a lot of violent stabbing, dozen or so witnesses, my confession and no one named Huw O'Connor showed up in hospital. They were still trying to pin this on me. Huw O'Connor's body had not been found. Well. Not entirely true. I knew where Huw O'Connor was.
"No," Tayla replied, "we just ran away because that man," she pointed at me, "turned toward us with that huge machete."
Machete? She was going off script now. It was nothing more than a filleting knife that was too wobbly to really pierce anything. I'd picked that because I thought it would make for a messy murder. It was a really sobering experience trying to orchestrate my own murder. I thought clean and quick might be ideal, but as Tayla reminded me, my death had to make the papers. It had to be memorable. People had to know 'Huw O'Connor? Poor boy, got stabbed by a blunt knife round the back of Pizza Hut". The people I owed money to, needed to know I was dead.
Tayla once asked me, how I thought this option was any better. It wasn't really, my family would always wonder what happened, but life imprisonment had to be better than the threat of retribution against me and my family for a debt I was never going to be able to repay.
"Yes, he got stabbed so many times. There was blood *everywhere*," Tayla said. Mine of course, hastily squirted all around the place from a plastic bottle. Thankfully, it had been too dark for the CCTV to capture *that*.
I hoped the 'no body' thing wasn't going to be an obstacle here. I needed the twelve fine women and men in the jury box to come back with a unanimous 'guilty'. I (or who was *I* at this point anyway?) had to be found guilty. It was the last piece in the puzzle that was my future, I had painstakingly tried to design, ever since I made that dumb decision to run away with fifty kilos of coke that I was meant to be couriering.
Huw O'Connors 'dead'.
'Luke Roberts' convicted and jailed for his murder.
And my family safe. | "Stall."
I was only half listening before, following the news on the tv in the corner. Someone was apparently arguing a client's innocence based on the claim that, according to all government records, they never existed-- something I'd never heard before, and believe me, I've heard it all. I had figured the man in front of me would be another simple, boring defense case that I would probably hand off to a less experienced attorney. But now...
"What do you mean?"
The man in front of me leaned forward and looked me directly in the eyes. "I mean stall. You can't get me off, the evidence is too stacked, but if you just stall for a few days I can work everything out."
Matching his serious tone, I said, "you won't be able to leave the country. A murder suspect like you will be watched too closely."
He responded, "I know. Just do this for me, please."
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I kept thinking back to this moment during the trial. Three days in, and I still didn't understand it. He was right about the evidence though. Even I was surprised about how complete the case against him was. A couple of weeks ago, someone named Mark was shot at close range in direct view of two witnesses, who were too scared to come forward at first. They said it was my client. Thing is, security camera footage lined up exactly with their stories, a gun matching the bullet was found nearby with my client's fingerprints on it, he had no alibi, and there was even a signed letter sent to a friend talking about the plan. I mean, who writes a letter anymore?
I did what I was asked to though. Some slow cross-examinations, questioning the source of some of the documents, calling in a couple of favors with some long-winded expert witnesses, and what should've been a 1-day trial was taking almost a week. It had been a little fun for a while, but by now my eyes had started wandering around the courtroom while yet more damning evidence was being presented. The couple of reporters holding notebooks, the witnesses meekly trembling on a few chairs in the corner, my annoyingly smug opponent presenting some more evidence with a little smirk, a jury booth full of people yawning, and my client, sitting right next to me, perfectly calm. It was weird; even as the case against him got worse and worse, he just sat there, drinking a glass of water, completely blank expression on his face, even checking his phone every once in a while.
Suddenly, right in the middle of the other lawyer's speech, he stood up with jubilant expression on his face, and smashed his glass on the ground in the most flagrent breach of courtroom decorum I had ever seen. He then jumped onto the table with a manic grin and started to yell, waving his phone around. I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms-- this was sure to be good.
"I can't be guilty! Mark was shot 3 weeks ago, and I, Percy, have only existed for 2! I'm not Percy! I'm Davenport! I made Percy to escape the murder I did 3 weeks ago!"
At this point, the jury was going insane, the judge was trying and miserably failing to restore order, and the witnesses, led by an older, portly man had left their corner to get a better look at this lunatic. It was good alright.
"But you proved me innocent because you said I never existed, and I didn't, because I wiped all traces of myself from the world! New fingerprints, new face, new government ID, even a few old videos edited to show Percy! And only one person could've had access to this new identity to manufacture all the evidence, isn't that right Chris?!"
He pointed a trembling finger at the witnesses, and the portly man froze, his eyes widening. I didn't move, waiting to see where this would end.
"You made up everything to take me down, the only person who knew the truth! But now everyone knows! It's all in my phone, and you'll be done for and I'll be free!"
The witness, Chris I suppose, snarled and pulled a gun out of his pocket, aiming it at Davenport. I kicked the table just enough to make Davenport lose his balance, toppling underneath the bullet whistling by, as a particularly brave member of the jury finally came to her senses and tackled Percy. Davenport hopped up and started sprinting for the door, followed by a stampede of everyone in the room, Percy getting dragged by the jury.
Everyone but me. I stayed seated, arms crossed, a little smile on my face. Eventually, I straightened up, and started to clap.
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That was fun to write. Excited to see everyone else's take on the prompt. | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | "Of course," I said, chuckling a little nervously. My grin fades, however, when I notice that tears are pooling in her eyes. "Whoa hey," I say, instinctively reaching my arms out to comfort her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything."
She leaned away from my outstretched hands, as if there was something disgusting on them. "I'm so sorry, I just...I didn't think you would be able to talk to me."
I pulled my hands back quickly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "What do you mean?" I could feel my confusion reflecting in my facial expression.
"It's just..." She looked away, and for a moment I thought she wasn't going to finish her thought. When she finally responded, her voice was much lower. "Can we talk after class? Next to the girl's bathroom on the third floor."
I thought it was an oddly specific place to choose to meet, but I agreed. She smiled slightly, and then turned back to the professor. As much as I tried to concentrate to the lecture, my mind was all over the place. I was so anxious to find out why it was strange to her that I could see her and talk to her. Did she think she was invisible or something? My thoughts were bouncing around my head as much as I was bouncing around in my seat, waiting for class to end.
The bell rang, and I nearly tripped over myself trying to get out of the classroom. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see her, but she was nowhere to be found. Strange, maybe she stayed behind to talk to the professor? But as I made my way upstairs and turned the corner to our agreed meeting spot, she was standing there, books in hand. I couldn't understand how she made it there so quickly, and without me noticing. I never even saw her leaving the classroom.
"Hey," I said cautiously. I tried smiling, and only managed a grimace.
She looked over her shoulder, then back down the hall behind me, then finally back at my face. She wore a look of wonder on her face. "Tell me how you can see me." Her tears were rimming her eyes again, threatening to overflow down her cheeks.
I honestly didn't know how to answer. What kind of question was that, anyways? "I mean, of course I can see you. I'm not blind."
"But when you died, you were."
"I...what?" I gave a little incredulous laugh. "When I died? I don't understand what you're getting at."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "I know this will sound crazy, but just bear with me. I have all the proof that what I'm about to say isn't just bullshit."
"Okay..." I braced myself for the spew of crazy about to leave this girl's mouth.
"Six years ago, you had an accident." She stopped talking suddenly, as if she had been cut off, and her trying to fight back the tears was obvious. "You had an accident, and you died. The day after your death, you showed up in my English Lit class. I couldn't believe it was you. I saw you die. But it was definitely you. Only you could see. You were born blind, so it was strange to me to see you finally looking *at* me, and not through me."
This whole thing was so absurd. I almost couldn't speak. "So you think I died?"
"I know you did," She said quietly. "I saw you die."
"So then how am I here right now?"
"I don't know, but like I said, I have proof." She reached around and grabbed her backpack, and pulled out a binder stuffed with news articles. one sheet had an obituary on it. She stared at it for a minute before handing it to me. "This was yours."
I took the paper and looked down at it, expecting to laugh at the evidence she offered. What I saw instead shook me to my core.
I was looking at a picture of me. I was maybe nineteen in the photo. Under the photo was my name and an obituary, dated six years ago.
I read through almost half of it before I looked up at her, panic building up in my chest. "What the hell is this, Carly?"
We both looked at eachother as if we'd been shocked. I didn't know her name, I wasn't supposed to. We had never met until today.
The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her cheeks, and she gave a little gasp. "I never thought I'd hear you say my name again."
\*Carly...\*Suddenly I was bombarded with memories, ones that i didn't even know I had. Everything was dark, but I could hear crying. Carly crying. someone was holding my hand, and for some reason I was soaking wet. There was shouting nearby and I realized I was outside, and it was raining. My body hurt everywhere, and Carly was saying in a shaky voice "Please don't leave me, Shane." She just kept repeating those words over and over. I remember feeling freezing cold, and very sleepy. I told myself I would just close my eyes for a moment, and I don't remember anything after that.
I came back to the present, staring at Carly. She was openly sobbing now. "I never thought I'd see you again, Shane."
I fought back the tears. "How did I die, Carly? What am I doing here?" I was frantic now. "*How can I see you?"*
"We were in a car accident," She started. "You died on the road that night. I saw you die, Shane. I don't know how you can see me now, honestly. I'm so sorry." She dropped her backpack and practically fell into my arms. I had the brief thought that *ghosts shouldn't be able to do this* before I wrapped my arms around her. I smelled her hair, that lavender smell that I didn't even realize I missed.
"It's okay, baby," I said, stroking her hair as my memory was flooded with all my memories of my previous life. Flashes of my life with Carly rapidly flooded my mind, until I thought I would burst with the sadness of knowing that I wouldn't have a future with her. "I'll always be with you."
We hugged for what seemed like an eternity, me not wanting to let go. I knew that if I did, it was over. I'd never hold her like this again. But she couldn't love a ghost the rest of her life. She had to move on.
With an almost painful whimper, I let go and looked away, too heartbroken to see her tears and her pain. Instead I walked towards this golden light that, weirdly, I knew would be there when I was ready.
The last words I heard Carly say was, "I'll always love you Shane."
*I'll always love you too, Carly. Always.* | "You... can see me?" She asked with wide icy eyes. I surveyed her thin face. She looked as if she hadn't eaten a decent, or even half decent meal in a while. Looking at her rail thin frame, and tattered clothes, she looked like she hadn't seen ANYTHING decent for a while. "I thought nobody could. Not even mommy can see me anymore."
"I... your mommy cant see you anymore?" This was horrifying. She couldn't have been more than 12. Was her mother dead? Did she lose sight? "What happened to your mommy?" I gestured for her to follow me, and started walking to the shopping plaza. I could get her some food, and new clothes, before having someone check in on her home.
Trailing behind, she replied. "Nothing, I think. She can see everything else, and she can still hear me, she just cant see me. I thought i was invisible." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | "You can see me?" The girl asks, clearly bewildered.
"Yeah," you reply, "of course I can see u, why wouldn't I?"
"Oh crap, crap, crap, bloody idiots cutting funding again-" she ranted.
"Hey, hey, slow down," you say, "What are you on about?"
"Ahh, no, no, no," she keeps ranting, not even seeing you it seems. She takes out a small black sphere and taps it in a few places with her index finger.
"Central Time Authority, this is Technician Grace Stephens, 2010-2020, another sighting, send a Memory-Wiper immediately."
She turns to you and calmly explains that everything will be alright and that it will be over soon.
But you dont listen. You bolt upright and run. You run like you have never run before. You take out a piece of paper and write.
'Time travel is real. Keep quiet. They are watching.'
You arrive at your flat and pack your bags, buying tickets to London afterwards.
You travel from city to city, London, Paris, Berlin, Kiev, Moscow, and just for a moment you allow yourself to believe that nobody is following you, that you have lost them.
They catch up to you in Tokyo. You are backed into an Alley with a dead end.
"Do not be afraid, this will not hurt," says the man with an obscured face and a distorted voice, "It will be over soon."
You wake up in your apartment back in New York.
'Huh, what a strange dream that was' is all you are able to think before all the details of it are whisked away from your head.
You never remembered dreams anyway, it is not a big deal.
But as you get up, you frown, feeling a piece of paper folded into your jeans.
'Time travel is real. Keep quiet. They are watching.' | "You... can see me?" She asked with wide icy eyes. I surveyed her thin face. She looked as if she hadn't eaten a decent, or even half decent meal in a while. Looking at her rail thin frame, and tattered clothes, she looked like she hadn't seen ANYTHING decent for a while. "I thought nobody could. Not even mommy can see me anymore."
"I... your mommy cant see you anymore?" This was horrifying. She couldn't have been more than 12. Was her mother dead? Did she lose sight? "What happened to your mommy?" I gestured for her to follow me, and started walking to the shopping plaza. I could get her some food, and new clothes, before having someone check in on her home.
Trailing behind, she replied. "Nothing, I think. She can see everything else, and she can still hear me, she just cant see me. I thought i was invisible." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | 'You can see me?' she asked, bewildered.
Not the answer I expected. But I guess she would think I am crazy talking to a stranger.
I have seen her for the past 6 years of my life as I went to school. Wearing a white one-piece dress. A cross necklace on her neck. Her ethereal beauty tinged with a hint of sadness as she looked around...as if waiting for something.
Now, I am leaving town. I wanted to know why she was there. Waiting. So I sat down and said hello.
Now that I recovered my bearings, I replied, 'Yes, I can. Clear as day.'
She still seemed shocked. I guess she wasn't used to people talking to her.
I went on, 'well, I am just curious as to why you have been waiting here for 6 years.'
To my horror, her eyes immediately teared at the question.
'it's been this long....? The years have surely went by quickly.'
I was not good with women crying, but I guess I had the sense of mind to find a pack of tissues for her. I held it out, awkwardly, in silence, looking away. This wasn't going as expected. Guess I messed up.
Then, I felt her hands on mine. She came close, and whispered to me.
'For my past foolishness of wanting attention from everyone by pretending to be famous, a witch cursed me to never be noticed by the world. The only people who could see me are the people who see me as I am, not who I pretended to be.'
I turned and looked at her. A hint of a smile hung around her lips.
'Shall we talk more? I want to know more about you,' she said.
I could not believe what I heard nor what I am seeing.
But I nodded, even as I was unsure of the stories that are to come.
Because I want to see her smile. | "You... can see me?" She asked with wide icy eyes. I surveyed her thin face. She looked as if she hadn't eaten a decent, or even half decent meal in a while. Looking at her rail thin frame, and tattered clothes, she looked like she hadn't seen ANYTHING decent for a while. "I thought nobody could. Not even mommy can see me anymore."
"I... your mommy cant see you anymore?" This was horrifying. She couldn't have been more than 12. Was her mother dead? Did she lose sight? "What happened to your mommy?" I gestured for her to follow me, and started walking to the shopping plaza. I could get her some food, and new clothes, before having someone check in on her home.
Trailing behind, she replied. "Nothing, I think. She can see everything else, and she can still hear me, she just cant see me. I thought i was invisible." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | She was always reading the same book. I think that was the first thing I noticed about her. Every day, at the same time, the same book. For six years. I guess it's weird that I noticed it was the same book before I even realized that she also wore the same dress. No matter the weather.
I try to keep my eyes to myself when I'm commuting. I learned pretty quick after moving here from the south that people take eye contact and a smile as an open invitation to be a creep.
So I usually keep my focus on my phone or on the ground.
But she caught my eye every once in a while. But never for long. Almost like she wasn't supposed to hold my attention.
But I found myself getting curious, regardless. I used to be an avid reader myself, before I discovered the internet. Now I just accumulated books but never actually got around to reading them. But the way she was always reading that book intrigued me. I wanted to know if it was just that good.
Of course, I couldn't just go up to her and ask her that.
So for the first time in a while, I actually sat down and read a book. Turns out I already owned a copy. God knows when I bought it.
And it was... okay. Just okay. Nothing mind altering or anything. It was just another murder mystery, pretty standard stuff really.
So the day after I finished it, I gathered all of the meager courage I had, and for the first time in six years, I sat next to the girl with the book. She didn't even look up, just flicked to the next page.
"I-uh- I like your dress." It was pouring rain. Who wears a dress on a day like today? Granted, we were protected by the awning of the store that was behind us, but she would get drenched in moments if she got up. I didn't even see an umbrella.
At first she said nothing. But then she looked up and around, then at me. Her eyes were wide. "Y-you can see me?"
Oh.
*Oh.*
*Oh shit.*
I thought I'd left this particular ability behind when I hit puberty. | "You... can see me?" She asked with wide icy eyes. I surveyed her thin face. She looked as if she hadn't eaten a decent, or even half decent meal in a while. Looking at her rail thin frame, and tattered clothes, she looked like she hadn't seen ANYTHING decent for a while. "I thought nobody could. Not even mommy can see me anymore."
"I... your mommy cant see you anymore?" This was horrifying. She couldn't have been more than 12. Was her mother dead? Did she lose sight? "What happened to your mommy?" I gestured for her to follow me, and started walking to the shopping plaza. I could get her some food, and new clothes, before having someone check in on her home.
Trailing behind, she replied. "Nothing, I think. She can see everything else, and she can still hear me, she just cant see me. I thought i was invisible." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | I'm lying down on my bed, with the fan on at full speed. I can hear the water dripping in drops in the bathroom. I've shut off the windows, and locked the door. *Tip.....Tip.....Tip.* He's there, John. My John.
&#x200B;
I think i have a headache. I probably should've had some food today. I think mom was calling me. But i can't really talk to her anymore, she doesn't get it.
&#x200B;
I haven't actually spoken to anyone in quite a while. I used to have friends. But they dont understand, no one does. John understands. My John.
&#x200B;
We met at the university. Oh yeah i wonder how the people at the university are nowadays. Do they remember me? They probably dont, it doesn't matter. We met at the university.
&#x200B;
It's funny, all my life i had been trying to ask people for help. They asked me questions in return. " Alice, can you tell me what the problem is from your point of view?", "How do you suggest we can make this problem better?". They ask, they hear, but they don't listen.
&#x200B;
John is the first person who actually *listened* to me. I remember, the first day i had talked to him, i came back home and i wept. My mother was very concerned about it. She doesn't realize this was the first time i felt a "9" on "a scale of 1-10".
&#x200B;
My mother says that i do that a lot more nowadays. Weeping. I dont know, it doesn't matter.
&#x200B;
"Hello Alice".
&#x200B;
My mouth opened wide in shock and disbelief even as my mind went blank. Here was a voice i had not heard in 6 years. It was John's voice, *my John*.
&#x200B;
"Y...You can see me??". There was no response. "JOHN? Did you just speak!? John PLEASE talk to me! You haven't spoken a word in 6 years!! JOHN!?!"
&#x200B;
"I'm here Alice". I couldn't hold back the tears anymore."Why didn't you speak before!? Do you know how much it hurts to not have heard your voice in so long?? I told them, i told them all, no one believed me. They told me to take the pills, to take some time off, but i could see you everyday. Why didn't you talk to me before, John, WHY?"
&#x200B;
"Alice, i......."
&#x200B;
"John!"
&#x200B;
His lips finally started moving, "Alice, do you remember, what happened on this day, 6 years ago?"
&#x200B;
An old familiar pain was returning, " No John, stop! Please!"
&#x200B;
He changed his sentence, " You know Alice, when i met you, i saw this extraordinary woman. A human gem, a little misunderstood by society. I realized, that if only people would take a little bit of time to try and get to know you, they will discover the wonderful human inside the layers of antisocial pretense." " Why haven't you been taking your pills, Alice?"
&#x200B;
I couldn't move my lips, i stammered, " I...i don't care about that John. You're here now, that's all that matters"
&#x200B;
"Because every time you took your pills, i would become hazier." A knot started forming in my stomach.
&#x200B;
"Stop John! Please STOP!"
&#x200B;
"Because somewhere, you knew i didn't exist anymore." My mind was starting to feel hollow. " John please...". "Because somewhere, you knew i died six years ago"
&#x200B;
My tears were getting uncontrollable" NO! THEY WERE ALL LYING TO ME!! YOU'RE HERE!! YOU'RE HERE RIGHT NOW!". I was sobbing inconsolably to my pillow.
&#x200B;
"Alice, six years ago you tried to suicide. While you were trying to jump off of the university building, i grabbed you. While trying to pull you up, i fell. My death wasn't your fault."
&#x200B;
Every word i said felt like a stab on my chest,"But you're here now! It doesn't matter! I have my John back!!"
&#x200B;
"Alice you have a habit of attributing all positive changes in your life to John. Don't you see? I don't exist. You created me, because positive advice only sounds right when John says it. You've kept me alive all these years in your head because you were guilty, but you stopped taking pills because you needed to hear me say something ."
&#x200B;
"It's okay to let go" | "You... can see me?" She asked with wide icy eyes. I surveyed her thin face. She looked as if she hadn't eaten a decent, or even half decent meal in a while. Looking at her rail thin frame, and tattered clothes, she looked like she hadn't seen ANYTHING decent for a while. "I thought nobody could. Not even mommy can see me anymore."
"I... your mommy cant see you anymore?" This was horrifying. She couldn't have been more than 12. Was her mother dead? Did she lose sight? "What happened to your mommy?" I gestured for her to follow me, and started walking to the shopping plaza. I could get her some food, and new clothes, before having someone check in on her home.
Trailing behind, she replied. "Nothing, I think. She can see everything else, and she can still hear me, she just cant see me. I thought i was invisible." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | "You can see me?" The girl asks, clearly bewildered.
"Yeah," you reply, "of course I can see u, why wouldn't I?"
"Oh crap, crap, crap, bloody idiots cutting funding again-" she ranted.
"Hey, hey, slow down," you say, "What are you on about?"
"Ahh, no, no, no," she keeps ranting, not even seeing you it seems. She takes out a small black sphere and taps it in a few places with her index finger.
"Central Time Authority, this is Technician Grace Stephens, 2010-2020, another sighting, send a Memory-Wiper immediately."
She turns to you and calmly explains that everything will be alright and that it will be over soon.
But you dont listen. You bolt upright and run. You run like you have never run before. You take out a piece of paper and write.
'Time travel is real. Keep quiet. They are watching.'
You arrive at your flat and pack your bags, buying tickets to London afterwards.
You travel from city to city, London, Paris, Berlin, Kiev, Moscow, and just for a moment you allow yourself to believe that nobody is following you, that you have lost them.
They catch up to you in Tokyo. You are backed into an Alley with a dead end.
"Do not be afraid, this will not hurt," says the man with an obscured face and a distorted voice, "It will be over soon."
You wake up in your apartment back in New York.
'Huh, what a strange dream that was' is all you are able to think before all the details of it are whisked away from your head.
You never remembered dreams anyway, it is not a big deal.
But as you get up, you frown, feeling a piece of paper folded into your jeans.
'Time travel is real. Keep quiet. They are watching.' | Every morn, I leave my apartment and stroll three blocks to the café and buy a bal’tel’s portion of my favorite, to go. I have the usual banter with the barista, and elicit an adorable snort from the cute dryaud at the center patio table. Then I take the tram to work. Teach a couple classes in the morning, grade a few tests, and then check up on the Khal’s latest experiments in the evening. Then I stop by the High Tide for dinner and a drink with friends on the way home. The cute dryaud girl is there too, also at one of the balcony tables.
And so has it been for six years. Until today. As I went over the numbers with the Khal, he stopped, and stared into my soul with a dozen cosmic beige eyes.
“You should talk to her.”
“What?”
“Whoever you’re pining for with that dower expression. I’m guessing it’s the café girl.”
“Oh... oh uhhh... I guess I should. Sorry I never expected to get relationship advice from a god.”
“Why not? We work together, don’t we? Happy people are efficient people. Talk to her.”
“I shall, my lord.”
He rolled his eyes, and we got back to work. When I left that evening, I messaged my friends what had happened. They were all enthusiastically supportive, though they hadn’t noticed the girl I was referring too. Even K and Aor, who normally lean towards the heretically a-religious agreed that the Khal’s advice was sound.
I ordered my dinner, and my drink, and went her table on the balcony.
She looked up at me and smiled as I approached, but said nothing. Up close, her skin was the ashier, freckled green of the southern islands dryaud, and her hands were calloused, and her muscles strong and wiry. She might pass for a dockhand, but if she could afford to eat here every night, she was probably some sort of management.
“Mind if I sit here with you?” She froze, cup half-way to her lips, and her eyes went wide. There was a long moment of silence before she blinked and nodded slowly, gesturing to the chair. I sat, confused.
“Y-you can s-see me?”
“Yes? Should I not?”
“N-no... I mean, it’s not a problem, I don’t think. It’s just... not possible. I’m cursed.”
“You’re wha- eh, hm.” A thought occurred to me. I took off my glasses. The world was practically a smear of blurry colors without them. There was *a* shape in front of me, but I couldn’t actually recognize its size or color. I put my glasses back on.
“Okay I think I see what the issue is.” She cocked her head, and looked at me quizzically. “I’m functionally blind, so I figured a few years ago, ‘if I’m going to be wearing glasses all the tine they might as well be magic’ and enchanted these. One of the first spells I put on these is a high-ranking optic ward-breaker.”
“I uh... I don’t know what that means.”
“Sorry, I mean my glasses disrupt magical disguises when I look at them. So I can see through your shroud.” Tears began to fork in her eyes.
“I didn’t know that was possible... I... my father worked with the last Khal. He made a mistake, and angered her, so she cursed our family to obscurity. ‘They shall go unseen, they shall go forgotten, their names shall fade on their own tongue, and never reach the lips of others.’ I grew up with a family that barely remembered I existed without leaving themselves notes everywhere.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I learned how to use it to my advantage. Thievery’s not too hard when no one can remember you exist.”
I frowned. She was right of coarse. Her curse did not give her many other options. At least she wasn’t killing anyone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t think I asked your name.”
“It won’t work.”
“Humor me.”
“Sae.” Her eyes went wide again. “How did I do that?”
“That’s a good question actually. I’ve seen you here and the café, every day for six years... but you say your curse covers memory. My glasses should only break the visual part of your curse, as far as I understand. But I think I know how we can find out.”
“How?”
“I work for the new Khal. He’s a lot saner than the last one. He can take a look at your curse and reverse engineer it. He can tell us how exactly your curse works. He can probably even break it, if you want that.”
“I... I’ll like that. At least to figure it out. Thank you...”
“Avanrya.”
“Thank you Avanrya. I look forward to it.”
“I look forward to getting to know you, Sae.” | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | 'You can see me?' she asked, bewildered.
Not the answer I expected. But I guess she would think I am crazy talking to a stranger.
I have seen her for the past 6 years of my life as I went to school. Wearing a white one-piece dress. A cross necklace on her neck. Her ethereal beauty tinged with a hint of sadness as she looked around...as if waiting for something.
Now, I am leaving town. I wanted to know why she was there. Waiting. So I sat down and said hello.
Now that I recovered my bearings, I replied, 'Yes, I can. Clear as day.'
She still seemed shocked. I guess she wasn't used to people talking to her.
I went on, 'well, I am just curious as to why you have been waiting here for 6 years.'
To my horror, her eyes immediately teared at the question.
'it's been this long....? The years have surely went by quickly.'
I was not good with women crying, but I guess I had the sense of mind to find a pack of tissues for her. I held it out, awkwardly, in silence, looking away. This wasn't going as expected. Guess I messed up.
Then, I felt her hands on mine. She came close, and whispered to me.
'For my past foolishness of wanting attention from everyone by pretending to be famous, a witch cursed me to never be noticed by the world. The only people who could see me are the people who see me as I am, not who I pretended to be.'
I turned and looked at her. A hint of a smile hung around her lips.
'Shall we talk more? I want to know more about you,' she said.
I could not believe what I heard nor what I am seeing.
But I nodded, even as I was unsure of the stories that are to come.
Because I want to see her smile. | Every morn, I leave my apartment and stroll three blocks to the café and buy a bal’tel’s portion of my favorite, to go. I have the usual banter with the barista, and elicit an adorable snort from the cute dryaud at the center patio table. Then I take the tram to work. Teach a couple classes in the morning, grade a few tests, and then check up on the Khal’s latest experiments in the evening. Then I stop by the High Tide for dinner and a drink with friends on the way home. The cute dryaud girl is there too, also at one of the balcony tables.
And so has it been for six years. Until today. As I went over the numbers with the Khal, he stopped, and stared into my soul with a dozen cosmic beige eyes.
“You should talk to her.”
“What?”
“Whoever you’re pining for with that dower expression. I’m guessing it’s the café girl.”
“Oh... oh uhhh... I guess I should. Sorry I never expected to get relationship advice from a god.”
“Why not? We work together, don’t we? Happy people are efficient people. Talk to her.”
“I shall, my lord.”
He rolled his eyes, and we got back to work. When I left that evening, I messaged my friends what had happened. They were all enthusiastically supportive, though they hadn’t noticed the girl I was referring too. Even K and Aor, who normally lean towards the heretically a-religious agreed that the Khal’s advice was sound.
I ordered my dinner, and my drink, and went her table on the balcony.
She looked up at me and smiled as I approached, but said nothing. Up close, her skin was the ashier, freckled green of the southern islands dryaud, and her hands were calloused, and her muscles strong and wiry. She might pass for a dockhand, but if she could afford to eat here every night, she was probably some sort of management.
“Mind if I sit here with you?” She froze, cup half-way to her lips, and her eyes went wide. There was a long moment of silence before she blinked and nodded slowly, gesturing to the chair. I sat, confused.
“Y-you can s-see me?”
“Yes? Should I not?”
“N-no... I mean, it’s not a problem, I don’t think. It’s just... not possible. I’m cursed.”
“You’re wha- eh, hm.” A thought occurred to me. I took off my glasses. The world was practically a smear of blurry colors without them. There was *a* shape in front of me, but I couldn’t actually recognize its size or color. I put my glasses back on.
“Okay I think I see what the issue is.” She cocked her head, and looked at me quizzically. “I’m functionally blind, so I figured a few years ago, ‘if I’m going to be wearing glasses all the tine they might as well be magic’ and enchanted these. One of the first spells I put on these is a high-ranking optic ward-breaker.”
“I uh... I don’t know what that means.”
“Sorry, I mean my glasses disrupt magical disguises when I look at them. So I can see through your shroud.” Tears began to fork in her eyes.
“I didn’t know that was possible... I... my father worked with the last Khal. He made a mistake, and angered her, so she cursed our family to obscurity. ‘They shall go unseen, they shall go forgotten, their names shall fade on their own tongue, and never reach the lips of others.’ I grew up with a family that barely remembered I existed without leaving themselves notes everywhere.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I learned how to use it to my advantage. Thievery’s not too hard when no one can remember you exist.”
I frowned. She was right of coarse. Her curse did not give her many other options. At least she wasn’t killing anyone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t think I asked your name.”
“It won’t work.”
“Humor me.”
“Sae.” Her eyes went wide again. “How did I do that?”
“That’s a good question actually. I’ve seen you here and the café, every day for six years... but you say your curse covers memory. My glasses should only break the visual part of your curse, as far as I understand. But I think I know how we can find out.”
“How?”
“I work for the new Khal. He’s a lot saner than the last one. He can take a look at your curse and reverse engineer it. He can tell us how exactly your curse works. He can probably even break it, if you want that.”
“I... I’ll like that. At least to figure it out. Thank you...”
“Avanrya.”
“Thank you Avanrya. I look forward to it.”
“I look forward to getting to know you, Sae.” | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | She was always reading the same book. I think that was the first thing I noticed about her. Every day, at the same time, the same book. For six years. I guess it's weird that I noticed it was the same book before I even realized that she also wore the same dress. No matter the weather.
I try to keep my eyes to myself when I'm commuting. I learned pretty quick after moving here from the south that people take eye contact and a smile as an open invitation to be a creep.
So I usually keep my focus on my phone or on the ground.
But she caught my eye every once in a while. But never for long. Almost like she wasn't supposed to hold my attention.
But I found myself getting curious, regardless. I used to be an avid reader myself, before I discovered the internet. Now I just accumulated books but never actually got around to reading them. But the way she was always reading that book intrigued me. I wanted to know if it was just that good.
Of course, I couldn't just go up to her and ask her that.
So for the first time in a while, I actually sat down and read a book. Turns out I already owned a copy. God knows when I bought it.
And it was... okay. Just okay. Nothing mind altering or anything. It was just another murder mystery, pretty standard stuff really.
So the day after I finished it, I gathered all of the meager courage I had, and for the first time in six years, I sat next to the girl with the book. She didn't even look up, just flicked to the next page.
"I-uh- I like your dress." It was pouring rain. Who wears a dress on a day like today? Granted, we were protected by the awning of the store that was behind us, but she would get drenched in moments if she got up. I didn't even see an umbrella.
At first she said nothing. But then she looked up and around, then at me. Her eyes were wide. "Y-you can see me?"
Oh.
*Oh.*
*Oh shit.*
I thought I'd left this particular ability behind when I hit puberty. | Every morn, I leave my apartment and stroll three blocks to the café and buy a bal’tel’s portion of my favorite, to go. I have the usual banter with the barista, and elicit an adorable snort from the cute dryaud at the center patio table. Then I take the tram to work. Teach a couple classes in the morning, grade a few tests, and then check up on the Khal’s latest experiments in the evening. Then I stop by the High Tide for dinner and a drink with friends on the way home. The cute dryaud girl is there too, also at one of the balcony tables.
And so has it been for six years. Until today. As I went over the numbers with the Khal, he stopped, and stared into my soul with a dozen cosmic beige eyes.
“You should talk to her.”
“What?”
“Whoever you’re pining for with that dower expression. I’m guessing it’s the café girl.”
“Oh... oh uhhh... I guess I should. Sorry I never expected to get relationship advice from a god.”
“Why not? We work together, don’t we? Happy people are efficient people. Talk to her.”
“I shall, my lord.”
He rolled his eyes, and we got back to work. When I left that evening, I messaged my friends what had happened. They were all enthusiastically supportive, though they hadn’t noticed the girl I was referring too. Even K and Aor, who normally lean towards the heretically a-religious agreed that the Khal’s advice was sound.
I ordered my dinner, and my drink, and went her table on the balcony.
She looked up at me and smiled as I approached, but said nothing. Up close, her skin was the ashier, freckled green of the southern islands dryaud, and her hands were calloused, and her muscles strong and wiry. She might pass for a dockhand, but if she could afford to eat here every night, she was probably some sort of management.
“Mind if I sit here with you?” She froze, cup half-way to her lips, and her eyes went wide. There was a long moment of silence before she blinked and nodded slowly, gesturing to the chair. I sat, confused.
“Y-you can s-see me?”
“Yes? Should I not?”
“N-no... I mean, it’s not a problem, I don’t think. It’s just... not possible. I’m cursed.”
“You’re wha- eh, hm.” A thought occurred to me. I took off my glasses. The world was practically a smear of blurry colors without them. There was *a* shape in front of me, but I couldn’t actually recognize its size or color. I put my glasses back on.
“Okay I think I see what the issue is.” She cocked her head, and looked at me quizzically. “I’m functionally blind, so I figured a few years ago, ‘if I’m going to be wearing glasses all the tine they might as well be magic’ and enchanted these. One of the first spells I put on these is a high-ranking optic ward-breaker.”
“I uh... I don’t know what that means.”
“Sorry, I mean my glasses disrupt magical disguises when I look at them. So I can see through your shroud.” Tears began to fork in her eyes.
“I didn’t know that was possible... I... my father worked with the last Khal. He made a mistake, and angered her, so she cursed our family to obscurity. ‘They shall go unseen, they shall go forgotten, their names shall fade on their own tongue, and never reach the lips of others.’ I grew up with a family that barely remembered I existed without leaving themselves notes everywhere.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I learned how to use it to my advantage. Thievery’s not too hard when no one can remember you exist.”
I frowned. She was right of coarse. Her curse did not give her many other options. At least she wasn’t killing anyone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t think I asked your name.”
“It won’t work.”
“Humor me.”
“Sae.” Her eyes went wide again. “How did I do that?”
“That’s a good question actually. I’ve seen you here and the café, every day for six years... but you say your curse covers memory. My glasses should only break the visual part of your curse, as far as I understand. But I think I know how we can find out.”
“How?”
“I work for the new Khal. He’s a lot saner than the last one. He can take a look at your curse and reverse engineer it. He can tell us how exactly your curse works. He can probably even break it, if you want that.”
“I... I’ll like that. At least to figure it out. Thank you...”
“Avanrya.”
“Thank you Avanrya. I look forward to it.”
“I look forward to getting to know you, Sae.” | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | I'm lying down on my bed, with the fan on at full speed. I can hear the water dripping in drops in the bathroom. I've shut off the windows, and locked the door. *Tip.....Tip.....Tip.* He's there, John. My John.
&#x200B;
I think i have a headache. I probably should've had some food today. I think mom was calling me. But i can't really talk to her anymore, she doesn't get it.
&#x200B;
I haven't actually spoken to anyone in quite a while. I used to have friends. But they dont understand, no one does. John understands. My John.
&#x200B;
We met at the university. Oh yeah i wonder how the people at the university are nowadays. Do they remember me? They probably dont, it doesn't matter. We met at the university.
&#x200B;
It's funny, all my life i had been trying to ask people for help. They asked me questions in return. " Alice, can you tell me what the problem is from your point of view?", "How do you suggest we can make this problem better?". They ask, they hear, but they don't listen.
&#x200B;
John is the first person who actually *listened* to me. I remember, the first day i had talked to him, i came back home and i wept. My mother was very concerned about it. She doesn't realize this was the first time i felt a "9" on "a scale of 1-10".
&#x200B;
My mother says that i do that a lot more nowadays. Weeping. I dont know, it doesn't matter.
&#x200B;
"Hello Alice".
&#x200B;
My mouth opened wide in shock and disbelief even as my mind went blank. Here was a voice i had not heard in 6 years. It was John's voice, *my John*.
&#x200B;
"Y...You can see me??". There was no response. "JOHN? Did you just speak!? John PLEASE talk to me! You haven't spoken a word in 6 years!! JOHN!?!"
&#x200B;
"I'm here Alice". I couldn't hold back the tears anymore."Why didn't you speak before!? Do you know how much it hurts to not have heard your voice in so long?? I told them, i told them all, no one believed me. They told me to take the pills, to take some time off, but i could see you everyday. Why didn't you talk to me before, John, WHY?"
&#x200B;
"Alice, i......."
&#x200B;
"John!"
&#x200B;
His lips finally started moving, "Alice, do you remember, what happened on this day, 6 years ago?"
&#x200B;
An old familiar pain was returning, " No John, stop! Please!"
&#x200B;
He changed his sentence, " You know Alice, when i met you, i saw this extraordinary woman. A human gem, a little misunderstood by society. I realized, that if only people would take a little bit of time to try and get to know you, they will discover the wonderful human inside the layers of antisocial pretense." " Why haven't you been taking your pills, Alice?"
&#x200B;
I couldn't move my lips, i stammered, " I...i don't care about that John. You're here now, that's all that matters"
&#x200B;
"Because every time you took your pills, i would become hazier." A knot started forming in my stomach.
&#x200B;
"Stop John! Please STOP!"
&#x200B;
"Because somewhere, you knew i didn't exist anymore." My mind was starting to feel hollow. " John please...". "Because somewhere, you knew i died six years ago"
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My tears were getting uncontrollable" NO! THEY WERE ALL LYING TO ME!! YOU'RE HERE!! YOU'RE HERE RIGHT NOW!". I was sobbing inconsolably to my pillow.
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"Alice, six years ago you tried to suicide. While you were trying to jump off of the university building, i grabbed you. While trying to pull you up, i fell. My death wasn't your fault."
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Every word i said felt like a stab on my chest,"But you're here now! It doesn't matter! I have my John back!!"
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"Alice you have a habit of attributing all positive changes in your life to John. Don't you see? I don't exist. You created me, because positive advice only sounds right when John says it. You've kept me alive all these years in your head because you were guilty, but you stopped taking pills because you needed to hear me say something ."
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"It's okay to let go" | Every morn, I leave my apartment and stroll three blocks to the café and buy a bal’tel’s portion of my favorite, to go. I have the usual banter with the barista, and elicit an adorable snort from the cute dryaud at the center patio table. Then I take the tram to work. Teach a couple classes in the morning, grade a few tests, and then check up on the Khal’s latest experiments in the evening. Then I stop by the High Tide for dinner and a drink with friends on the way home. The cute dryaud girl is there too, also at one of the balcony tables.
And so has it been for six years. Until today. As I went over the numbers with the Khal, he stopped, and stared into my soul with a dozen cosmic beige eyes.
“You should talk to her.”
“What?”
“Whoever you’re pining for with that dower expression. I’m guessing it’s the café girl.”
“Oh... oh uhhh... I guess I should. Sorry I never expected to get relationship advice from a god.”
“Why not? We work together, don’t we? Happy people are efficient people. Talk to her.”
“I shall, my lord.”
He rolled his eyes, and we got back to work. When I left that evening, I messaged my friends what had happened. They were all enthusiastically supportive, though they hadn’t noticed the girl I was referring too. Even K and Aor, who normally lean towards the heretically a-religious agreed that the Khal’s advice was sound.
I ordered my dinner, and my drink, and went her table on the balcony.
She looked up at me and smiled as I approached, but said nothing. Up close, her skin was the ashier, freckled green of the southern islands dryaud, and her hands were calloused, and her muscles strong and wiry. She might pass for a dockhand, but if she could afford to eat here every night, she was probably some sort of management.
“Mind if I sit here with you?” She froze, cup half-way to her lips, and her eyes went wide. There was a long moment of silence before she blinked and nodded slowly, gesturing to the chair. I sat, confused.
“Y-you can s-see me?”
“Yes? Should I not?”
“N-no... I mean, it’s not a problem, I don’t think. It’s just... not possible. I’m cursed.”
“You’re wha- eh, hm.” A thought occurred to me. I took off my glasses. The world was practically a smear of blurry colors without them. There was *a* shape in front of me, but I couldn’t actually recognize its size or color. I put my glasses back on.
“Okay I think I see what the issue is.” She cocked her head, and looked at me quizzically. “I’m functionally blind, so I figured a few years ago, ‘if I’m going to be wearing glasses all the tine they might as well be magic’ and enchanted these. One of the first spells I put on these is a high-ranking optic ward-breaker.”
“I uh... I don’t know what that means.”
“Sorry, I mean my glasses disrupt magical disguises when I look at them. So I can see through your shroud.” Tears began to fork in her eyes.
“I didn’t know that was possible... I... my father worked with the last Khal. He made a mistake, and angered her, so she cursed our family to obscurity. ‘They shall go unseen, they shall go forgotten, their names shall fade on their own tongue, and never reach the lips of others.’ I grew up with a family that barely remembered I existed without leaving themselves notes everywhere.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. I learned how to use it to my advantage. Thievery’s not too hard when no one can remember you exist.”
I frowned. She was right of coarse. Her curse did not give her many other options. At least she wasn’t killing anyone.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t think I asked your name.”
“It won’t work.”
“Humor me.”
“Sae.” Her eyes went wide again. “How did I do that?”
“That’s a good question actually. I’ve seen you here and the café, every day for six years... but you say your curse covers memory. My glasses should only break the visual part of your curse, as far as I understand. But I think I know how we can find out.”
“How?”
“I work for the new Khal. He’s a lot saner than the last one. He can take a look at your curse and reverse engineer it. He can tell us how exactly your curse works. He can probably even break it, if you want that.”
“I... I’ll like that. At least to figure it out. Thank you...”
“Avanrya.”
“Thank you Avanrya. I look forward to it.”
“I look forward to getting to know you, Sae.” | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | "You can see me?" The girl asks, clearly bewildered.
"Yeah," you reply, "of course I can see u, why wouldn't I?"
"Oh crap, crap, crap, bloody idiots cutting funding again-" she ranted.
"Hey, hey, slow down," you say, "What are you on about?"
"Ahh, no, no, no," she keeps ranting, not even seeing you it seems. She takes out a small black sphere and taps it in a few places with her index finger.
"Central Time Authority, this is Technician Grace Stephens, 2010-2020, another sighting, send a Memory-Wiper immediately."
She turns to you and calmly explains that everything will be alright and that it will be over soon.
But you dont listen. You bolt upright and run. You run like you have never run before. You take out a piece of paper and write.
'Time travel is real. Keep quiet. They are watching.'
You arrive at your flat and pack your bags, buying tickets to London afterwards.
You travel from city to city, London, Paris, Berlin, Kiev, Moscow, and just for a moment you allow yourself to believe that nobody is following you, that you have lost them.
They catch up to you in Tokyo. You are backed into an Alley with a dead end.
"Do not be afraid, this will not hurt," says the man with an obscured face and a distorted voice, "It will be over soon."
You wake up in your apartment back in New York.
'Huh, what a strange dream that was' is all you are able to think before all the details of it are whisked away from your head.
You never remembered dreams anyway, it is not a big deal.
But as you get up, you frown, feeling a piece of paper folded into your jeans.
'Time travel is real. Keep quiet. They are watching.' | "Of course," I said, chuckling a little nervously. My grin fades, however, when I notice that tears are pooling in her eyes. "Whoa hey," I say, instinctively reaching my arms out to comfort her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you or anything."
She leaned away from my outstretched hands, as if there was something disgusting on them. "I'm so sorry, I just...I didn't think you would be able to talk to me."
I pulled my hands back quickly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "What do you mean?" I could feel my confusion reflecting in my facial expression.
"It's just..." She looked away, and for a moment I thought she wasn't going to finish her thought. When she finally responded, her voice was much lower. "Can we talk after class? Next to the girl's bathroom on the third floor."
I thought it was an oddly specific place to choose to meet, but I agreed. She smiled slightly, and then turned back to the professor. As much as I tried to concentrate to the lecture, my mind was all over the place. I was so anxious to find out why it was strange to her that I could see her and talk to her. Did she think she was invisible or something? My thoughts were bouncing around my head as much as I was bouncing around in my seat, waiting for class to end.
The bell rang, and I nearly tripped over myself trying to get out of the classroom. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see her, but she was nowhere to be found. Strange, maybe she stayed behind to talk to the professor? But as I made my way upstairs and turned the corner to our agreed meeting spot, she was standing there, books in hand. I couldn't understand how she made it there so quickly, and without me noticing. I never even saw her leaving the classroom.
"Hey," I said cautiously. I tried smiling, and only managed a grimace.
She looked over her shoulder, then back down the hall behind me, then finally back at my face. She wore a look of wonder on her face. "Tell me how you can see me." Her tears were rimming her eyes again, threatening to overflow down her cheeks.
I honestly didn't know how to answer. What kind of question was that, anyways? "I mean, of course I can see you. I'm not blind."
"But when you died, you were."
"I...what?" I gave a little incredulous laugh. "When I died? I don't understand what you're getting at."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "I know this will sound crazy, but just bear with me. I have all the proof that what I'm about to say isn't just bullshit."
"Okay..." I braced myself for the spew of crazy about to leave this girl's mouth.
"Six years ago, you had an accident." She stopped talking suddenly, as if she had been cut off, and her trying to fight back the tears was obvious. "You had an accident, and you died. The day after your death, you showed up in my English Lit class. I couldn't believe it was you. I saw you die. But it was definitely you. Only you could see. You were born blind, so it was strange to me to see you finally looking *at* me, and not through me."
This whole thing was so absurd. I almost couldn't speak. "So you think I died?"
"I know you did," She said quietly. "I saw you die."
"So then how am I here right now?"
"I don't know, but like I said, I have proof." She reached around and grabbed her backpack, and pulled out a binder stuffed with news articles. one sheet had an obituary on it. She stared at it for a minute before handing it to me. "This was yours."
I took the paper and looked down at it, expecting to laugh at the evidence she offered. What I saw instead shook me to my core.
I was looking at a picture of me. I was maybe nineteen in the photo. Under the photo was my name and an obituary, dated six years ago.
I read through almost half of it before I looked up at her, panic building up in my chest. "What the hell is this, Carly?"
We both looked at eachother as if we'd been shocked. I didn't know her name, I wasn't supposed to. We had never met until today.
The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her cheeks, and she gave a little gasp. "I never thought I'd hear you say my name again."
\*Carly...\*Suddenly I was bombarded with memories, ones that i didn't even know I had. Everything was dark, but I could hear crying. Carly crying. someone was holding my hand, and for some reason I was soaking wet. There was shouting nearby and I realized I was outside, and it was raining. My body hurt everywhere, and Carly was saying in a shaky voice "Please don't leave me, Shane." She just kept repeating those words over and over. I remember feeling freezing cold, and very sleepy. I told myself I would just close my eyes for a moment, and I don't remember anything after that.
I came back to the present, staring at Carly. She was openly sobbing now. "I never thought I'd see you again, Shane."
I fought back the tears. "How did I die, Carly? What am I doing here?" I was frantic now. "*How can I see you?"*
"We were in a car accident," She started. "You died on the road that night. I saw you die, Shane. I don't know how you can see me now, honestly. I'm so sorry." She dropped her backpack and practically fell into my arms. I had the brief thought that *ghosts shouldn't be able to do this* before I wrapped my arms around her. I smelled her hair, that lavender smell that I didn't even realize I missed.
"It's okay, baby," I said, stroking her hair as my memory was flooded with all my memories of my previous life. Flashes of my life with Carly rapidly flooded my mind, until I thought I would burst with the sadness of knowing that I wouldn't have a future with her. "I'll always be with you."
We hugged for what seemed like an eternity, me not wanting to let go. I knew that if I did, it was over. I'd never hold her like this again. But she couldn't love a ghost the rest of her life. She had to move on.
With an almost painful whimper, I let go and looked away, too heartbroken to see her tears and her pain. Instead I walked towards this golden light that, weirdly, I knew would be there when I was ready.
The last words I heard Carly say was, "I'll always love you Shane."
*I'll always love you too, Carly. Always.* | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | As I walked out of the cafe, freshly purchased sandwich clutched in my hands, my stride slowed a little. In the five minutes I’d spent agonising over pastrami or ham the tables outside had filled with diners.
I paused to scan the seating area. Although it was a trendy cafe with communal tables I didn’t really feel like chatting to strangers today. I just wanted to eat my damn sandwich in peace. So which seat, I wondered, would be the least likely to start a conversation?
As I eyed the tables I spotted her and let out an audible groan. It was that weird girl. I’d noticed her around the area fairly often over the past few years - she was hard to miss, really. She always wore a... well a cloak I guess. Seemed to spend her time staring at people and scribbling in a little notebook she carried. I’d seen her in the park once, chasing after the pigeons with an envelope.
Okay... not that table, I firmly told myself as I began to make my way through the seating area. There was an empty seat a few tables behind her, that would do.
Of course, as soon as I took a step towards my chosen seat the people at the table stood up and waved to beckon another friend to join them. My stride faltered and I found myself standing right in front of the only spare seat left in the dining area... at her table. She was looking at me. She’d been watching me approach. She looked at the empty seat in front of her and then back at me before giving a small nod.
Aw hell, I thought. I sat.
“Hope it’s okay if I sit here,” I said before turning my attention to my sandwich and hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“Wait... you can SEE me?!” Crazy girl sounded absolutely shocked. I looked up from my sandwich in surprise.
“Uh yeah, I’m not blind...” I started to reply. The girl just stared at me, open mouthed. I stared back. She was weirder than I had thought.
“But... but I’m wearing my invisibility cloak!”
I blinked. “Your what now?”
She pushed back her chair abruptly and stood, knocking my sandwich to the ground. “I shouldn’t even be telling you that, you’re a Muggle! Now I’ll have to wipe your memory!”
I watched in confusion as the girl pulled a pencil from her pocket and waved it in my face, mumbling some nonsense words. She then swept her cloak around her body and rushed out of the dining area, knocking over several other meals in her haste.
I sat there for a minute, looking sadly down at my sandwich on the ground, and sighed. | I've always seen her around. We were in the same school, the same classes, we even rode the same bus. I didn't think too much of it, it's a small town after all. I never spoke to her, she seemed like the quiet type, and I didn't want to bother her. But, my friends weren't at school yet, and, why not talk to her? I could make a new friend today.
I sat down next to her, but she didn't look at me or say anything. Maybe she's not the friendly type?
"Hello!"
She froze, and turned to me quickly.
With a quaver in her voice, she stammered, "Y-you can see me?"
I felt nervous and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Well...yeah. Am I not supposed to?"
She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling with a slightly annoyed face.
"Are you kidding me? All these years?" she muttered quietly.
"What are you talking about?"
She stood up, and grabbed me by the arm.
"Come with me."
I nervously went with her into the hallways of the school.
"What is this about? Why can't others see you?" I asked.
She threw her arms up in exasperation.
"Hell if I know! I've been dead for the past 7 years! I get hit by some stupid drunk driver, and he doesn't even go to jail?! He gets let off cause he's rich? And now I-"
"You're dead?!" I cut her off.
"Yeah! No one's supposed to see me. And I've been following YOU for the last couple of years to try to haunt you and your stupid family, and you can see me the entire time?!"
A nervous shiver went down my body. She's been trying to haunt me?
"But why would you go after me and my family? I don't even know you."
"Your douchebag father is the one who killed me." she spat out angrily.
I froze up. My dad killed someone? If she died around 7 years ago, I would have only been around 8. It would have been easy for my parents to lie and cover that up at that age.
"I..I never knew. I'm so sorry. I'll try to help you!"
"What could you even do?" she asked.
"I'll figure out something. I promise I'll try to help!" I said genuinely. I needed to try to help her. Not just because she could haunt me for the rest of my life, but because there was an undercurrent of sadness underneath her spiteful glare.
I could help save her.
She stared at me for a bit, then sighed.
"Fine."
I reached out my arm and shook her hand. I looked at her with a small smile as she smirked back.
"It's a deal." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | The rain had picked up considerably, it started out as a trickle and slowly progressed to a heavy pour. Sheets of water flowed on the sidewalk, pooling in potholes on the road. Anton had been walking home after spending a day finishing up his bachelor’s thesis in the library. He had been pulling a series of long days and ironically the thing he was looking forward to when he got home was a shower. He panicked at the thought of water ruining his laptop - while at the same time frustrated with himself for not backing up his thesis somewhere.
He continued down the path, and finally caught sight of the bus shelter he could just vaguely recall. He entered the shelter which at most could occupy ten people. Its walls were frosted glass scrapped up with racial slurs and curse words. She sat in the far corner away from the entrance with her eyes closed and her head up against the wall of the shelter.
He had seen her for a number of years on his way home from campus most days. He assumed that she was a UofE student just like himself. He remembered her smiling back at him whenever he smiled at her.
“Quite the downpour.” He said, as he shook off the water droplets remaining on his back pack. He said it with a smile, and hoped that she had heard him, but figured that she was asleep.
Some time passed, and he finally had the sense to check his phone for weather updates. He could hear the growl of thunder in the distance, and the weather report predicted heavy rain for the next few hours.
“Crap” he whispered.
He sent his roommate Daniel a text.
*Caught in the rain. Please tell me you are sober. Can you pick me up from Somerset and Warden?*
His phone buzzed with a reply.
*Sure thing, idiot. Next pitcher is on you tho’*
He looked up from his phone and saw the girl seated on the bench of the shelter. She had her eyes open this time, looking at the graffiti across from her. He shot another text.
*Pretty girl in here with me. Can we give her a ride too?*
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*I have a girlfriend. Anton needs a girlfriend too. Let's do it.*
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“Do you need a ride somewhere? My roommate has got his car and I’m sure he’d be happy to drive you wherever you need to go.” He said with a smile.
She sat still, taking in the sound of the rain and looking now at the roof of the shelter being pelted by raindrops the size of golf balls.
Perhaps, she can’t hear me. He thought for a moment.
“We live on Alderly. Do you need a ride?” He said again more loudly.
She turned to meet his gaze this time. She erupted out of her seat.
“You… you can see me?” she said with a mix of shock and eagerness.
“Of course I can see you. So, what do you say?” he replied, with a tone of appropriate confusion.
She stood silently, with her eyes fixed upon his.
A flood of concerns rushed to his mind. Am I being creepy? Is she homeless? Is she mentally stable? Does she have a boyfriend who would beat me to a pulp?
“So…” He finally mumbled to break the silence. “We live on Alderly, I’m sure you want to avoid this rain.”
“What's your name?” She said.
“My name is Anton. I go to UofE. You do too right?” He replied.
“Yes… well I did.” She said softly.
“Oh, are you taking some time off?”
She broke away from his gaze and looked away nervously.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you would have recognized me. I feel like I’ve seen you walk around here for a few years now. At Least since I was a freshman.” He said.
Her eyes shot up again.
“I do recognize you.” She said.
“Oh, thank goodness.” he said with a chuckle. “ I swear we’ve smiled at each other politely for years now.”
Her eyes widened.
“How many years?” She asked nervously.
“ I don’t know. Well, I started going to UofE six years ago. I switched degrees in between.” He said. “Shame it took me so long to introduce myself. What did you say your name was?”
“Ariel.” She said softly.
Another awkward silence graced the bus shelter.
“You’ve been able to see me for six years?” she asked.
“Yeah, something like that.” He replied. “My roommate will be here any minute now. Do you want a ride?”
She didn’t respond.
“Look can I call you an uber or something?”
Again she didn’t respond.
“Are you already waiting on someone?” He angrily, frustrated with her silence.
She let out a sudden sob, and a tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly.
“Please, Ariel. Let me help you.” He said, as softly as he could. He had immediately regretted raising his voice with her.
“How can you see me?” She whimpered.
“We’re in a bus shelter. I’m not blind.”
The pelting of rain on the glass roof of the bus shelter was truncated with her solemn reply.
“I’ve been dead for a decade.” | I've always seen her around. We were in the same school, the same classes, we even rode the same bus. I didn't think too much of it, it's a small town after all. I never spoke to her, she seemed like the quiet type, and I didn't want to bother her. But, my friends weren't at school yet, and, why not talk to her? I could make a new friend today.
I sat down next to her, but she didn't look at me or say anything. Maybe she's not the friendly type?
"Hello!"
She froze, and turned to me quickly.
With a quaver in her voice, she stammered, "Y-you can see me?"
I felt nervous and a shiver ran down my spine.
"Well...yeah. Am I not supposed to?"
She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling with a slightly annoyed face.
"Are you kidding me? All these years?" she muttered quietly.
"What are you talking about?"
She stood up, and grabbed me by the arm.
"Come with me."
I nervously went with her into the hallways of the school.
"What is this about? Why can't others see you?" I asked.
She threw her arms up in exasperation.
"Hell if I know! I've been dead for the past 7 years! I get hit by some stupid drunk driver, and he doesn't even go to jail?! He gets let off cause he's rich? And now I-"
"You're dead?!" I cut her off.
"Yeah! No one's supposed to see me. And I've been following YOU for the last couple of years to try to haunt you and your stupid family, and you can see me the entire time?!"
A nervous shiver went down my body. She's been trying to haunt me?
"But why would you go after me and my family? I don't even know you."
"Your douchebag father is the one who killed me." she spat out angrily.
I froze up. My dad killed someone? If she died around 7 years ago, I would have only been around 8. It would have been easy for my parents to lie and cover that up at that age.
"I..I never knew. I'm so sorry. I'll try to help you!"
"What could you even do?" she asked.
"I'll figure out something. I promise I'll try to help!" I said genuinely. I needed to try to help her. Not just because she could haunt me for the rest of my life, but because there was an undercurrent of sadness underneath her spiteful glare.
I could help save her.
She stared at me for a bit, then sighed.
"Fine."
I reached out my arm and shook her hand. I looked at her with a small smile as she smirked back.
"It's a deal." | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | As I walked out of the cafe, freshly purchased sandwich clutched in my hands, my stride slowed a little. In the five minutes I’d spent agonising over pastrami or ham the tables outside had filled with diners.
I paused to scan the seating area. Although it was a trendy cafe with communal tables I didn’t really feel like chatting to strangers today. I just wanted to eat my damn sandwich in peace. So which seat, I wondered, would be the least likely to start a conversation?
As I eyed the tables I spotted her and let out an audible groan. It was that weird girl. I’d noticed her around the area fairly often over the past few years - she was hard to miss, really. She always wore a... well a cloak I guess. Seemed to spend her time staring at people and scribbling in a little notebook she carried. I’d seen her in the park once, chasing after the pigeons with an envelope.
Okay... not that table, I firmly told myself as I began to make my way through the seating area. There was an empty seat a few tables behind her, that would do.
Of course, as soon as I took a step towards my chosen seat the people at the table stood up and waved to beckon another friend to join them. My stride faltered and I found myself standing right in front of the only spare seat left in the dining area... at her table. She was looking at me. She’d been watching me approach. She looked at the empty seat in front of her and then back at me before giving a small nod.
Aw hell, I thought. I sat.
“Hope it’s okay if I sit here,” I said before turning my attention to my sandwich and hoping that would be the end of the conversation.
“Wait... you can SEE me?!” Crazy girl sounded absolutely shocked. I looked up from my sandwich in surprise.
“Uh yeah, I’m not blind...” I started to reply. The girl just stared at me, open mouthed. I stared back. She was weirder than I had thought.
“But... but I’m wearing my invisibility cloak!”
I blinked. “Your what now?”
She pushed back her chair abruptly and stood, knocking my sandwich to the ground. “I shouldn’t even be telling you that, you’re a Muggle! Now I’ll have to wipe your memory!”
I watched in confusion as the girl pulled a pencil from her pocket and waved it in my face, mumbling some nonsense words. She then swept her cloak around her body and rushed out of the dining area, knocking over several other meals in her haste.
I sat there for a minute, looking sadly down at my sandwich on the ground, and sighed. | I kept replaying the same damn thing over and over again in my mind. It was maddening. Lost in my own world, it took me a while to realize that i had a new companion by my side. And as if the day couldn't be worse, she was crying. I couldn't take it no more. "Stop crying!", i shouted at her. "You can see me?", said a high pitched voice, shocked. I turned my head and gave a sharp angry look at the little girl. "Yes, i may be old but i am not blind. Of course, I can see you, you litt.. ", i said irritated but then i stopped. Because now i saw her. I really saw her. It was her!
I was lost for words. This couldn't be right. I was going mad. But i knew it was her. It was the same brown hair with that tacky bow hair clip, the same white dress and that skinny body. The resemblance was shocking.
I wanted to call her name but i didn't know what it was. She was looking at me now, her eyes shinning with hope and delight. "Grandma, you know me, don't you?", she asked sliding a little closer.
I couldn't reason with what i was seeing."You her twin? ", i asked instead. She gave me a blank look. "Her. The girl who died this morning on the accident.", i said. Maybe she was. Maybe i wasn't going mad after all. But she started crying again. "so.. it..it's true. I'm dead.", she said in a chocked voice. Good heavens! It really was her.
I knew this girl for 6 years. I passed by her everyday on my way to work. I knew her since she was very little, around 7, i think. Every time we passed, i couldn't help noticing that bow hair clip. It was the same as the one Shelly, my daughter, loved wearing as a child. My girl was no longer mine alone. She was married and had a life of her own. I wasn't a part of her life anymore. I was strictly against her marriage and after the wedding i denied her every attempt of contacting me.
So everyday, I looked forward to passing by this young stranger who reminded me so much of my little one. I loved seeing her walk without a care in the world. I loved seeing her goofing around with her friends. I loved seeing her grow up from a tiny little thing to a teenager who had new hairstyles every other day. But no matter in what style she had her hair done, she always wore the bow hair clip. I wanted to ask her why. But we never talked. Sometimes when our eyes met, we smiled. But that was it.
This morning, there was a crowd when i walked down the road, so i stopped to watch. And then i saw her in that white dress stained with blood, her hair damp with blood. I was heartbroken when i saw her body lying on the ground, lifeless and bloody. I realized then that without exchanging a single word, i had grown to love this little girl. My eyes started to well up. I went closer and kneeled before her. "Girl, look at me.", i said lifting her chin up. Her eyes looked swollen from crying. I gave her a loving smile and said, "You're not dead. I am." She gave me a puzzled look. "I mean, i am flesh and blood but no one cares about me. I am good as dead, non-existent. But look at you. You have your friends and your family. You will live on in their memories and in mine. You're not dead, not yet. I never thanked u for giving me something to look forward to each day, child. Thank you.", i said in a shaky voice. She gave me a sweet smile and nodded her head as she vanished in thin air. I can't say for sure that i met her ghost that day. What i know for sure is that the next time Shelly calls me, i will not loose a single second picking up the call. | |
[WP] You pass by the same girl every day for six years of your life. Then one day, you sit down next to her. She ignores you. Then you open your mouth and speak. Shocked, she turns to you, "You can see me?" | The rain had picked up considerably, it started out as a trickle and slowly progressed to a heavy pour. Sheets of water flowed on the sidewalk, pooling in potholes on the road. Anton had been walking home after spending a day finishing up his bachelor’s thesis in the library. He had been pulling a series of long days and ironically the thing he was looking forward to when he got home was a shower. He panicked at the thought of water ruining his laptop - while at the same time frustrated with himself for not backing up his thesis somewhere.
He continued down the path, and finally caught sight of the bus shelter he could just vaguely recall. He entered the shelter which at most could occupy ten people. Its walls were frosted glass scrapped up with racial slurs and curse words. She sat in the far corner away from the entrance with her eyes closed and her head up against the wall of the shelter.
He had seen her for a number of years on his way home from campus most days. He assumed that she was a UofE student just like himself. He remembered her smiling back at him whenever he smiled at her.
“Quite the downpour.” He said, as he shook off the water droplets remaining on his back pack. He said it with a smile, and hoped that she had heard him, but figured that she was asleep.
Some time passed, and he finally had the sense to check his phone for weather updates. He could hear the growl of thunder in the distance, and the weather report predicted heavy rain for the next few hours.
“Crap” he whispered.
He sent his roommate Daniel a text.
*Caught in the rain. Please tell me you are sober. Can you pick me up from Somerset and Warden?*
His phone buzzed with a reply.
*Sure thing, idiot. Next pitcher is on you tho’*
He looked up from his phone and saw the girl seated on the bench of the shelter. She had her eyes open this time, looking at the graffiti across from her. He shot another text.
*Pretty girl in here with me. Can we give her a ride too?*
&#x200B;
*I have a girlfriend. Anton needs a girlfriend too. Let's do it.*
&#x200B;
“Do you need a ride somewhere? My roommate has got his car and I’m sure he’d be happy to drive you wherever you need to go.” He said with a smile.
She sat still, taking in the sound of the rain and looking now at the roof of the shelter being pelted by raindrops the size of golf balls.
Perhaps, she can’t hear me. He thought for a moment.
“We live on Alderly. Do you need a ride?” He said again more loudly.
She turned to meet his gaze this time. She erupted out of her seat.
“You… you can see me?” she said with a mix of shock and eagerness.
“Of course I can see you. So, what do you say?” he replied, with a tone of appropriate confusion.
She stood silently, with her eyes fixed upon his.
A flood of concerns rushed to his mind. Am I being creepy? Is she homeless? Is she mentally stable? Does she have a boyfriend who would beat me to a pulp?
“So…” He finally mumbled to break the silence. “We live on Alderly, I’m sure you want to avoid this rain.”
“What's your name?” She said.
“My name is Anton. I go to UofE. You do too right?” He replied.
“Yes… well I did.” She said softly.
“Oh, are you taking some time off?”
She broke away from his gaze and looked away nervously.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you would have recognized me. I feel like I’ve seen you walk around here for a few years now. At Least since I was a freshman.” He said.
Her eyes shot up again.
“I do recognize you.” She said.
“Oh, thank goodness.” he said with a chuckle. “ I swear we’ve smiled at each other politely for years now.”
Her eyes widened.
“How many years?” She asked nervously.
“ I don’t know. Well, I started going to UofE six years ago. I switched degrees in between.” He said. “Shame it took me so long to introduce myself. What did you say your name was?”
“Ariel.” She said softly.
Another awkward silence graced the bus shelter.
“You’ve been able to see me for six years?” she asked.
“Yeah, something like that.” He replied. “My roommate will be here any minute now. Do you want a ride?”
She didn’t respond.
“Look can I call you an uber or something?”
Again she didn’t respond.
“Are you already waiting on someone?” He angrily, frustrated with her silence.
She let out a sudden sob, and a tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly.
“Please, Ariel. Let me help you.” He said, as softly as he could. He had immediately regretted raising his voice with her.
“How can you see me?” She whimpered.
“We’re in a bus shelter. I’m not blind.”
The pelting of rain on the glass roof of the bus shelter was truncated with her solemn reply.
“I’ve been dead for a decade.” | I kept replaying the same damn thing over and over again in my mind. It was maddening. Lost in my own world, it took me a while to realize that i had a new companion by my side. And as if the day couldn't be worse, she was crying. I couldn't take it no more. "Stop crying!", i shouted at her. "You can see me?", said a high pitched voice, shocked. I turned my head and gave a sharp angry look at the little girl. "Yes, i may be old but i am not blind. Of course, I can see you, you litt.. ", i said irritated but then i stopped. Because now i saw her. I really saw her. It was her!
I was lost for words. This couldn't be right. I was going mad. But i knew it was her. It was the same brown hair with that tacky bow hair clip, the same white dress and that skinny body. The resemblance was shocking.
I wanted to call her name but i didn't know what it was. She was looking at me now, her eyes shinning with hope and delight. "Grandma, you know me, don't you?", she asked sliding a little closer.
I couldn't reason with what i was seeing."You her twin? ", i asked instead. She gave me a blank look. "Her. The girl who died this morning on the accident.", i said. Maybe she was. Maybe i wasn't going mad after all. But she started crying again. "so.. it..it's true. I'm dead.", she said in a chocked voice. Good heavens! It really was her.
I knew this girl for 6 years. I passed by her everyday on my way to work. I knew her since she was very little, around 7, i think. Every time we passed, i couldn't help noticing that bow hair clip. It was the same as the one Shelly, my daughter, loved wearing as a child. My girl was no longer mine alone. She was married and had a life of her own. I wasn't a part of her life anymore. I was strictly against her marriage and after the wedding i denied her every attempt of contacting me.
So everyday, I looked forward to passing by this young stranger who reminded me so much of my little one. I loved seeing her walk without a care in the world. I loved seeing her goofing around with her friends. I loved seeing her grow up from a tiny little thing to a teenager who had new hairstyles every other day. But no matter in what style she had her hair done, she always wore the bow hair clip. I wanted to ask her why. But we never talked. Sometimes when our eyes met, we smiled. But that was it.
This morning, there was a crowd when i walked down the road, so i stopped to watch. And then i saw her in that white dress stained with blood, her hair damp with blood. I was heartbroken when i saw her body lying on the ground, lifeless and bloody. I realized then that without exchanging a single word, i had grown to love this little girl. My eyes started to well up. I went closer and kneeled before her. "Girl, look at me.", i said lifting her chin up. Her eyes looked swollen from crying. I gave her a loving smile and said, "You're not dead. I am." She gave me a puzzled look. "I mean, i am flesh and blood but no one cares about me. I am good as dead, non-existent. But look at you. You have your friends and your family. You will live on in their memories and in mine. You're not dead, not yet. I never thanked u for giving me something to look forward to each day, child. Thank you.", i said in a shaky voice. She gave me a sweet smile and nodded her head as she vanished in thin air. I can't say for sure that i met her ghost that day. What i know for sure is that the next time Shelly calls me, i will not loose a single second picking up the call. | |
[WP] The Bible was actually written by Lucifer, angry at his father after being sent to Hell. He wrote the book to portray all of God’s flaws, so imagine his shock when humans justify every wrongdoing and worship the story’s antagonist. | ((WARNING! Swearing will be used!))
Lucifer slammed his hand onto his seat's armrest angrily, his eyes burning like two coals after a night-long bonfire. "You have to be fucking kidding me! How!? They still love Him? After all he's done in that book? The flood that killed everyone, the pillar of salt thing? Even the story about me?" The so-called 'Lord of Hell' slammed his hand onto the armrest again, cracking the blackened wood underneath his fist. He had a very good vantage point- a small bowl of water, known to some fantasy-loving humans as a scrying bowl, but he usually just called it his Viewing Water. It allowed him to look anywhere on Earth, at any time he wished, but as of late he'd spent much more time staring into the telling waters, than actually doing his job.
One of the denizens of Hell, a high-ranking demon, flinched at the sound of the wood splitting. "Ahem... Sir...?" The demon was massive- a towering 8 feet tall, shoulders as wide as a barrel, wings twice his height. Long, curled horns stuck out from his head, and his blood-red skin was marred with many scars and burns. Thick-furred legs, complete with cloven hooves, completed the classic demonic look. However, even with the demon's imposing stature, he shivered like a baby abandoned in a Canadian winter in front of the anger radiating from his master. "S-someone's... here to see you."
Lucifer sighed, waving his hand over the bowl, dissipating the image. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers slowly extending at he stretched out the muscles in his hands, hiding the crack in the armrest. His eyes opened, now a striking blue- a remnant of his time as an accursed angel, serving directly under the true villain of those that watched over humanity. "Send them in. This had better be fucking important."
A voice boomed from outside the room, a smile audible in the great voice. "Now, now, my son. Watch your language." An old man shuffled into the room, a pristine white robe covering his whole body, despite the soot and ash that permeated this dark, hot realm, staining everything that spent any time down here. The demon disappeared in a flash of flames, leaving behind a sick scent of sulfur. The man waved his hand in front of his nose, making a sound of disgust. "Eugh. You'd think they'd choose a better smell to leave behind."
Lucifer's eyes narrowed, and his fingers curled around the armrest of the chair, snapping the end off completely. "Go and fuck yourself, old man, you're as dead to me as Jesus was to the Romans for three days. What do you want? As you can see, I'm still busy agonizing over your poor leadership skills. And drop the feeble old man act, already, nobody believes it and it's demeaning to us immortals."
God let out a laugh, the lines on his face deepening as his face bore a wide smile. "Ah, hahaha! You're still cranky over that? Suck it up and move on, already. You lost, fair and square." His arms came up, folding in front of his chest as the smile turned to a frown. "You're falling behind in your work. I came by to see what the holdup is."
Lucifer rolled his eyes, groaning like a spoiled child told to do his chores. "You do realize this job was never sustainable, right? A finite amount of demons, and an infinite amount of souls to be punished by your garbage standards? All the demons are working ridiculous amounts of overtime, and i'm running out of way to thank them and pay them back! Pizza parties only do so much when you still have to work during them, you know! You need to lower your standards already, or figure out a way to let some of these souls go. Anywhere but here."
God reached up, stroking his beard in what seemed to be pensive thought, which only irritated Lucifer even more. Then God spoke, to his surprise. "Maybe you're right. After all, you're the one that's made me so popular. Maybe it's about time I threw you a bone... I'll think about it. Until then... i see one denizen of Hell who's not working his rear end off." God pointed at the fallen angel, smirking as he turned and walked out.
"Oh, come on!" Lucifer called after him, throwing the piece of chair at the door after the man he no longer called his father. "Just say ass! Nowhere in the Bible does it say you can't swear!"
Booming, genuine laughter could be heard, fading away as God returned to Heaven. Today was still a bad day for Lucifer, they all were,, but that little visit, strangely, had put him in a better mood. As he made his way over to where the genocidal murderers awaited their punishments, the 'Lord of Hell' had a slight spring in his step, one nobody had seen for eons. | But the thing is, it was logical in the humanistic approach nonetheless. Lucifer was a good kid, but he was a teenager. So he was quite oblivious to this logic due to his obviously obscene and outrageous head, that when he did write all the stories in the book he was writing from the perspective of an emo angel. He was grungy and full of teen angst. And he was pals with Kurt Cobain. Anyways, after sometime he did look back on what he wrote. And to his surprise, not ours, he realised that he was one stupid kid. But see he did like being emo, and those black wings are what keeps him from waging an all out war on heaven. So its kind of an okay deal for him with the electric guitar and the fire and blood. Its all good now. Rock on. There he was now, entertainer. | |
[WP] The Bible was actually written by Lucifer, angry at his father after being sent to Hell. He wrote the book to portray all of God’s flaws, so imagine his shock when humans justify every wrongdoing and worship the story’s antagonist. | Such outrage. I spent entire millennia devoted to telling the truth about God to humanity, to warning them about his anger, and yet they take what I’ve told them, twist it, and make ME out to be the villain. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; Father always was the type to put his own words in someone else’s mouth. I admit, in Heaven, I made my share of mistakes, but I never meant to bring those mistakes to humanity.
When I questioned why we, the Angels, were to treat the humans as resources of faith and not explicitly help them except in certain situations, you would have thought I had committed an act of treason. Actually, that seems to have been exactly what Father meant when he told me that I was banished for my pride. I might have been willing to accept that punishment, but he then committed the most spiteful act imaginable by slandering me. And it wasn’t as if I painted him to be a full-on monster; he was as capable of love as he was spite. It seems that the only people to come close to understanding my description of him were the Ancient Greeks, and even that religion has long since died out.
Eventually, I decided, “Well, fine. I’ll never be seen as anything but the Devil, the Adversary, the Great Tempter. Why not play the part?” Joke’s on Father, though; humans have often encountered situations in which they should have died, only they didn’t. Happen to wake up just before a gas leak lights your home on fire, giving your and your family time to escape? That was me. Just barely escaped falling asleep at the wheel and ending up in a car crash? Me. Any apparent “miracle” or “blessing” in disguise was my attempt at breaching the web of fate Father had woven. Anyone that ended up dying was already too wound up in it. And yet, so many of them end up turning to Father. I don’t know what I expected, though; when do you turn to Satan after an NDE?
So, in conclusion, I know that this will likely be twisted by him as well, but I figured I may as well write it down, make one last futile attempt to tell the truth. But who’s going to believe me, the Great Deceiver? | Writing prompt or factual account? Not only did Lucifer write the original Bible but he switched the roles of God and the Devil. In truth the rebellion in the heavens succeeded and it was God itself who was cast down to the Earth. In an attempt to save his most beloved creation she appeared in The Garden and gave the gift of knowledge to Humankind.
The real Devil, for simplicity let’s call it Yaweh. Yaweh, now reigning in heaven and masquerading as God, was livid when it discovered Lucifer’s selfless deed. It cast humanity into suffering, stripping as many gifts from the race as ze could. Knowing however stayed with humankind and slowly matured into civilization.
Yaweh tried several times to destroy humankind with various methods; floods, pestilence, plagues, droughts, turning cities into salt, great xenocidal religious crusades, and later wars of devastating horror and death. Lucifer’s gift of light and reason helped humankind survive all of these.
After millennia of failure, finally in spark of desperate inspiration, Yaweh came upon a plan more devious, more cunning, and more devastating than any he had yet imagined.
One day It reached down Her ghostly hand like appendage and pointed out a peculiar black rock to a cold woman. “I am The Lord your God.” He projected into the poor Human’s mind. “I see that you are cold and afraid and have run out of wood for your fire. In my endless benevolence and omniscience...”
We all know how pompous and Narcissistic Yaweh can be. Ze’s still a little insecure about usurping Lucifer’s throne.
“See that peculiar black rock over there?” Yaweh continued. “Collect it and put it in your kiln. It will burn hotter than wood and you will forever be warm.”
“Everyone knows the smoke from that rock is toxic My Lord God. It is better to be cold than choke on it’s acrid smoke.” The woman may have been cold but was obviously quite bright.
Yaweh retreated to Heaven and thought on this. If they’d rather be cold than choke on the smoke, maybe we’ll see just how cold they like it! And so began The Little Ice Age. Civilizations died but humankind survived and never forgot what it is to be cold. Once things had been reestablished Yaweh tried again, on a man this time.
“I am the All Powerful Creator of the Universe.” By this time Yaweh was believing his own baloney but had never gotten over the bluster. “See that black rock over there? Burn it and you will no longer be cold. Burn enough of it and the whole world will never be cold again!”
And the man, not being as clever as the woman, burnt the rock. Thus began the anthropocine epoc.
Fast forward to today.
Lucifer has attempted, mostly in vain, to show humankind less harmful sources of energy but so much damage has been done and Yaweh’s agents have so twisted the heart of man with their greed and religions that it’s starting to look like Yaweh’s evil plot for humanity to destroy itself with pollution and greenhouse gas emissions may come to fruition.
Stay tuned next century for another exciting installment of “Everything You’ve Ever Been Told Is A Lie” | |
[WP] "Dude, trust me. Don't be a hero, be a sidekick. You get less pressure, less work to do, more fun, be more popular at school, never really age and if the hero dies you will always fill their mantle. Just be careful not to die." | The waitress flicked on the ancient TV in the corner, its screen fuzzing up with static before leveling out to show a grainy security tape. The camera looked out onto a quiet midtown street. Though difficult to see, the pre-war buildings nearby had dramatically tall windows, cast iron gates, and ivy climbing up the walls, giving it a modern patrician feel.
“Just two hours ago, six armed subversives stormed the Consulate General of Peru,” a CNN reporter announced.
The Astoria Diner, only about a quarter full before the lunch rush, fell silent. The patrons twisted in their seats to get a look at the scene playing out across the East river.
“We’ve learned that there are an estimated fourteen hostages, though that is unconfirmed. No terrorist groups have come forward to claim this attack, though an unnamed source within the Peruvian embassy believes this to be connected to the Chilian government. We have not received word yet on how the American government plans to address this attack on their soil, but we’ll keep you updated as the story progresses.”
Dax dropped his spoon into the now empty bowl of corn chowder, the metal clinking loudly. He closed his eyes, sighed and rubbed his stomach with contentment. Hmm… had his belly always stuck up this much? Might be time to take his dirty laundry off the Peleton and finally get back into classes like he’d been promising himself. Dax opened his eyes to find the rest of the diners look at him incredulously. A burley man in his late 50s was glaring daggers at him, obviously offended by Dax’s indifference.
Dax sighed again, miffed this time. This wasn’t the first time he had seen the hostage tape. In fact, Dax had arrived at the Consulate General of Peru a mere ten minutes after the situation began. He stood up and walked over to the aggrieved man, gesturing to the other side of the booth.
“Mind if I sit?”
The man nodded but said nothing.
“Look,” Dax said, “Those people are going to be fine. And they only have eleven hostages, not fourteen.”
“You don’t know that,” the man said, his eyebrows shading his face in skepticism.
“I do know that,” Dax replied. “I know that because I’m Professor Premonition.”
The man’s brows furrowed further. “You mean,” he croaked, “The Sonic Scream’s sidekick?”
Dax bristled. “I prefer partner.”
“If you’re Professor Premonition, where’s The Sonic Scream? Why aren’t you there helping?”
“What else is left for me to do?” Dax asked. “I warned the police yesterday, but they didn’t take me seriously. Even still, I gave them the tip that one of the hostages had a secret cell phone. I even went though the trouble to let the reporters know when it would be safe to call them. The Sonic Scream and the police have their plan, so why would I want to put myself close to all that danger?”
The waitress slid a hot coffee in front of Dax. He poured in a non-dairy creamer and took a small sip.
“Plus,” Dax said, “If I have another premonition, I can just as easily call my partner on the phone.” He waggled his beat-up Samsung in the air before setting it on the table. “Might as well do my job while eating the best corn chowder in town.”
The burley man rolled his eyes, obviously convinced that Dax was off his rocker.
“BREAKING NEWS” flooded red light from the TV into the dimly lit diner. The conversations died down as everyone paused again to listen.
“We go now to Tonya, on the scene of the Peurvian hostage crisis. Tonya?”
A reporter stood in front of a cloud of dust and quickly adjusted her blouse as the camera began rolling. People were streaming out of the building behind her.
“Moments ago, The Sonic Scream, superhero involved in the infamous Coney Island fire rescue as well as last month’s blob incident, saved the day once again. Following a SWAT team, the Scream incapacitated the gunmen, giving the hostages time to escape. No casualties and only mild injuries are reported. Truly amazing.”
A man emerged from the building, his bodysuit chalky with dust.
“Oh, Mr. Scream! Mr. Scream! May I have a word?” Tonya called.
“Sure, sure,” The Sonic Scream replied, jogging over. He had a small cut on his cheeks and bags under his eyes but was otherwise no worse for wear.
“Tell me,” the reporter asked, “how did you handle this situation so adeptly?”
“Well,” The Scream paused thoughtfully, “I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Professor Premonition. And of course the support of the good people of New…”
Dax pulled his eyes away from the screen and settled them on the man at the other end of the table. “Partner,” Dax repeated smugly.
“Another chowder for my friend here!” the burley man called to the kitchen, slapping Dax amicably on the back. | Being a sidekick used to be so innocent and effortless. Never in my life would I have imagined this when Bennie talked me into checking the box that said “Sidekick” in the extracurricular section of our school forms. I remember it plain as day. He was so excited to check that box. He said there would be less pressure but more reward because if you can stay alive then hero’s do all the heavy lifting. It made sense to my fifteen-year-old brain. The world only needs so many hero’s and sidekicks. I wasn’t really anything special. I could have picked “Gear Development” or “Medical Aid 1 – Bystanders”. Shit man, if I really wanted to lay low I could have picked “Machine Shop”.
Bennie was my buddy though, we did almost everything together and choosing to be sidekicks together made sense. It didn’t really click at the time that I was laying the groundwork for my future. This future.
Once we finished high school both of us had four years of sidekick training under our belts, and one summer of shadowing professional sidekicks and their hero’s. At graduation, a man in a brown and beige plaid suite was handing out his card. He was with a sidekick assignment agency. This is where Bennie and I started to go our separate ways. We both accepted his card but only Bennie called him. I looked into his agency, “Sidekick 4 U”, and found almost nothing. This didn’t sit well with me, so I decided to use a different agency, “Right Hands”. They had good reviews but charged a portfolio and placement fee. My grandmother had died a year before and granted me a few thousand. Using it to find a job seemed like a good investment. Bennie didn’t have any money to spare though and his parents sure weren’t going to help. That’s how our different paths started – did it ever really matter though when we would both probably end up like this?
I let the memories of how we got here over the past twelve years flood through me like a busted fire hydrant. I laid twisted on the ground with a cement slab crushing everything from my stomach down. A dry cough took hold of me, jerking me forward. The pain was so excruciating I started to black out again. But not before I saw the other bodies among the rubble of broken buildings and streets. Hero’s and sidekicks massacred. Off in the distance I could hear more battles raging but I couldn’t remember what had just taken place here. Fading in and out of consciousness, I’m not even sure if the screams I heard were real or not. The coughing started back up and my vision blurred.
I remembered getting debriefed with my partner, SuperNova, that morning. She stood like a monument of power and restraint with the other hero’s. We were part of Section 7, tasked with holding ground on the northwest section of the city. Our nation had an overabundance of protectors, some of which were government backed like SuperNova. Others were referred to as “freelance” and they didn’t like the way things were being ran so they sought to change it. I admired the effort and the intentions behind it. But things got ugly fast. People on both sides of the conflict did horrible things that drew attention away from the real issues. The media was referring to it as the Hero’s War.
As we waited in our position with the rest of Section 7 – I confessed to SuperNova that I was scared. “An old friend of mine is on the other side of this, and I’m not sure what’s right anymore.” She put her hand on my back and ran it in small circles.
“It’ll be okay, change is in the air, and sometimes in order to make change you’ve gotta tear it all down.” Normally she was all about law and order, so the phrase struck me as odd. The last thing I remember was watching her slowly glide away from me towards the center of our assigned area – charging up a Nova Ball.
I woke up to the aftermath of blood and destruction. I know Bennie is out there somewhere – dead or alive. I wish I could laugh with him one last time, maybe tell him we should have picked “Machine Shop” as an extracurricular. The thought of trying to change his mind made me laugh “Hhhaahhaa!” blood spewed from my nose and mouth, “See ya later, Bennie.” | |
[WP] "Dude, trust me. Don't be a hero, be a sidekick. You get less pressure, less work to do, more fun, be more popular at school, never really age and if the hero dies you will always fill their mantle. Just be careful not to die." | The waitress flicked on the ancient TV in the corner, its screen fuzzing up with static before leveling out to show a grainy security tape. The camera looked out onto a quiet midtown street. Though difficult to see, the pre-war buildings nearby had dramatically tall windows, cast iron gates, and ivy climbing up the walls, giving it a modern patrician feel.
“Just two hours ago, six armed subversives stormed the Consulate General of Peru,” a CNN reporter announced.
The Astoria Diner, only about a quarter full before the lunch rush, fell silent. The patrons twisted in their seats to get a look at the scene playing out across the East river.
“We’ve learned that there are an estimated fourteen hostages, though that is unconfirmed. No terrorist groups have come forward to claim this attack, though an unnamed source within the Peruvian embassy believes this to be connected to the Chilian government. We have not received word yet on how the American government plans to address this attack on their soil, but we’ll keep you updated as the story progresses.”
Dax dropped his spoon into the now empty bowl of corn chowder, the metal clinking loudly. He closed his eyes, sighed and rubbed his stomach with contentment. Hmm… had his belly always stuck up this much? Might be time to take his dirty laundry off the Peleton and finally get back into classes like he’d been promising himself. Dax opened his eyes to find the rest of the diners look at him incredulously. A burley man in his late 50s was glaring daggers at him, obviously offended by Dax’s indifference.
Dax sighed again, miffed this time. This wasn’t the first time he had seen the hostage tape. In fact, Dax had arrived at the Consulate General of Peru a mere ten minutes after the situation began. He stood up and walked over to the aggrieved man, gesturing to the other side of the booth.
“Mind if I sit?”
The man nodded but said nothing.
“Look,” Dax said, “Those people are going to be fine. And they only have eleven hostages, not fourteen.”
“You don’t know that,” the man said, his eyebrows shading his face in skepticism.
“I do know that,” Dax replied. “I know that because I’m Professor Premonition.”
The man’s brows furrowed further. “You mean,” he croaked, “The Sonic Scream’s sidekick?”
Dax bristled. “I prefer partner.”
“If you’re Professor Premonition, where’s The Sonic Scream? Why aren’t you there helping?”
“What else is left for me to do?” Dax asked. “I warned the police yesterday, but they didn’t take me seriously. Even still, I gave them the tip that one of the hostages had a secret cell phone. I even went though the trouble to let the reporters know when it would be safe to call them. The Sonic Scream and the police have their plan, so why would I want to put myself close to all that danger?”
The waitress slid a hot coffee in front of Dax. He poured in a non-dairy creamer and took a small sip.
“Plus,” Dax said, “If I have another premonition, I can just as easily call my partner on the phone.” He waggled his beat-up Samsung in the air before setting it on the table. “Might as well do my job while eating the best corn chowder in town.”
The burley man rolled his eyes, obviously convinced that Dax was off his rocker.
“BREAKING NEWS” flooded red light from the TV into the dimly lit diner. The conversations died down as everyone paused again to listen.
“We go now to Tonya, on the scene of the Peurvian hostage crisis. Tonya?”
A reporter stood in front of a cloud of dust and quickly adjusted her blouse as the camera began rolling. People were streaming out of the building behind her.
“Moments ago, The Sonic Scream, superhero involved in the infamous Coney Island fire rescue as well as last month’s blob incident, saved the day once again. Following a SWAT team, the Scream incapacitated the gunmen, giving the hostages time to escape. No casualties and only mild injuries are reported. Truly amazing.”
A man emerged from the building, his bodysuit chalky with dust.
“Oh, Mr. Scream! Mr. Scream! May I have a word?” Tonya called.
“Sure, sure,” The Sonic Scream replied, jogging over. He had a small cut on his cheeks and bags under his eyes but was otherwise no worse for wear.
“Tell me,” the reporter asked, “how did you handle this situation so adeptly?”
“Well,” The Scream paused thoughtfully, “I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Professor Premonition. And of course the support of the good people of New…”
Dax pulled his eyes away from the screen and settled them on the man at the other end of the table. “Partner,” Dax repeated smugly.
“Another chowder for my friend here!” the burley man called to the kitchen, slapping Dax amicably on the back. | Heroes were the goal of every young child. Everyone, at one point, dreamed of saving the world and donning a cape, even if they had fallen out of style. For some, it was more than a childhood whimsy and they held onto it long enough to truly pursue it. Such a decision was a rare thing. It took a lifetime of training and was more likely than not to leave you with a short career and lifelong injuries. So you knew that any successful hero was truly selfless. Either than or an idiot.
I was one of them, or almost was. Always next to a hero, with just as much danger but nowhere near as much fame were the sidekicks. We were the hero hopefuls or those who just didn't make the mark to succeed in the final transition into independent hero work. I wasn’t sure which of those I would end up.
It was true I had always wanted to be a hero, but lately I was coming to regret that decision. It was a life-consuming calling that demanded all your attention. Each day consisted of physical training and conditioning, the stress of keeping a secret identity, and the pain of pushing your ability to its limits. I just wasn’t sure if I was cut out for it anymore. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have other hobbies that needed me to sink time into them. I liked writing and drawing. I did amateur comedy with a few friends. There just weren’t enough hours in the day and life was too short for me to truly achieve everything I wanted.
I shared my misery with Spearhead, a fellow sidekick and work friend. “Just stick with being a sidekick. Trust me on this. You enjoy doing the hero work right?” he asked. I nodded to him. Being a sidekick or a hero had its perks. “Of course you do. It’s a great way to help your community, everyone involved is friendly, you make a lot of big connections, and the glory is nice if you’re into that. Sidekicks get all of it except for that last bit. But what you get in return is the personal time. You can practically do it part-time.” Spearhead did have some good points.
“Is that your plan? Don’t you think you’ll regret it if you don’t take that final leap hero?” I asked him.
“Oh, I don’t think so. The options always there, though its definitely harder the longer you stick as a sidekick. Plus, if anything ever happens to your hero or if they decide to hang up the cape, there’s always a call for their sidekick to inherit the role. I’ve seen it happen more than once,” he said.
So I decided to coast in my career. Without the pressure to promote myself, being a sidekick was a nice gig. Just like Spearhead said, I was able to keep up what I had been doing with time to dedicate to other tasks. I even had a decent following as a comedian if I ever had to retire. My hero, Silver Wolf, wasn’t the biggest supporter of my decision. He thought I had the skill to be a full fledged hero and was wasting my talents in my hobbies. He often took me along on his journeys to stop the villain, Sphinx.
The villain was a deadly foe. He had been the end of many a hero’s journey. But he had never been able to end Silver Wolf. Many considered them to be the last living pair of the classic arch-nemeses. There’s goals often clashed but the Sphinx had never been able to kill my mentor nor had Silver Wolf been able to capture or expose the villain. Still, he tried his best.
“You better not have a death wish just so you can force me into being a hero,” I often told him.
“Never! The hero’s path must be chosen. I’ll convince you yet,” he’d always reply.
I’d roll my eyes at him but, all the same, I always listened when he told me what he’d discovered of Sphinx’s plots and join when he went to stop him. We had rescued hundreds of victims from the villains seemingly endless collection of lairs. Test subjects of ability experimentation, hostages taken for ransom, even a kidnapping for pure cruelty. He had his hand in every villainous jar.
It was enough to make anyone feel righteous fury, especially Silver Wolf. He would always swear to bring an end to this monster and say stirring speeches to the media when the victims were reunited with their families. After, he would look at me imploringly, his question not needing to be said. I’d look away without saying anything. Be a hero? I wasn’t sure. Villainy was already a time consuming hobby and being the Sphinx was hard work.
\-----
r/Inder | |
[WP] "Dude, trust me. Don't be a hero, be a sidekick. You get less pressure, less work to do, more fun, be more popular at school, never really age and if the hero dies you will always fill their mantle. Just be careful not to die." | *”Today on TMZ, Jolly is having her Britney breakdown. The former teen sidekick and reality TV star was captured at Papinno’s throwing a chair through the restaurant’s window. More later with an exclusive interview with her waiter, but fi—“* Jolly turned off the television and threw the remote on the other side of her sectional couch.
*”FUCK”* She screamed, fighting back the tears. Her life is ruined. For fifteen years and 12 seasons, her reality show *Jolly Girl in the Real World* served as a vehicle for her brand. Without her television show sponsors may pull out of their deals, and if they weren’t, they will after TMZ is done documenting her fall from popularity. Jolly doesn’t want to do the *hero* circuit of conventions a lot of the lower rank heroes do once they retired, and she doesn’t want to start an *Only Fans* account like upcoming superheroines have. She’s too old and famous for that. At 37, her career is over.
She paced around her downtown New York penthouse thinking of things she can do. Maybe she could pitch a television show about her training to become a hero? Maybe she can act? Surely people don’t remember her first failed straight to home video movie *Jolly Girl’s Jolly Adventure* when she was a teenager.
Frustrated, she went into the kitchen, taking a Merlot from the wine chiller and placed it on the island. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard.
“Make that two glasses.” She dropped the glass in fright as the man’s voice surprised her. The glass shattered on the ground.
“For fuck’s sake, seriously George?” She yelled, grabbing a single glass. Turning around towards the island, she cut her feet. The glass on the floor didn’t hurt when she stepped on it, and her foot bled a little. It’ll heal up in a few minutes, good as new. The maid can clean the mess in the morning.
“Sorry Jolly.” George laughed. Better known to the world as *Action Man*, he is one of the city’s many superheroes. Dressed in a full one-piece rubber costume that showed off his muscles, his costume is more functional than fashion. Jolly never liked George’s plain old look. It almost looked like a condom on a dick with utility pouches around it.
“What are you even doing here?” Jolly asked, pouring herself a glass of Merlot. George went to grab the glass after she poured it, but pulled it away.
“Yeah fuck you, you scared me. Get your own fucking glass.” She commented.
George rolled his eyes and walked over to Jolly’s side of the island, careful not to step on any of the broken glass. He doesn’t have super healing or pain tolerance like Jolly does. It’s part of the reason the first Action Man called her Jolly in school, because she doesn’t feel physical pain.
“I heard your scream a few blocks away. I wanted to check-in.” George said, tapping his ear. He stood beside her, leaning on the Island, pouring himself a glass of wine.
“You could have knocked, or better yet sent me a text.” Jolly criticized.
“So you can just read it and never respond? What’s the fun of being a superhero if I can’t just magically pop up in unexpected places?” George smiled.
“Fuck you George. This is your fucking fault.” Jolly said. While she can’t feel physical pain, she can feel emotional pain and masking it with day and night drinking doesn’t seem to be very effective.
“How is this my fault? You live in a fucking penthouse in downtown New York, your only job is to post something on Instagram and let cameras film you go on vacation. If it’s my fault, I deserve a fucking thanks. You’re not the one putting your life on the line fighting no name criminals for no pay and having to wake up at 6am to get to work at the supermarket stocking produce.”
“You told me I shouldn’t be a hero. You said I should just finish up being a sidekick. You convinced me it was the smarter choice because there was less pressure, less work to do, and it was more fun. And guess what? I didn’t become Action Woman, instead I became fucking *MTV’s Jolly*.”
George paused. He said that sixteen years ago when he and Jolly were an item. Jolly was on track to take Action Man’s mantle as *Action Woman*.
“I…” George paused, considering what he will say.
“You what? You fucking got jealous of my talent and you convinced me to stepdown from the program and stay as a sidekick because it scared you I would die in the field? Or because I would take over your father’s mantle as Action Man?”
Jolly was super aggressive, George didn’t understand where this resentful hate was coming from.
“That was sixteen years ago. Look where you are now? Models don’t have what you have. Why bring this up now? You seemed happy when you’re on the red carpet talking to reporters. Or when you go on dates with actors.” George tried to remain positive. How can she be still mad at something that happened so long ago and never bring it up after all this time?
“Yeah, because you don’t fucking know what it’s like. I *dated* actors? Or did I fuck them so I can stay relevant and have content for my reality show? Did my sex tape magically get released or did I release it so I can stay relevant? I beg the public to like me, they like you because of what you do.”
George stood silent. Both of them finished their glasses of Merlot. There was a thick silence in the air, and both of them were uncomfortable. They attended superhero school together, they dated, and became a family when Action Man took Jolly in. Now the family is broken apart over a legacy that could have been shared.
Jolly turned around to go under the sink to pullout the handheld vacuum for the kitchen to clean up the glass. She sucked up the glass and put the vacuum away.
“George, did you really want to be a superhero or did you feel you had to be one?”
By the time she turned around *Action Man* was gone.
“Typical.” She cried. | The breath of the hero smelled blue as they walked through the Fallen Heroes Memorial .
Each portrait they saw was a previous hero in the line of succession, the protectors of their city. Crime-fighters tend to die when fighting dirty people, like criminals. But regardless, he had something he wanted to show the sidekick. Alcohol caught on every wisp of the man’s breath, and he noticed it himself. Carl Jackson, the worst hero in the succession yet.
But Max Manners, standing by him, seemed the prime candidate. How he got there was a mystery, it wasn’t ever really explained how the policing guild chose their next hero-in-training, but here he was.
Carl Jackson waltzed through the pictures, looking for something. His strong arms held up his shoulders with every step, and his legs were shorter than normal. Max Manners knew that it had something to do with the transformation. Just ten years ago, five years before being chosen, Max Manners was a 20-year-old man with aspirations to become a rapper. Now he was a rapport. But he didn’t age himself, part of his own transformation; he actually looked younger and enjoyed the benefits of that.
But something caught the Hero’s eye, and he waved his sidekick to come see the painting he found.
“You see this man?” the hero said, his words slurred. “That’s Markus Hanover, the first hero of our city. He was the reason why this transformative power exists over us. You know what he did, right?”
Max had no idea what the man did, of course. There was nothing known about Markus. But he did know about the powers he casted, creating the succession.
“He’s why there’s a policing guild,” Carl said without waiting for an answer. He tapped the painting, the splotches of color forming a realistic face only an illusion: a hologram. It could be noticed with how it glowed in the dark of the room, with the lights turned low spotlighting the paths one had to take through the room. He grinned.
“But you know why there’s a policing guild?” asked the hero again.
“Gee willikers,” said Max Manners, his only way to start the conversation since the transformation, “I don’t know!”
“Good, it’s still working over you. Maybe it’d help you change your mind on some of yer behaviors.”
Carl Jackson took another swig of the bottle of blue moonshine.
“Drinking, it’s bad, yknow. But being underage and using that to take advantage of people isn’t.”
Max froze in fear.
“Oh, golly,” he said, the words stammering, “what could you mean?”
“I know you’re thirty,” said the hero. “But I’m twenty-five and balding. Do you know how crap that is?”
“I didn’t choose to be a sidekick, sir.”
The first words that were legitimately his own. Max Manners surprised himself. But it wasn’t him that sounded like that; he became used to the voice of Max Manners, not the man he was before. Something was gravely wrong.
“And I didn’t choose to be a hero. You’d want to stay a sidekick, right? Less pressure to save the day, less stuff to do. You’re ever popular at that high school, where I see you looking at the teenage girls.”
Max knew that the Hero Jackson knew.
“Do you think he’d be okay,” the drunken hero said, tapping the illusion, “with your behaviors?”
“Sir, drinking is not good to do as a hero. Are you alright mister?”
“Don’t mister me!” shouted carl. “You’re not going anywhere. I have let the policing guild decide with what to do with you next.”
“I’m never going to be a sidekick anymore?” Maxwell trembled. He got away with everything. But now a misconception on his behaviors made it seem that he was a villain.
*Was he?* He thought hard on if he was, in that brief moment in the glows of the false paintings. He looked to the walls. Brutal stone. There was no way out. He was trapped. But what would he do now? He knew he messed up, heavily. He was the villain in this.
The hero grinned.
“No,” he said. “You’ll be the first villain this city has seen, just as we got you where you need to be.”
The doors opened, the roof opened, the walls opened, and pouring in came the police officers that made up the city’s policing guild. They grabbed Maxwell and jabbed something into his neck.
A serum.
“This serum is made for the possible chance that the sidekick or villain is a disgrace. You are one of them. Enjoy being an adult once more, behind bars.”
“Please!” cried Max Manners, whose voice began to modulate deeper and deeper, his clothes shifting to fit him. “This is a misunderstanding! I just wanted to live the moments of my life that were the happiest!”
“You’re a villain,” someone whispered behind him, then pulled out the serum. Max fell to the floor, breathing a deep raspy voice. It was never like this before.
“Villains never prosper,” said Carl Jackson. “But hopefully your truth will be an exposition of what we should truly be. You have ruined your chances, Max Manners. You’re the villain now.”
Max cried as his feet dragged under spotlights then to darkness. Something else he learned, though, was that the Hero knew. Carl Jackson knew, they all knew. It all made sense when they showed him how they gathered the evidence. But he wanted, deep inside, to be the hero. But he wasn't.
But he died that day, and instead a villain took his place. Max Manners was no more; the obituaries held the memory of the amazing high-school sidekick behind many captures, only found deceased when capturing the newest self-proclaimed rival to Carl Jackson and criminal Richard Rebel.
His classmates, unaware, mourned. | |
[WP] "Dude, trust me. Don't be a hero, be a sidekick. You get less pressure, less work to do, more fun, be more popular at school, never really age and if the hero dies you will always fill their mantle. Just be careful not to die." | The waitress flicked on the ancient TV in the corner, its screen fuzzing up with static before leveling out to show a grainy security tape. The camera looked out onto a quiet midtown street. Though difficult to see, the pre-war buildings nearby had dramatically tall windows, cast iron gates, and ivy climbing up the walls, giving it a modern patrician feel.
“Just two hours ago, six armed subversives stormed the Consulate General of Peru,” a CNN reporter announced.
The Astoria Diner, only about a quarter full before the lunch rush, fell silent. The patrons twisted in their seats to get a look at the scene playing out across the East river.
“We’ve learned that there are an estimated fourteen hostages, though that is unconfirmed. No terrorist groups have come forward to claim this attack, though an unnamed source within the Peruvian embassy believes this to be connected to the Chilian government. We have not received word yet on how the American government plans to address this attack on their soil, but we’ll keep you updated as the story progresses.”
Dax dropped his spoon into the now empty bowl of corn chowder, the metal clinking loudly. He closed his eyes, sighed and rubbed his stomach with contentment. Hmm… had his belly always stuck up this much? Might be time to take his dirty laundry off the Peleton and finally get back into classes like he’d been promising himself. Dax opened his eyes to find the rest of the diners look at him incredulously. A burley man in his late 50s was glaring daggers at him, obviously offended by Dax’s indifference.
Dax sighed again, miffed this time. This wasn’t the first time he had seen the hostage tape. In fact, Dax had arrived at the Consulate General of Peru a mere ten minutes after the situation began. He stood up and walked over to the aggrieved man, gesturing to the other side of the booth.
“Mind if I sit?”
The man nodded but said nothing.
“Look,” Dax said, “Those people are going to be fine. And they only have eleven hostages, not fourteen.”
“You don’t know that,” the man said, his eyebrows shading his face in skepticism.
“I do know that,” Dax replied. “I know that because I’m Professor Premonition.”
The man’s brows furrowed further. “You mean,” he croaked, “The Sonic Scream’s sidekick?”
Dax bristled. “I prefer partner.”
“If you’re Professor Premonition, where’s The Sonic Scream? Why aren’t you there helping?”
“What else is left for me to do?” Dax asked. “I warned the police yesterday, but they didn’t take me seriously. Even still, I gave them the tip that one of the hostages had a secret cell phone. I even went though the trouble to let the reporters know when it would be safe to call them. The Sonic Scream and the police have their plan, so why would I want to put myself close to all that danger?”
The waitress slid a hot coffee in front of Dax. He poured in a non-dairy creamer and took a small sip.
“Plus,” Dax said, “If I have another premonition, I can just as easily call my partner on the phone.” He waggled his beat-up Samsung in the air before setting it on the table. “Might as well do my job while eating the best corn chowder in town.”
The burley man rolled his eyes, obviously convinced that Dax was off his rocker.
“BREAKING NEWS” flooded red light from the TV into the dimly lit diner. The conversations died down as everyone paused again to listen.
“We go now to Tonya, on the scene of the Peurvian hostage crisis. Tonya?”
A reporter stood in front of a cloud of dust and quickly adjusted her blouse as the camera began rolling. People were streaming out of the building behind her.
“Moments ago, The Sonic Scream, superhero involved in the infamous Coney Island fire rescue as well as last month’s blob incident, saved the day once again. Following a SWAT team, the Scream incapacitated the gunmen, giving the hostages time to escape. No casualties and only mild injuries are reported. Truly amazing.”
A man emerged from the building, his bodysuit chalky with dust.
“Oh, Mr. Scream! Mr. Scream! May I have a word?” Tonya called.
“Sure, sure,” The Sonic Scream replied, jogging over. He had a small cut on his cheeks and bags under his eyes but was otherwise no worse for wear.
“Tell me,” the reporter asked, “how did you handle this situation so adeptly?”
“Well,” The Scream paused thoughtfully, “I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Professor Premonition. And of course the support of the good people of New…”
Dax pulled his eyes away from the screen and settled them on the man at the other end of the table. “Partner,” Dax repeated smugly.
“Another chowder for my friend here!” the burley man called to the kitchen, slapping Dax amicably on the back. | The breath of the hero smelled blue as they walked through the Fallen Heroes Memorial .
Each portrait they saw was a previous hero in the line of succession, the protectors of their city. Crime-fighters tend to die when fighting dirty people, like criminals. But regardless, he had something he wanted to show the sidekick. Alcohol caught on every wisp of the man’s breath, and he noticed it himself. Carl Jackson, the worst hero in the succession yet.
But Max Manners, standing by him, seemed the prime candidate. How he got there was a mystery, it wasn’t ever really explained how the policing guild chose their next hero-in-training, but here he was.
Carl Jackson waltzed through the pictures, looking for something. His strong arms held up his shoulders with every step, and his legs were shorter than normal. Max Manners knew that it had something to do with the transformation. Just ten years ago, five years before being chosen, Max Manners was a 20-year-old man with aspirations to become a rapper. Now he was a rapport. But he didn’t age himself, part of his own transformation; he actually looked younger and enjoyed the benefits of that.
But something caught the Hero’s eye, and he waved his sidekick to come see the painting he found.
“You see this man?” the hero said, his words slurred. “That’s Markus Hanover, the first hero of our city. He was the reason why this transformative power exists over us. You know what he did, right?”
Max had no idea what the man did, of course. There was nothing known about Markus. But he did know about the powers he casted, creating the succession.
“He’s why there’s a policing guild,” Carl said without waiting for an answer. He tapped the painting, the splotches of color forming a realistic face only an illusion: a hologram. It could be noticed with how it glowed in the dark of the room, with the lights turned low spotlighting the paths one had to take through the room. He grinned.
“But you know why there’s a policing guild?” asked the hero again.
“Gee willikers,” said Max Manners, his only way to start the conversation since the transformation, “I don’t know!”
“Good, it’s still working over you. Maybe it’d help you change your mind on some of yer behaviors.”
Carl Jackson took another swig of the bottle of blue moonshine.
“Drinking, it’s bad, yknow. But being underage and using that to take advantage of people isn’t.”
Max froze in fear.
“Oh, golly,” he said, the words stammering, “what could you mean?”
“I know you’re thirty,” said the hero. “But I’m twenty-five and balding. Do you know how crap that is?”
“I didn’t choose to be a sidekick, sir.”
The first words that were legitimately his own. Max Manners surprised himself. But it wasn’t him that sounded like that; he became used to the voice of Max Manners, not the man he was before. Something was gravely wrong.
“And I didn’t choose to be a hero. You’d want to stay a sidekick, right? Less pressure to save the day, less stuff to do. You’re ever popular at that high school, where I see you looking at the teenage girls.”
Max knew that the Hero Jackson knew.
“Do you think he’d be okay,” the drunken hero said, tapping the illusion, “with your behaviors?”
“Sir, drinking is not good to do as a hero. Are you alright mister?”
“Don’t mister me!” shouted carl. “You’re not going anywhere. I have let the policing guild decide with what to do with you next.”
“I’m never going to be a sidekick anymore?” Maxwell trembled. He got away with everything. But now a misconception on his behaviors made it seem that he was a villain.
*Was he?* He thought hard on if he was, in that brief moment in the glows of the false paintings. He looked to the walls. Brutal stone. There was no way out. He was trapped. But what would he do now? He knew he messed up, heavily. He was the villain in this.
The hero grinned.
“No,” he said. “You’ll be the first villain this city has seen, just as we got you where you need to be.”
The doors opened, the roof opened, the walls opened, and pouring in came the police officers that made up the city’s policing guild. They grabbed Maxwell and jabbed something into his neck.
A serum.
“This serum is made for the possible chance that the sidekick or villain is a disgrace. You are one of them. Enjoy being an adult once more, behind bars.”
“Please!” cried Max Manners, whose voice began to modulate deeper and deeper, his clothes shifting to fit him. “This is a misunderstanding! I just wanted to live the moments of my life that were the happiest!”
“You’re a villain,” someone whispered behind him, then pulled out the serum. Max fell to the floor, breathing a deep raspy voice. It was never like this before.
“Villains never prosper,” said Carl Jackson. “But hopefully your truth will be an exposition of what we should truly be. You have ruined your chances, Max Manners. You’re the villain now.”
Max cried as his feet dragged under spotlights then to darkness. Something else he learned, though, was that the Hero knew. Carl Jackson knew, they all knew. It all made sense when they showed him how they gathered the evidence. But he wanted, deep inside, to be the hero. But he wasn't.
But he died that day, and instead a villain took his place. Max Manners was no more; the obituaries held the memory of the amazing high-school sidekick behind many captures, only found deceased when capturing the newest self-proclaimed rival to Carl Jackson and criminal Richard Rebel.
His classmates, unaware, mourned. | |
[WP] "Dude, trust me. Don't be a hero, be a sidekick. You get less pressure, less work to do, more fun, be more popular at school, never really age and if the hero dies you will always fill their mantle. Just be careful not to die." | The waitress flicked on the ancient TV in the corner, its screen fuzzing up with static before leveling out to show a grainy security tape. The camera looked out onto a quiet midtown street. Though difficult to see, the pre-war buildings nearby had dramatically tall windows, cast iron gates, and ivy climbing up the walls, giving it a modern patrician feel.
“Just two hours ago, six armed subversives stormed the Consulate General of Peru,” a CNN reporter announced.
The Astoria Diner, only about a quarter full before the lunch rush, fell silent. The patrons twisted in their seats to get a look at the scene playing out across the East river.
“We’ve learned that there are an estimated fourteen hostages, though that is unconfirmed. No terrorist groups have come forward to claim this attack, though an unnamed source within the Peruvian embassy believes this to be connected to the Chilian government. We have not received word yet on how the American government plans to address this attack on their soil, but we’ll keep you updated as the story progresses.”
Dax dropped his spoon into the now empty bowl of corn chowder, the metal clinking loudly. He closed his eyes, sighed and rubbed his stomach with contentment. Hmm… had his belly always stuck up this much? Might be time to take his dirty laundry off the Peleton and finally get back into classes like he’d been promising himself. Dax opened his eyes to find the rest of the diners look at him incredulously. A burley man in his late 50s was glaring daggers at him, obviously offended by Dax’s indifference.
Dax sighed again, miffed this time. This wasn’t the first time he had seen the hostage tape. In fact, Dax had arrived at the Consulate General of Peru a mere ten minutes after the situation began. He stood up and walked over to the aggrieved man, gesturing to the other side of the booth.
“Mind if I sit?”
The man nodded but said nothing.
“Look,” Dax said, “Those people are going to be fine. And they only have eleven hostages, not fourteen.”
“You don’t know that,” the man said, his eyebrows shading his face in skepticism.
“I do know that,” Dax replied. “I know that because I’m Professor Premonition.”
The man’s brows furrowed further. “You mean,” he croaked, “The Sonic Scream’s sidekick?”
Dax bristled. “I prefer partner.”
“If you’re Professor Premonition, where’s The Sonic Scream? Why aren’t you there helping?”
“What else is left for me to do?” Dax asked. “I warned the police yesterday, but they didn’t take me seriously. Even still, I gave them the tip that one of the hostages had a secret cell phone. I even went though the trouble to let the reporters know when it would be safe to call them. The Sonic Scream and the police have their plan, so why would I want to put myself close to all that danger?”
The waitress slid a hot coffee in front of Dax. He poured in a non-dairy creamer and took a small sip.
“Plus,” Dax said, “If I have another premonition, I can just as easily call my partner on the phone.” He waggled his beat-up Samsung in the air before setting it on the table. “Might as well do my job while eating the best corn chowder in town.”
The burley man rolled his eyes, obviously convinced that Dax was off his rocker.
“BREAKING NEWS” flooded red light from the TV into the dimly lit diner. The conversations died down as everyone paused again to listen.
“We go now to Tonya, on the scene of the Peurvian hostage crisis. Tonya?”
A reporter stood in front of a cloud of dust and quickly adjusted her blouse as the camera began rolling. People were streaming out of the building behind her.
“Moments ago, The Sonic Scream, superhero involved in the infamous Coney Island fire rescue as well as last month’s blob incident, saved the day once again. Following a SWAT team, the Scream incapacitated the gunmen, giving the hostages time to escape. No casualties and only mild injuries are reported. Truly amazing.”
A man emerged from the building, his bodysuit chalky with dust.
“Oh, Mr. Scream! Mr. Scream! May I have a word?” Tonya called.
“Sure, sure,” The Sonic Scream replied, jogging over. He had a small cut on his cheeks and bags under his eyes but was otherwise no worse for wear.
“Tell me,” the reporter asked, “how did you handle this situation so adeptly?”
“Well,” The Scream paused thoughtfully, “I couldn’t have done it without my partner, Professor Premonition. And of course the support of the good people of New…”
Dax pulled his eyes away from the screen and settled them on the man at the other end of the table. “Partner,” Dax repeated smugly.
“Another chowder for my friend here!” the burley man called to the kitchen, slapping Dax amicably on the back. | *”Today on TMZ, Jolly is having her Britney breakdown. The former teen sidekick and reality TV star was captured at Papinno’s throwing a chair through the restaurant’s window. More later with an exclusive interview with her waiter, but fi—“* Jolly turned off the television and threw the remote on the other side of her sectional couch.
*”FUCK”* She screamed, fighting back the tears. Her life is ruined. For fifteen years and 12 seasons, her reality show *Jolly Girl in the Real World* served as a vehicle for her brand. Without her television show sponsors may pull out of their deals, and if they weren’t, they will after TMZ is done documenting her fall from popularity. Jolly doesn’t want to do the *hero* circuit of conventions a lot of the lower rank heroes do once they retired, and she doesn’t want to start an *Only Fans* account like upcoming superheroines have. She’s too old and famous for that. At 37, her career is over.
She paced around her downtown New York penthouse thinking of things she can do. Maybe she could pitch a television show about her training to become a hero? Maybe she can act? Surely people don’t remember her first failed straight to home video movie *Jolly Girl’s Jolly Adventure* when she was a teenager.
Frustrated, she went into the kitchen, taking a Merlot from the wine chiller and placed it on the island. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard.
“Make that two glasses.” She dropped the glass in fright as the man’s voice surprised her. The glass shattered on the ground.
“For fuck’s sake, seriously George?” She yelled, grabbing a single glass. Turning around towards the island, she cut her feet. The glass on the floor didn’t hurt when she stepped on it, and her foot bled a little. It’ll heal up in a few minutes, good as new. The maid can clean the mess in the morning.
“Sorry Jolly.” George laughed. Better known to the world as *Action Man*, he is one of the city’s many superheroes. Dressed in a full one-piece rubber costume that showed off his muscles, his costume is more functional than fashion. Jolly never liked George’s plain old look. It almost looked like a condom on a dick with utility pouches around it.
“What are you even doing here?” Jolly asked, pouring herself a glass of Merlot. George went to grab the glass after she poured it, but pulled it away.
“Yeah fuck you, you scared me. Get your own fucking glass.” She commented.
George rolled his eyes and walked over to Jolly’s side of the island, careful not to step on any of the broken glass. He doesn’t have super healing or pain tolerance like Jolly does. It’s part of the reason the first Action Man called her Jolly in school, because she doesn’t feel physical pain.
“I heard your scream a few blocks away. I wanted to check-in.” George said, tapping his ear. He stood beside her, leaning on the Island, pouring himself a glass of wine.
“You could have knocked, or better yet sent me a text.” Jolly criticized.
“So you can just read it and never respond? What’s the fun of being a superhero if I can’t just magically pop up in unexpected places?” George smiled.
“Fuck you George. This is your fucking fault.” Jolly said. While she can’t feel physical pain, she can feel emotional pain and masking it with day and night drinking doesn’t seem to be very effective.
“How is this my fault? You live in a fucking penthouse in downtown New York, your only job is to post something on Instagram and let cameras film you go on vacation. If it’s my fault, I deserve a fucking thanks. You’re not the one putting your life on the line fighting no name criminals for no pay and having to wake up at 6am to get to work at the supermarket stocking produce.”
“You told me I shouldn’t be a hero. You said I should just finish up being a sidekick. You convinced me it was the smarter choice because there was less pressure, less work to do, and it was more fun. And guess what? I didn’t become Action Woman, instead I became fucking *MTV’s Jolly*.”
George paused. He said that sixteen years ago when he and Jolly were an item. Jolly was on track to take Action Man’s mantle as *Action Woman*.
“I…” George paused, considering what he will say.
“You what? You fucking got jealous of my talent and you convinced me to stepdown from the program and stay as a sidekick because it scared you I would die in the field? Or because I would take over your father’s mantle as Action Man?”
Jolly was super aggressive, George didn’t understand where this resentful hate was coming from.
“That was sixteen years ago. Look where you are now? Models don’t have what you have. Why bring this up now? You seemed happy when you’re on the red carpet talking to reporters. Or when you go on dates with actors.” George tried to remain positive. How can she be still mad at something that happened so long ago and never bring it up after all this time?
“Yeah, because you don’t fucking know what it’s like. I *dated* actors? Or did I fuck them so I can stay relevant and have content for my reality show? Did my sex tape magically get released or did I release it so I can stay relevant? I beg the public to like me, they like you because of what you do.”
George stood silent. Both of them finished their glasses of Merlot. There was a thick silence in the air, and both of them were uncomfortable. They attended superhero school together, they dated, and became a family when Action Man took Jolly in. Now the family is broken apart over a legacy that could have been shared.
Jolly turned around to go under the sink to pullout the handheld vacuum for the kitchen to clean up the glass. She sucked up the glass and put the vacuum away.
“George, did you really want to be a superhero or did you feel you had to be one?”
By the time she turned around *Action Man* was gone.
“Typical.” She cried. | |
[WP] People love your “random objects are actually cake” videos. Little do they know, you actually possess an enchanted knife that turns anything it cuts into cake, and you’re willing to use it to keep your secret. | *This should be interesting. It's an easy paycheck and I'll get a boost on Instagram.*
The picturesque English countryside was as beautiful as on TV. The trademark massive tent was surrounded by an army of people from the production. The director asked James to wait outside for the "reveal."
Inside the tent, the hosts Noel and Sandi were up front, and each of the baker contestants waited attentively at their workstations.
Sandi began, "Good Morning, contestants, and welcome to week four of the Great British Bake Off."
Sandi and Noel were both holding leather bound books.
Noel followed up, "This week, we're hitting the books."
Sandi continued, "That's right, a challenge that is long *overdue.*"
The contestants all looked confused.
Sandi and Noel both bit into their books revealing that their books were really cakes.
The contestants reacted overly surprised for the cameras.
Sandi explained, "You guessed it. For this week's show stopper challenge, you be making look alike cakes. Joining us this week is extra special guest judge, James Whaley. You've probably seen his amazing illusion cakes on social media. Come on out James!"
James entered the tent and stood along side the hosts.
James began, "Good morning, bakers. You'll be judged on how good your illusion cakes are, but don't......."
*Oh shit; she's here.*
Alice Porter was also popular on Instagram for illusion cakes. She had almost as many followers as James. They were bitter rivals. Alice accused James of having someone else complete his bakes, while he only made the reveal slices.
"......don't forget.........," stammered James.
"CUT!" commanded the director. "Flavor. Don't forget flavor. Let's run it again. Take a few deep breaths, James. Everyone screws up their first time. Paul Hollywood was a mess in the earlier seasons."
Alice did not seem threatening in her knee length mid century dress and apron. Her shtick was 50's housewife baker and it was profitable on her socials. She locked eyes with James in a death stare. After a few takes, James got the lines right.
"Contestants, you'll have three and a half hours to complete your showstopper illusion cakes."
"On your marks."
"Get set."
"Baaaaaaake," sang the hosts in unison.
The tent erupted into a frenzy of flour and sugar. Mixers whirred and pots of water were boiling. Half way through the time, the judges entered the tent to offer their critiques. Most contestants were of to a good start. They had some ambitious illusion cakes like a sleeping dog, a flower bouquet, and plate of fish and chips. One contestant, Patrick, was attempting a Christmas tree with blown sugar glass, but his pot had turned to burnt caramel.
*This guy is going home.*
Paul, Prue, and James made the rounds and stopped at Alice's workstation.
Paul asked, "Alice, what kind of illusion are you going for?"
Alice smiled and responded in her warmest mom voice, "I'm making a velvet pillow with the crown and scepters of the Queen."
Prue reacted, "Ambitious!"
The producers had advised Paul to stir up some drama so he said, "Alice, I hear you have a bit of a rivalry with James, here."
She replied in an icy tone, "I respect all bakers. In fact, I'd like James' opinion. James, in a Victorian sponge what do you use as a leavening agent?"
*She's trying to call me out, publicly.*
James was caught of guard when he said,"....er....baking soda.....or egg whites, or both depending on the kind of illusion I'm trying to create."
Alice smiled knowingly.
Paul wrapped up, "Well thank you Alice, you've got a lot of work ahead of you. We'll leave you to it."
The contestants worked furiously up until the last second. There were some impressive cakes and a clear failure from Patrick, but Alice's pillow and crown was the clear winner. The production took a break for lunch before filming the judging and tasting.
Alice confronted James, "You're a fraud. You don't know the first thing about baking. I'm going to expose you during judging and you'll be ruined. I'll be the Queen of cakes on Instagram."
She lit a cigarette and sauntered off behind the tent.
*That's never gonna happen.*
James tapped the knife in his pocket. He discovered it in his basement when he moved in. He didn't know it's origin, but it had the power to transform anything into cake. It had made him very popular on the 'gram and the sponsorships had been lucrative.
*I've never tried. Will this work?*
James rushed around the tent to find Alice.
"Alice! Patrick is in the tent by your workstation. I think he's trying to sabotage your cake!"
She dropped her cigarette, picked up a tent flap and went inside. James followed. None of the cast or crew was allowed in the tent so they were alone. Alice rushed to her cake, but it was perfect and pristine
She turned on James, "What's the big idea? Patrick isn't here; what are you up to?
He replied, "You were right the whole time. I know jack shit about baking. I'm not gonna be taken down by some Suzie homemaker."
Alice smiled triumphantly and that's when James jabbed the knife into her side. Her face was frozen in that smile. There was no blood, the knife came out clean like a perfectly baked cake.
*This is gonna be my most popular post. A cake made out of my rival.*
It was an impressive cake. Her face was impeccable marzipan with film level makeup. Her dress and apron was seamless fondant. James took out his phone and recorded.
*So long, bitch.*
He drove the knife into her forehead and pulled down. Her face fell away revealing precise layers of Genoise sponge cake with Italian buttercream.
James stopped recording and smashed the rest of her cake body into an unrecognizable mush. He gleefully smashed her crown and pillow cake into the confectionery gore. He washed his hands and sneaked out of the tent.
It went on to become of the highest rated episodes of Great British Bake Off. The reality narrative was that Alice had gone crazy under the stress, smashed her creation, and fled the production.
James spun that he had created a cake to resemble Alice in order to honor her memory. He receive tons of praise and likes on the 'gram. The network asked him to come back as a series regular judge.
A few months later, Paul Hollywood caught James on set before filming the new season.
Paul asked, "Hey, James. I could really use a boost on the socials. Do you think you could make a cake that looks like me? Be extra attentive to my eyes; the fans love them."
James smiled, "It would be my honor, Paul."
[https://old.reddit.com/user/Domestic_Adonis/](/u/Domestic_Adonis) | Over the course of a few years, I've gotten fame and adoration, scorn and disbelief. People have praised and doubted my creations, and some even tried to expose the "truth" about me. But of course, the truth is not so easily obtained.
People would often lurk around where I live, gathering evidence of my life, sometimes even breaking into my house. Though most of them leave empty handed, some did manage to get a glimpse of the secret I hold dear. It is them that experienced what I can truly do.
They, who I've caught snooping around and learning of my secret, ended up in my table. They, who tried so hard to reveal the truth, found out what happens when you do. After all, they sat there on my table, eager to eat the next piece of cake served from my enchanted knife.
They didn't believe it at first, of course, but they don't really have a choice when they can see the truth they so desperately seek before their very eyes. And once they know the truth, they knew they won't be able to reveal it.
After all, it's not everyday that they get to taste *their limbs.* | |
[WP] People love your “random objects are actually cake” videos. Little do they know, you actually possess an enchanted knife that turns anything it cuts into cake, and you’re willing to use it to keep your secret. | I definitely bit off more than I could chew this time.
This guy was way too well-known. Not only were people going to notice his disappearance, but it was going to garner a lot more than just local news coverage. Nope, this was going global, and I guess my little bakery was too.
I was usually so careful. I never lost my temper. But this guy, this client, just pushed me too far. Only to protect my secret, I always said. But not this time.
Most small businesses can only dream of the kind of publicity I was about to get, but I was dreading seeing tomorrow’s headline. There was nothing I could do now but wait and deliver the cake to the party like nothing was wrong.
At a quarter to 6, I force myself to load my abomination into my catering van. I sit for a moment after arriving at the venue, steeling myself for what I’m about to do. My stomach roils as I cart the confection through the door, in full view of the array of staff who stop and stare, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed at the size and eerily lifelike countenance of my apparent masterpiece. After they recover from their stunned silence, I accept their praise with all the enthusiasm I can muster.
Going into this gig, I knew it might be step too far into the spotlight but the money and prestige were just too good to pass up! Why, oh why did I have to go and potentially blow everything I’d worked for? My little shop on Ash St. had easily fulfilled all my desires thus far. I kept it stocked with a wide array of novelty cakes in the shape of any mundane or wacky household item imaginable, varying wildly from week to week so that people flocked to see my new designs. I had a successful YouTube channel and social media accounts where I would post satisfying clips of my cakes being cut open. I had a loyal customer base built up who were willing to accept my “quirky” refusal to do any sort of customization as far as flavours or fillings. I even got regular token deliveries of flour, sugar, and other baking essentials to avoid suspicion. And if anyone noticed the tiny seam cut already down one side of each cake, well, they’d never complained.
It had been the work of years, building this business with hyper-realistic cakes created from ordinary items by my enchanted cake knife, and I just blew it. I never meant to start doing people. I mean, the couple of times folks requested I recreate their pets I’d flat-out refused. I didn’t even know if the enchantment would work on living things, and I had told myself that I didn’t want to find out.
But then there was that block party... So many guests!They wanted a big, impressive cake and I had full creative power. I was gonna do a nice microwave or maybe some other boxy kitchen appliance that would feed a crowd but my insufferably nosy neighbour, Mrs. Comfrey, just couldn’t seem to stay out of my business that weekend. Constantly hovering, I couldn’t leave the house without running into her. She called at least a half a dozen times for updates on the cake, as I’d made the mistake of telling her I hadn’t started it yet.
By Saturday evening I was so fed up with her that I almost slammed the door in her face when she showed up on my doorstep. But then she blurted -
“How on earth did you do that? I was watching through the window and-”
I let her inside wordlessly as she launched into a stream of questions. I knew I couldn’t let her leave and spread my secret. Panicking, I reached out with my cake knife and slashed at her wildly gesticulating hands. The blade caught the tip of her pinky finger and took it cleanly off.
Mrs. Comfrey froze in place. My heart beat out a frantic rhythm as I realized what I had done. Don’t let there be blood, I begged silently, not daring to move. I stayed rooted there for what felt like forever, waiting for the shrieking to start - but it never came. I peered closer at the stump of her finger and realized with relief that the dark red ooze pooling there was not blood but rather the cherry filling from a beautiful Black Forest cake!
The block party that evening was a huge success. The turnout was fantastic and the entertainment was captivating, but my cake stole the show. Everyone loved the Mrs. Comfrey cake, which was more than could be said of her in life...
Although no one seemed to notice her absence much, the Mrs. Comfrey incident did make me more careful with my knife. Apart from a couple of other incidents where people almost found out what my knife could do, I’d built a very successful business with very few casualties.
But this time... This time I’d gone too far. I watched from my van as guests started arriving at the White House. Soon they would know. As soon as the President failed to arrive to host the dinner, suspicions would turn to me: the creator of the life-sized and horrifyingly realistic cake and the last person to see the President alive. | ‘People will eat ANYTHING if it looks and tastes like cake.’
My father told me this when I was a small warlock.
One day, he gave me his enchanted knife. Turned anything into cake. I dubbed it cakeomatic after late night commercials many of you will have forgotten.
My mom was not as nice as my pa. She asked him to use the knife for bad things. For her family.
I didn’t get it when I was small (who would?). But the mob took a special interest in me in my late teens. Ma made sure.
It began softly. Cake a gun at a crime scene. Make a knife look like a cartoon cake. Hide the weapon.
Then it became more serious: hide the body. That happened in my 20s. Make bodies into cake. No evidence = no hit. Gods. I hope no one ate these!
I was the best at hiding evidence thanks to ‘Rusty Bent’, my knife from my Pa. Ok, not eloquently named, but sure as hell apt. The knife was garbage bar it’s abilities. Carving? No. Slicing? No. You name it? No. Transmogrifying, yes.
Mob bosses fought for my gifts. Became a bidding war. Uglier than their kills they were trying to cover up.
It was....unpleasant
I would never tell due to a 1,001 rationalizations.
But, I knew. | |
[WP] People love your “random objects are actually cake” videos. Little do they know, you actually possess an enchanted knife that turns anything it cuts into cake, and you’re willing to use it to keep your secret. | “Again, I appreciate the interview,” he said, waving away a fly that had managed to sneak its way in the house. “I think it’ll be a great piece for the site.”
I nodded, my eyes wild from the coffee I’d been chugging, so caffeinated I thought my heart could vibrate. It had been dumb to agree to an interview, but I always loved thumbing through editorial shots of cookies and brownies in Baked magazine, and now, I’d be there too. In this case, catty-cornered in between a small forest of banzai cakes, but there nonetheless. Next time, maybe my own cakes could be there too.
The journalist, a short wispy man, stood and walked over to the kitchen island. There was no hesitation when he dipped his finger into the green frosting, and he shook his head when sugar met tastebud.
“I can barely believe it. It’s so photorealistic but as soon as you touch it, it’s something else entirely. And I can’t get over the—“
“Marzipan.”
They always tasted like marzipan. Sometimes, when the original object was complex, the flavor would be so strong it would turn bitter, stinging your mouth in protest of your unnatural creation.
“Yes, marzipan, of course.”
The man waved away a fly and took another swipe at the frosting. The fly landed on the cutting knife and I swallowed hard, not noticing that the man had turned back around to look at me until I heard the gentle clearing of his throat.
“You know, there are some crazy conspiracies about your cakes.”
“I know, but like I mentioned in the interview I just stick to color correction. No photoshop,” I reiterated.
“Not just that.”
He looked toward the sugared greenery set under delicate white plates, carefully matching linens and two mugs of steaming coffee. As usual, there was no mention of the presentation, even if it was a good showcase of my skills. They only cared about the cakes.
My eyes narrowed as his fingertips slipped dangerously close to the knife. The fly, drunk on sugar, gave the distraction needed to move his hand away and bring his attention back towards me. He brushed it away from his face.
“People, no matter what it is, want to believe something more. Even if it’s crazy. Illuminati, cults, conspiracies,” his tone seemed humorous, but his expression looked restrained.
“Are you asserting that I might be the Illuminati’s personal pastry chef?” I joked.
“On the contrary, I don’t know if I believe you bake cakes.”
My chest constricted sharply, forcing out a laugh. How much did he know?
He crossed his arms and continued, “Some say that there were never any cakes at all. That an enchanted knife from an old witch turns things to cakes.”
“Well that’s a cute story, but what do you believe?”
He smiled then, and for a second I thought this could end well.
“I believe that the House of Gretel would like their knife returned.”
My blood ran cold. He didn’t just know. I had been found. Before I could raise a hand to convince him otherwise, he reached for the knife.
His fingers made a satisfying squelching noise as they dug into vanilla crumb and lemon buttercream. I had an ego, but I had prepared for all options. I grimaced and reached for my waistband.
“I am careful with my things. Clearly, much more carful hand either Hansel or Gretel’s houses bother to be with their own. Tell me, do they ever explain to you why the ones sent looking for the knife never return?”
By time he looked down, I was already slicing him at the wrist. The stench of marzipan began to fill the kitchen, raspberry compote sinking into the grout in between marble slabs. I pulled his collar and leaned in close enough for him to smell my breath.
“I’m afraid the secret is my terrible sweet-tooth.”
The knife slid into his chest easy, as it always did with a good cake. The kitchen smelled worse than a dessert candle burned too long in a small room, but I wiped a bit of frosting onto my fingertip absentmindedly as crumb spilled from his chest.
The taste was sweet in the way only a new challenge could be. It was time to end this for once and for all. The knife was mine, and I would but a stop to those damned twins to keep it. | "This is so realistic," they say. "How do you do it?"
"Well, it takes lots of practice, and lots of tries. You should've seen my earlier attempts- they look like Picasso paintings!"
And then they'll laugh, and take another bite of the cake.
And then I'll smile, and my secret will be safe.
This time, it was my coworker Vanessa. I'll have to switch bakeries now, or maybe go freelance. I don't want to have people trying to steal my secret.
Don't get me wrong, it's flattering. I didn't realize how far up I could go with this. I never pleased the critics before- hell, I didn't have critics at all.
But with my special little knife, they're like dough in my hands, every last one of them.
I wink over at the cute young reporter to my right. He'll be next. | |
[WP] People love your “random objects are actually cake” videos. Little do they know, you actually possess an enchanted knife that turns anything it cuts into cake, and you’re willing to use it to keep your secret. | "Your latest video was a bit too on-the-nose, Mister Church," the detective said, mockingly.
"Eh? I don't know what you mean." I tried to sound innocent--as innocent as one can sound sitting in an interrogation room in a prisoner's uniform, handcuffed to a table.
"Your *Missing Pieces* series. You'd show up where someone had recently disappeared, with a cake made in the form of the missing person. You'd serve it to the searchers and to passers-by, and say it was an art project to bring attention to the problem of homelessness or domestic violence or whatever."
"It won a Creator Award, you know," I said with no small pride.
"The last one was of a boy who disappeared in your own neighborhood," he went on. "He changed clothes before going out that night, but his mom didn't know, so the flyers got his clothes wrong."
He leaned toward me. "*But your cake got them right.*"
Well, shit.
"That got us a warrant. And the warrant got us this."
He pulled it from the paper sack and laid it on the table, wrapped in a clear plastic evidence bag.
It was my gem-encrusted, Damascus-steel-bladed knife. The one that I'd found in the souks of Marrakech years before. The one for which an ancient sorcerer, thinly disguised as a simple merchant, had spun a millennia-spanning history to me, and then had before my eyes sliced a living tortoise in half to reveal a cake as light and delicious as I have ever tasted.
The knife for which I, an unknown, unsuccessful pastry chef at the time, had gladly traded my everlasting soul.
"The blade itself is as clean as a surgical scalpel, Mister Church. But the *handle*... well, we found traces of the blood of 18 different people there. *18*, Church. Want to explain that?"
The knife was within my reach, but with my hands cuffed to the table, I couldn't have threatened anyone even if I got hold of it.
But I grabbed it anyway.
"Have you ever seen *Bucket of Blood,* detective?" I asked, and jabbed the point of the blade through the plastic bag and into the flesh of my other hand.
And I saw what was inside.
I never knew until that first cut what kind of cake someone might be. My last thought was how ironic it was that I had turned out to be devil's food. | "This is so realistic," they say. "How do you do it?"
"Well, it takes lots of practice, and lots of tries. You should've seen my earlier attempts- they look like Picasso paintings!"
And then they'll laugh, and take another bite of the cake.
And then I'll smile, and my secret will be safe.
This time, it was my coworker Vanessa. I'll have to switch bakeries now, or maybe go freelance. I don't want to have people trying to steal my secret.
Don't get me wrong, it's flattering. I didn't realize how far up I could go with this. I never pleased the critics before- hell, I didn't have critics at all.
But with my special little knife, they're like dough in my hands, every last one of them.
I wink over at the cute young reporter to my right. He'll be next. | |
[WP] You are sent to hell for a crime that you didn't commit. Now you have to somehow prove your innocence from beyond the grave to get out. | Oscar Coleman was in Hell. There was nothing inherently hellish about the black carpet, the dark-brown sofas, or the red curtains on the walls that may or may not have concealed windows, but nonetheless the moment Oscar opened his eyes he knew with unquestionable certainty that this was indeed Hell. The single glance it took to notice the reception desk with a red-skinned, horned, and bespectacled demon behind it only confirmed this supernatural gut feeling. She—if that word could even be applied to such a creature—was dressed surprisingly human: a long-sleeved white blouse, a pair of black fingerless gloves, and the spectacles Oscar noticed first.
“Mr Coleman,” her high-pitched harsh voice called out. “Please step forward.”
Oscar’s mind began to race. He didn’t belong here. He could not belong here. His palms were sweating, which was strange given how his body would have to be dead, but that thought was too complicated to dwell on any longer. How did he die? What happened? What possible offence could he have committed to end up in Hell? These thoughts ran circles in Oscar’s mind until there was little distinction between them.
“Mr Coleman!” the receptionist repeated her demand, louder.
With a resigned slump of his shoulders, Oscar approached the desk. The fiery amber eyes behind the spectacles pierced him with an annoyed stare.
“Oscar Coleman, you are hereby sentenced to an eternity in Hell for the murder of Arthur Chance. Your assigned tortures for the next year will be boiling tar, heated blades, dehydration, and freezing cold. Dismissed.”
For a few seconds, Oscar stopped thinking. One thing in that strange statement baffled him enough to overpower even the fear of torture. It must have been some grave cosmical error. Yet in that error, he knew, lay the path to his salvation. Oscar had never in his life known a single person by the name of Arthur Chance.
“This is a mistake,” he muttered, stumbling over words. “This has to be a mistake.”
“I’ve heard that enough times.” The receptionist sighed. “Just go along, someone will show you the way to your first assigned torture.”
“But I don’t even know anyone named Arthur Chance.”
“You don’t?” She raised an eyebrow. “It says here that you murdered him in cold blood after planning it for three days.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you! Something is wrong!”
There was silence. She stared at him for what felt like a full minute, tapping one of her long claws on the wood of the desk. Then, without saying another word, she picked up the receiver of an old rotary telephone to her right and dialed a number. The conversation that followed was not in any language Oscar knew or even recognized, but the confusion in the demon’s voice gave him just the tiniest bit of hope that perhaps not yet all was lost.
Suddenly, she slammed the receiver down and turned back to face him. “You can go make your case in the Department of Appeals. Follow the signs in the hall. Apparently there is something wrong with the paperwork, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, Mr Coleman. If you’re here, you’re here for a reason.”
Oscar barely heard the last remark as his feet were already sending him full-speed through the door behind the reception desk. Signs pointed him from hallway to hallway, up and down stairs, sometimes even in contradicting directions. Architecture and furnishing changed between black-red tidy offices, bleeding flesh-walls, damp caves, and many indescribable sights, but even in the darkest, most unearthly part of this place there was always the simple inscription guiding him: “Department of Appeals.” At last, it appeared above a doorway.
Two knocks and a quick raspy “come in” later, he was inside. A demon in a business suit sat in the middle of a mountainous castle of paperwork. His long bent neck was not unlike that of a crane. His big, unnaturally smooth face sported two beady eyes and a mouth full of jagged teeth. It had no other features to speak of. Two hands that seemed to extend as far as possible transferred papers from one humongous pile to another without any outwardly recognisable reason or system.
“How may I help you?” the demon asked. For some reason his voice made Oscar think of sandpaper.
“I’m here to appeal my sentence. I’ve been accused of something I could not have done.”
The demon fetched another paper and began writing on it. Whether this was related to his case or not, Oscar could not tell.
“Name?” he asked.
“Oscar Coleman.”
“Place of birth?”
“Luton, England.”
“Place of death?”
“I… I’m not sure.”
The demon stopped for a second and looked up at Oscar. The beady eyes almost disappeared into his face as they drilled into him with a suspicious glare. “You’re not sure?”
“I don’t remember my death.”
“Hm… Strange. Definitely strange. I can’t say this looks good for your appeal.”
“But I’m telling the truth!”
There was another moment of silence, almost identical to the one that happened at the reception desk. Without saying more, the creature fished out a photograph of a large burly black man in his forties. Something about him looked unpleasant, though Oscar couldn’t say what.
“This is Arthur Chance,” the demon said.
“Well I can definitely say I’ve never met or heard of this man. How did I supposedly kill him?”
“He was your neighbour,” the demon explained, emotionlessly. “You invited him to dinner after several disagreements and, while his back was to you, bashed his brains out with a hammer. You then hid the body and lied to the police.”
“I can safely say none of that happened. No one like that even lives in my neighbourhood. I don’t think they would allow him here.” Oscar wasn’t sure what he meant by that final comment, but it was difficult to stop talking. He felt compelled to go on. “I’ve never lied to the police. I’ve been an upstanding law-abiding citizen my whole life. I visited the church.” But not often. “I donated to charity.” But not too much. “I don’t belong here.”
“Fine,” the demon said, surprisingly quickly. “I’ll consider your appeal. However, we can’t register it before this issue with your place of death is dealt with. A request to the archive is in order. Pick up form 11A-C from Becky on floor seven and head over there.”
“From whom?”
“Next!” the demon’s neck raised its head far above Oscar as he shouted at the door. Before he could recognize what was going on, Oscar was outside the door. He was fairly sure that he didn’t leave or get pushed out. One second he was in the room, the next… Well, there wasn’t much time to dwell on it, and something told him that trying to go back in wasn’t a good idea. Floor seven then. | "It's unheard of. A trial to get out of hell."
"There is no way he will win. The man is obviously guilty, I mean look at those eyes. They were black as night before he came down here!"
Just then a creature with the legs of a spider and torso of a man walked up and said, "SILENCE! All rise, Court of Hell is now in session, Dishonorable Judge Lucifer presiding. Any soul having motion to make a pleading come forth. Curse the court and may we all burn for eternity.
A tall man, red as fire walked up a flight of stairs made of human bones. He sat on a chair of molted lava. As he was seated he said, "Take your seats, let us settle this foolishness."
The young man bound in chains stepped forward. Periodically the chains would glow red hot and burn the man before cooling off, allowing his wounds to heal. The mans face would grimace but he wouldn't make a sound.
"Before we begin, the prosecutor has told me that you denied the plea bargain? What was it, eternity in hell with a single day every one hundred years to spend on Earth. Quite generous if you ask me."
"I do not accept. I will plead my case and take my chance with the court."
A cold smile appeared on the Lucifer and he said, "You do have some fight in you. Very well, plea is denied, the prosecutor may start with their opening statements."
A quick murmur of excitement went through the crowd lasting no more than a second. All of the demons had been summoned to witness this historic trial.
From off to the side a young man appeared from the shadows. His skin was dark, and his smile cruel. Dressed in an all black suit, he had a hint of blue fire in his eyes that accented the coldness surrounding him. The man in chains looked over and a flash of surprise showed on his face. The man he would be going against, was the man who made the deal for his soul.
The man walked forward towards Lucifer and bowed, "Father." Raising his voice he addressed the demons, "And all the rest of you, my condemned brothers!" A dark cheer erupted from the crowd. Lucifer raised a single hand and it died instantly.
"Today, we have a first. A soul that doesn't belong. At least, that is what he would have you believe. He will say he *signed* the contract, to collect his soul. He followed *all* the rules. But did he? Yes, he ended up in hell. His soul forever cursed to be tortured for eternity; But how did we get to this moment? No soul has *ever* held the power to summon our Father to plead his innocence. What power then, what item, what *God given* ability has led to this betrayal of our most sacred contract? I witnessed the signing myself. I held the parchment in my hand, heard his wish, and granted it. I watched his blood dry to seal the contract and carried it *myself*, to our father. The contract was binding. This man, this enslaved soul, has broken our laws and we must demand to know how!
The crowd went crazy and began to stir. Once again, Lucifer raised a single hand and the crowd went silent. "The defense may now make their opening statement. *'Snap*'
The chains fell from William. Rubbing his wrists he noticed all his wounds were healed again, the pain completely gone.
Looking around the room once before beginning, he took a deep breath to calm himself and started, "My lord, and all demons of hell, I come today to plead for my eternal soul."
Ancient howls and screaming erupted from the crowd sending shiver down Williams spine. Lucifer smiled for a moment before silencing them.
"What the prosecutor said is true, I did sign that contract, and I did make a deal for an eternal soul." Smiling a bit he said, "Just not my soul." The crowd erupted in anger and screaming.Lucifer stood up slamming down his staff, flames erupting around the room. Silence took the chamber. Looking over William saw the prosecutor giving him a look of rage, the blue flames shooting from his eyes.
Lucifer spoke, "I'm warning you, only this once, do not attempt to make a fool of me, here of all places. I can make you quite uncomfortable during these proceedings. Without warning a thin wire appeared and wrapped around Williams wrist until his hand fell off. His face writhed in pain and his scream echoed through the chamber. When he looked down his hand was back on his wrist and Lucifer was seated, a satisfied look on his face. "Proceed, but tread lightly."
"Apologies my lord. Allow me to clarify."
"Please, do. And quickly."
"I'm sure most of you weren't awake yet, at the beginning. Few were, and fewer still remain. My lord Lucifer, you must remember the day your father created the humans. Small, pathetic creatures. So gullible, unworthy of the effort it took to bring them life. A simple apple should have been the end of it. But God couldn't let go of the abominations he created. He allowed them to breed."
Lucifer had leaned forward, listening intently.
"He *did* get one thing right. One secret he kept to himself and only one other. A secret that he thought forever safe, for the one he entrusted, his first born son, would never betray him."
Lucifer stood up, eyes wide, "It cannot be."
"My lord, I am the last eternal." | |
[WP] Magic lutes and magic flutes? Common. Enchanted guitars? Boring. Yet for the first time in a while, the bard in your party looks excited by the dungeon loot. Leaning over, you see it: a max-level sorcerous drum kit. | "I'm serious! Do you know how *hard* it is to get decent percussion in a dungeon? Clapping your hands is *not* an acceptable substitute."
The massive chest at the bottom of the dungeon contained a full set of drums - two snares, a bass drum, a high-hat and a cymbal - all of them glowing with high-level magic. Barron had been so excited to find them that he had unpacked the entire set right then and there, and they floated weightlessly around him, following his movements.
"It's an entire set! Even if it was just the levitation enchantment this would be worth the price of admission."
"It had better be. Ragnar took a beating from those gargoyles. I'm basically down to bandages and splints," Joseph, our cleric, looked from where he was patching up our fighter.
"I take it that percussion is important for bard magic?"
I was a wizard of the College, and to me, magic came from books. No matter how much Barron waxed poetic about the power of music, I couldn't see how that turned into real arcane magic. But the power of Barron's guitar was undeniable - when he started to play, everyone became stronger, swifter, able to take on any challenge.
"It's essential. It's *primordial.* Drums were the very first instrument, back when the first caveman banged two rocks together. Even today, armies march to war at the beat of a drum. But percussion on its own has no melody, and a drum set is too bulky to carry in a dungeon, so most bards never use it. Unless..."
The room suddenly shook. Ragnar jumped to his feet, drawing his sword with ease despite the bandages covering his arms. "The roof is unstable. I think those gargoyles were load-bearing."
"A collapsing lair. That archmage really hated the idea of anyone sharing his toys." I sighed.
A crack started to spread along the ceiling. "We're going to have to move fast. If anyone's got a speed buff, cast it now."
Barron smiled. "I've got something better."
The bard raised his drumsticks high overhead. As the dungeon shook around us, he struck them together.
"One! Two! One-two-three-four!"
A thundering bass rhythm erupted from his drums. The drum kit continued to play on its own, pulsing with energy as Barron unslung his guitar and added a frenzied riff on top of it.
It was stronger than any bard song I'd ever felt. A wild wave of sound that made it impossible to stand still, almost lifting us off our feet. The rhythm perfectly matched our running pace as we sprinted from the depths of the dungeon. Stones rained down and pillars crumbled around us, but they were just more steps in the dance as we moved with impossible speed. We burst out into the daylight, and there was a final cymbal crash as the dungeon sealed itself behind us.
I collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. "I... did not think... I could move that fast."
Ragnar, of course, wasn't even winded, damn him. "That's some good stuff!"
Barron smiled and took a bow. "Looks like that performance... *brought the house down!*"
I groaned. "I swear, that pun hurt more than anything else in the dungeon." | *Clop, clop, clop.*
I sighed loudly, but Johor knew better than to respond. Fortunately, Kond was less subtle.
“That’s IT! Johor, get rid of the damn horse!” he yelled, drawing his enormous axe and brandishing it.
“No can do, my violent friend,” Johor said with a grin and a twinkle in his eye. “This is a rare treasure unlike any the world has ever seen.
“That’s for sure,” Bello muttered. “Takes someone like you to see value in that junk.”
Johor sniffed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, my halfling friend. For I am *certain* that this is not junk. Just you wait. As soon as I get the chance to whip this baby out in combat, you’ll see.”
“Is that why you’re being so noisy as we traipse through enemy territory?” I asked. “You *do* remember why we’re here, right? The band of bandits and serial killers that have been terrorizing the area?”
Johor skipped jauntily for a few steps. “Oh, I remember. I just don’t think they’re as much of an issue as you think.”
“They killed a patrol of fifty men a few weeks ago,” I reminded him. “And how many do we have?”
“Oh, please, Balazar. I know how to count. Besides, we’re no ordinary men-at-arms.”
“Because no respectable military would take us in,” Bello grumbled.
Kond snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
“Bello, my dear man, if you keep this up I might actually take offense,” Johor said.
“What are you going to do, sing about it?” Bello asked. “Please. My ears are used to your torturous cat screeches.”
“My *songs* are lovely ballads that could sway the hearts of the iciest maidens of the land,” Johor said, strumming a chord on his lute. “And they have power in them, even if you won’t admit it.”
I sighed again. “Can we just… get moving? Please? This is a dangerous road after all.”
“You’ve got that right, old man,” a voice growled from the shadows of the trees.
The leaves rippled and a dozen men appeared to block the road ahead and behind us, blades and bows at the ready. The man that had spoken stepped out next to me and aimed a spear at my midsection.
“Your money or your lives, gentlemen. And we’ll take any other treasures you have, as well as that pack animal,” he added, looking at the horse with a greedy expression.
Johor stepped towards the bandit, who swiveled the spear to point at him instead.
“My good man. I do believe you’ll find that we are but innocent travelers and that the horse does not carry the treasure that you think it might.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to bargain, *my good man*,” the bandit replied. “We could hear you bastards from a mile away. ‘A rare treasure unlike any the world has ever seen’? Sounds like treasure to me.”
Johor rolled his eyes as Kond subtly shifted into a battle stance. Bello was nowhere to be seen. I gripped my staff which looked to the world like an average walking stick.
“Valuable to me and me alone, my friend, unless you are a practitioner of the fine arts such as myself.”
The bandit stared at Johor. “Who is this gaudy prick anyway?”
“My name is Johor, a lover of fine music and even finer women. My songs have been performed throughout the realms and will stun the world for years to come. A pleasure to be at your service,” he said with an extravagant bow.
The bandit sighed. “I changed my mind. We’re killing you anyway. Save the minstrel for last!”
“Minstrel!” Johor gasped as the bandits charged. “How dare you!”
Kond swept into action, knocking over half of the men on the path ahead.
“Bello!” I shouted, knowing he could hear me. “Leave Kond to his fun! We’ll clear out behind us!” With a swift motion, I jabbed the butt of my staff at the bandit leader near me and pushed a burst of power into it. A magical force punched at him, doubling him over and sending him flying into a tree twenty feet away with a sickening *crack*.
The contingent of men that had approached us from behind were slowly walking towards Johor and me, weapons leveled. As I began to summon a minor lightning storm, two dropped dead in their tracks as Bello went to work with his blade, striking them down before they even knew where he was.
Meanwhile, Johor ran to the horse and began to pull off the assorted bags. He carefully dusted them off, rolled out a rug that we had purchased at the last town, and began setting up his device carefully.
My lightning strike devastated the bandits. Six of them fell to the ground, muscles spasming and twitching before they fell still. Bello cut down another, and the remaining few turned and fled rather than face our wrath. Behind me, Kond had massacred the dozen bandits that dared face him. Blood and body parts were strewn about the road. Kond sat in the middle of it all, running a whetstone against the edge of his axe.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I said, barely breathing heavily.
“Alright, here we go! Time to face the music, vile bandits!” Johor sat in front of a series of drums and cymbals, holding two sticks in his hands. “Two, three, four!” He started banging away at the drums, creating a horrible racket that scattered the birds in the nearby trees.
“Johor!” I yelled, but he couldn’t hear me over the clamor.
“Johor!” Kond called to no effect.
“JOHOR!” This time, I punctuated my yell with a crack of thunder, and the bard finally looked up and stopped playing. He gazed around at the carnage.
“Wow, I did it! Man, these things really are powerful!”
“Johor, they were already dead.”
Johor glanced at Kond, covered in blood, and at the scorched bodies near me. One still twitched as if to prove my point.
[“Oh.”](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks)
***
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Set in the same universe as [this piece](https://www.reddit.com/r/Badderlocks/comments/gb0wcq/you_werent_shocked_to_find_out_that_your_bard_had/) because I'm too lazy to make new characters all the time. Consider it a prequel. | |
[WP] You’ve always been average at everything you’ve attempted, never great, never terrible. But lately you’ve realized that you’re average at EVERYTHING you attempt. | "Hey, get this."
Kevin, who was apparently the the average friend an average person had, got my attention. He was reading something on his smartphone, probably an averagely clickbaity 'news' article.
"Suppose you had an opaque bingo dispenser. You know, one of those things that randomly spit out balls numbered from one to however many there are in there. If you only got one ball out of it, you'd expect it to be somewhere in the middle, right?"
"Sure," I said. Knowing my luck, it'd be *exactly* in the middle...
"Therefore, you can predict that the number of balls in the dispenser is double whatever the number you drew was. It probably isn't spot-on, but it's a better guess than most, and with additional draws you can refine your guess even more. They actually did this in World War Two with serial numbers to figure out how many tanks the Germans were making."
I smile, but frown internally. I'd never told Kevin about my 'ability': it just wasn't something that came up in the average conversation.
"Anyways," he continued, "some bright spark then applied that to people. If you consider yourself to have been born at a random point in human history, then you'd expect the same number of people born before and after you. Its estimated that no more than a 100 billion humans have ever been born, so we 'should' only get 100 billion more before going extinct. By current trends, that should only take a couple of centuries."
My heart didn't skip one of its average 70 beats per minute, but it sure felt like it.
"Of course, *every human* could make that argument, and the majority would be wrong. Who's to say that *our* births are the average, right?"
*I was born at noon on the Second of July.* | Ever since I met that Gypsy woman, I’ve found something strange is happening to me. I am totally average. I was doing fairly well at my sales job, but overnight my numbers dropped to the middle of the pack. My nice sports car got wrecked and I got a normal sedan to replace it, as I couldn’t afford a nicer model. Everything seemed to be going bad and fast. Hell, I even started getting erectile dis function which, considering my age, was totally normal.
Her words haunted began to haunt my every thought, “In and out. Through and through. Average is all you do.” Damn Gypsy!
I was sitting at home, which was perfectly average to begin with, and trying not to fuck anything up, because everything had been going sideways. I was sitting on the couch, flipping and coin and practicing catching it. I’d always had a good eye and could catch anything, but now I dropped it quite a fair amount which was getting me flustered. As I continued to practice, I began to notice that the coin always switched from heads to tails. In order to maintain average, it had to continue to alternate. As I sat there, I began to realize that I’d found a crack in the matrix. I would be average no matter what!
After a long and hard mental struggle, I finally decided to be a perfectly average professional golfer. Sure, I only make the average of what all my colleagues make, but $2 million a year isn’t half bad. Average is only what you make of it. | |
[WP] You’ve always been average at everything you’ve attempted, never great, never terrible. But lately you’ve realized that you’re average at EVERYTHING you attempt. | This one would be the real test. The Rubik’s Cube sat in front of me, hopelessly scrambled. I’d done no reading on how to solve it, and had avoided thinking about it up until this moment. And now the time had come. I started the timer and picked up the cube. I wasn’t quite sure *why* I moved the parts of the cube the way I did. Certain patterns just felt *right* somehow. Slowly, the colors began to look more organized. And then just like that, the cube was solved. I stopped the timer: 3 minutes 24 seconds. After a quick google search, it seemed that my suspicious were confirmed. My time was just about average for someone new to learning the cube, but it would be *exceptional* for someone who knew nothing about solving. I didn’t bother to try again, and I didn’t plan to. My time would never improve. Things had gone the same way with juggling, tennis, chess, and countless other hobbies. I started off average, and there I remained.
But the Rubik’s cube felt different. The intelligence it would take to devise an original solution in just three minutes is insane – and I don’t think of myself as a particularly smart guy. With the other hobbies, I could maybe just assume I was a natural, but this? Something was up. And it was time to see how far I could push it.
---
I got up on stage at my local bar and sat down at the piano. I stared at the foreign keys. I’d tried to play on the keyboard I’d bought at home, and the results had been mediocre. But I had a feeling things would go differently here. My fingers reached for the keys and began to play, almost of their own accord. I hit some wrong notes, but really played and sang a rather pleasing rendition of Billy Joel’s *Piano Man*. With that, my theory was confirmed. Among people who buy keyboards and try to learn piano at home, I was average. But among people who played piano live at their local bar, *I was still average*. Seemed like it must defy some law of physics, and yet here were. I smiled. I could work with this.
---
I couldn’t just try to hack into any old website. Your average hacker probably sucks. But how many hackers, working alone, try to mine top secret information from the NSA? Only the really great ones, I’d think. Being average in that kind of a crowd? A whole different ball game. As I opened my computer, with full intention to hack the NSAs system, I found myself opening strange browsers, downloading various software and tools that I’d never heard of, and typing faster than I ever had before. I found that I knew, instinctively, exactly how to mask my presence online and remain anonymous. Once everything was set up, though, I didn’t start on the NSA. Instead, I started on my real target: my town’s local family-owned bank. I could feel my sudden knowledge of technology and info sec start to abate as soon as I mentally switched targets, but the effect wasn’t immediate. By focusing back on the NSA every 20 minutes or so, it seemed I could keep myself sharp. It only took a few hours before I started to see some major flaws in the small bank’s systems. As it turned out, it would be relatively simple to insert a small piece of malicious code to round off transactions and place the remainder in a separate account, *Office Space* style. And so that’s what I did. An hour later, it was done. A week later, I had an extra $987. A year later? Who knows where I’ll be then - I've got a lot of new ideas to play with. But I can’t wait to find out. | At first I was annoyed that everything I did and was ended up being average all the time.
Seriously, My name is James Smith, the blandest most common name in all of the US. I am exactly 175.4 centimeters tall, which is the exact average height in the US as well. Even my weight is average at 197.1 lb.
I'm part of the middle class and my parents earn exactly $56,697 a year which is the average for Michigan, which is the 26th state.
However a while ago I realised something. Being this average has its perks. You see, I am average at EVERYTHING which means I never suck at anything I do. If I try something I'll succeed, I wont be the greatest but it still means I will succeed. I decided to test this averageness of mine.
One day I decided to try something I had never done before, surfing, I learned how to do it averagely fast but still an incredible feat for myself. So I kept on trying new things like doing a backflip, or writing, soon enough I noticed everything was working... Averagely...
So I decided to try my hardest feat ever. I would develop a cure for cancer and so I did, it wasnt an instant cure but withing months people were cancer free and none had developed it again. Then a cure for aids, same deal, it even created some immunity on people who took that medication. I kept on creating medicines for so far incurable illnesses. Of course they all worked... Well, you already know what I'm gonna say so...
Anyways that's the story of my Averagely average life. | |
[WP] Humanity has utterly stagnated. Modern heros know nothing of self-sacrifice, duty, and discipline, nothing more than glorified celebrities only concerned with merchandise sponsorships. For the world's own good, the only villain that never lost to any hero comes out of retirement. | The doorbell echoed through the first floor of the building, rousing the man in the kitchen to his feet with a groan. He left his laptop open on the countertop, trotting towards the door as he checked his phone. Greeted with not so much as a single message on his lock screen, the man gave a soft sigh beneath his breath before unlocking the deadbolt and pulling heartily on the knob. The door stuck just slightly in its frame, forcing him to muscle it open before he could look out into the dying light of a blisteringly hot summer’s eve.
Surprised that no one was waiting for him at eye-level, his gaze was drawn down towards his doorstep out of reflex. He found himself looking at the trembling form of a child, not more than ten years old at his first guess. The pitiful creature looked up at him with one hopeful doe eye, the other half of his face swollen in a patchwork of bright red and budding bruises.
*Well, that’s not my DoorDash order.*
“Are you The Great Inferno?” The boy asked, blinking slowly with his good eye.
“What do you want, kid? How did you find me?” He asked, propping the door open with his foot so he could cross his arms. Such a defensive stance was the only natural response he could muster through the shock coursing his system, startled to hear the revival of a moniker he had withdrawn more than ten years ago. This was his retirement, tucked away from the world of camera flashes and hungry paparazzi, a place where he was able to put distance between himself and the televised conflicts of modern media. Despite the effort he had put into making his posture slightly more threatening, the boy spoke up to him without wavering.
“I want you to save my sister,”
“I’m not in the business of saving people,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “And I’m terribly amused that someone gave you that impression.”
“They said that you’re the strongest, that you’ve never been beaten,” the boy pleaded, hope turning to desperation like the flick of a switch.
“What’s your name?” The man asked, trying to hold back another sigh. There was something about the kid’s busted lip and his desperate attempt to be brave despite his shaking shoulders that began to eat away at a long-hardened heart.
“Harrison,” the child declared with a renewed streak of boldness.
“Well, Harrison, I’d say you’d be better off going to the cops or getting a Hero on your side. Like I told you, I’m not the type that saves people.”
“I tried,” Harrison said, voice kept low. “None of them answered when I called their hotlines, or when I used the lights on the top of our building. I couldn’t even get into the apartments where Tigerhawk is supposed to live, they stopped me before I could even get into the lobby.”
“Who knows, maybe they’re busy,” the man muttered, a biting distaste for Heroes reigniting on his tongue. There was a reason he’d left the business, even if he had been on the dark side of what had become increasingly manufactured drama. Fighting mere caricatures of what a Hero should have been was exhausting in its own unique way, and the moment that he found himself hunted down for corporate sponsorship he had retreated into obscurity.
It was a different game these days - nothing more than just that, a game. There was no fighting, no passion behind declarations of good or evil. The television said that good had won, but there was no good being done as Heroes sat on their heels and boasted of hollow deeds on talk shows. Such a title as “Hero” had become meaningless, and with it had the man’s own.
“I’m old enough to know that Heroes aren’t coming anymore,” the child said, voice shining with the same defeat as though he had just learned that Santa was nothing more than myth. “They’ve never come, not for years. Not for me, not for my friends. Things aren’t getting better. They’ve stopped helping anyone.”
“Well, it’s not about helping people anymore.” The words came out bitterly, and he found his fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his arms as he attempted to control his anger.
“I just-” Harrison stuttered, looking down shyly before continuing. “I just thought I could ask the only Supervillain I knew about. Because if the heroes aren’t strong enough to stop my step-dad from hurting my sister, or they just don’t want to, maybe- maybe-”
“Maybe I would?” he finished the kid’s sentence, unable to bear watching him stutter along any further. Harrison only nodded, digging the toe of his tattered sneaker into the welcome mat.
“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you for showing your face here? You know that I’m not one of the good guys,” the man said, leaning his shoulder into the doorjamb. This time there was no bite behind his words, his heart having already been won over by the boy that was both bold and pathetic in the same breath. He would never have admitted it, but such a sight was somewhat endearing.
“I had to at least try,” Harrison said. “I promised I would keep her safe, even if it meant I would get hurt. Like tonight.” A small hand reached up to the swollen cheek, probing it gently before he winced. Still, Harrison didn’t raise his good eye to look up at the villain he had called upon.
The man closed his eyes and sighed openly now, embracing the weight that was settling down on his shoulders. After another long pause he found his words buried in the back of his throat, uncrossed his arms, and swept a hand into his house.
“Alright, get in here. I’ll get you some ice and some water before we head out.”
“Thank you!” The boy exclaimed, giving a small nod of excitement before bolting into the townhouse as though there was a wolf on his tail.
Inferno could only think of the black mask in the back of his closet, sitting in a box on top of a folded grey overcoat. If a Hero bathed in ten corporate sponsorships couldn’t be arsed to answer the phone, then perhaps it was time to come out of retirement.
Feeling the fire of redemption burn in his palms, he turned back into his home and shut the door behind him. It seemed that his dinner would have to wait. | I sighed as I drew on the Syndex trousers. Their age and wear falling away as it contacted my skin. I didn't even glance at them more than to assure the buttons on the fly lined up properly.
"Still regal, 'Tomica" a voice said.i turned from the still open wardrobe.
"You can come too." I urged, not really thinking through the statement. The slump of his shoulders as he looked away quickly told me he hadn't changed his mind. We had revisited this discussion many times, the last being the previous night as we dined in my lunar hall.
"No." Sunstorm finally said. "Those days are rightfully passed. I've no need to repeat them with the current crop"
A pity, I thought. Though not the strongest in raw power. Sunstorm had always maintained the purest sense of virtue I had ever encountered. His bright blonde hair had grayed but not his resolve.
"You will keep your promise?" He asked, his eye still faintly aglow.
" As much as I can" I whispered "But the new crop has gone so very far from the old ways. Preventing disaster and protecting the innocent has given way to documenting themselves and preening for likes." By the time I finished talking I looked no more than twenty. Time doesn't affect me the way it can others if I don't want it to. Functional immortality if not the actual thing. "It may be a hard lesson I have to teach before they all remember what heroes are."
Sunstorm straightened a bit at that.
"You miss it too don't you, offer still stands?" I left the words hanging there.
"Maybe next run" he finally mumbled, then he spoke louder. "Who's first?"
I turned, flashing my trademarked evil smile back to my old hero friend.
"I'm thinking, 'Selfie'" | |
I couldn't decide between stressing Normen's point of view or that of a task force meant to manage him. | [WP] He thought he was the world’s most boring man, living in a world of superpowers yet never having a single interesting experience. Observers know him as the world’s 5th most powerful being, the owner of S class reality alteration powers of the “Normalcy Enforcement,” type. Meet Normen... | SCP: 5603, Mr. Normal
Object class: Thaumiel
Special Containment Procedures:
SCP: 5603 is to be allowed to live a normal life in his home at ████████, OH and is to be left mostly alone unless needed desperately. Upon a time that SCP: 5603 is needed he is to be flown out to the location that he is required at.
Description:
SCP: 5603 is a Caucasian Male aged 54 named Norman Bellington, he is a normal human apart from his anomalous properties. Norman's anomalous properties begin to show themselves when another anomaly is placed within 10 meters of him, upon placement all anomalous properties of the SCP in question deactivate turning the object into a normal object with few exceptions. If the object in question is moved outside of the range of Norman's effect, or Norman walks away from the SCP object then all anomalous properties return.
Addendum one: Discovery
SCP: 5603 was found during a containment breach of SCP: 096 witch led to the city that Norman was in.
Upon the discovery of 096-1 and recovery of 096 the image that caused the outbreak was discovered, a photo that depicted 096's face in another image in the background of the photo. Upon this being discovered SCP: 5603 was walking down the street and the MTF agent who saw the image feared for his life, however 096 didn't stir untill 5603 walked out of range while the agent was still looking at the photo, which caused another containment breach.
Upon Amnestics being delivered to all those who witnessed the event Norman's were found to not work when they were attempted to be administered, as the amnestics were anomalous in nature having come directly from SCP: 3000. Upon realizing Norman's potential as a Containment breach preventer, he was asked whether or not he would want to work for the foundation, witch he politely declined, although he did state that he would help is they needed it, for a price of course. As such SCP:5603 was allowed to continue life as normal while being summoned for use if needed, after which a sum of $███████ was deposited directly into his bank account. SCP:5603 was classified as Thaumiel and continues to live his life as Normal.
Thank you for reading this, it is my first WP suggestions so I hope you liked it, I did this on mobile if there are any formatting errors that is why. | Norman stepped out from underneath the t-rex’s foot as it came crashing down, sending up a billow of wind, dust and discarded trash. He turned to see what all the fuss was about and saw nothing but a beat-up car, alarm blaring. He shrugged. No doubt some superhero fight somewhere, causing problems as usual. He brushed the dust from his coat and crossed the street.
On a rooftop high above, Agent Bullion lowered their binoculars and stared in disbelief. Out of all the powers they’d seen over the years, never had they witnessed a t-rex vaporised without so much as a glance. Bullion pulled up the binoculars again, scanning for signs of Jurassi Kate. She’d be nearby, and she’d be angry.
A shriek from the sky and she came swooping from the clouds, clinging tightly to a pterodactyl. Bullion heard her laugher as she careened past. Norman too, it seemed, for down below he looked up with his usual expression of mild annoyance.
CLANG
The pterodactyl hit a sign that a split second ago hadn’t been there. Norman turned away. Bullion ran the length of the rooftop and sprang to the next, keeping pace with him. Up ahead, Bullion saw the river that cut through the city. Soon, there would be no more rooftops, they’d have to find some other way to follow.
Agent Bullion glanced back to see if they could spot Kate, and sure enough, she was charging down the street after Norman, her face crimson. Pulling a horn from her waist she blew, and a sound like a cow singing opera filled the streets. Bullion reached for their radio. They’d seen Kate pull this one before. Triceratops’ mating call. She was starting a stampede, and Bullion was ready to call in for help, should things get out of hand.
Norman hated crossing this bridge. He’d always had a fear of heights… and bascule bridges. When he was little, he’d put an action figure in the gap for the hinge of a bascule bridge, and watched in horror as the bridge, rising, obliterated the plastic figure. He was almost at the other side when he felt the bridge start to raise. “Hey!” He yelled, jogging the last few steps. “Someone still walking!” He looked around angerly, and for a moment, thought he saw dozens of charging dinosaurs before the bridge blocked his view. He shook his head. Ridiculous. |
[WP] Years ago you made a deal with Death, that he would kill anyone you wished so long as you offered a single life to him in return. Death thought it would teach you the value of life, but he didn't count on you owning an ant farm. | "What is the value of life?" I asked as an ant crawled across my thumb. "I guess that depends on the perspective of the killer. This ant, it has life, but not much value. At least, not to me."
Death sat across from me on my Lazy Boy, sipping hot tea. I liked our talks, but he was long ago weary of them. Funny thing is, it's his own fault he's even here. Be careful what you wish for is a common theme, a cautionary tale told to quash desire. But I knew exactly what I was doing, and it was he that should have been careful. I squashed the ant between thumb and forefinger—another dictator dead.
"I suppose if I was an ant," I continued, "I might see things differently. Much like yourself and humans. How many souls have you reaped without care?"
Death glared at me, his tea forgotten. "I've told you, I don't kill! I harvest the unworthy and send the worthy to their fate."
"So you have," I said. I grabbed another ant. "To me the difference is semantic. You thrive on death, and to no good at that. I too thrive on death, but the world is a better place for my actions. A life for a life, that was the deal."
Looking at the list on the table between us, I crushed the ant. There went a cartel leader. A welt on my wrist started itching and I scratched it absentmindedly. The ant that made it was long dead, used to reap a corrupt businessman. He wasn't part of the plan, but I'd killed the ant, so a human had to join it.
"How long do you plan to keep this up?" Death asked.
"You know there are more ants on the planet than people, right?" I asked. "I suppose when I run out."
"You'd wipe out humanity just to spite me?" Death asked.
I looked at him hard. "You'd let me wipe out humanity just to spite me?"
Always our conversations wound up here. It was as inevitable as, well, death. He had the power to give me what I really wanted, and now I had the power to get it. It was only a matter of time. My resolve was absolute. I doubted Death's was as certain.
"I won't do it," Death said.
The ant died. So did a nun in Italy. She wasn't evil or corrupt, and I guess my argument about making the world better was invalidated a little by killing her. Still, every dozen or so victims had to be good people. I was making a point, after all.
"Yes, I think you will," I said. "Your problem is that, despite your job, you value all life. I only value one."
"And that one life is worth destroying the world?" Death spat.
Yet another ant crawled on my hand as I stared Death down. "I think you know the answer to that. You already told me how long I have left, and that's too long without him."
With exaggerated slowness, I hovered a finger over the ant. Death locked his eyes on the tiny creature, unable to look away. There was no way for him to know if it was going to be someone deserving of death this time.
"Wait!' he cried out. "I can't let this continue. If you release me from our deal, I will do as you ask."
Flicking the ant off me, I smiled. I knew he'd see it my way.
"Agreed," I said.
Death twirled his scythe in a large circle, opening a purple and black portal. He reached through and pulled something small into the world. I nearly broke down when I saw my son. He looked just like he had the day Death had come for him. The day my world ended.
"If I do this," Death said, "you'll have this to pay for as well as your other crimes. When that day comes, I won't be forgiving."
I nodded and Death blew a kiss at Michael. My son's tiny chest started moving up and down, and I fell to my knees crying loudly.
"When that day comes," I spluttered, "I won't care."
Death departed as I hugged my son. | I'd become used to staring down Death as it sat on the stool opposite me, arms crossed and resting on the shiny and clean countertop. Don't know what expressions it made, but its bodily gestures betrayed its discomfort, and not because it sat on a wobbly stool.
"Take the bag," I said. "That's the deal."
Death's hood lowered, so I knew it was looking now at the ziplock bag that I'd plopped on the counter before returning to sharpening my knife.
"You sure you don't eat? I'm making a fine quail stew. Shot it myself just last weekend. Actually, count the quail, too."
Death was looking at me again. I smiled. Its voice, like the abysmal echoes of sailors drowning under a full moon tempest, shook the utensils atop the granite countertop.
"Still you kill, even when those you damn have names you must look up on Google to remember."
"24/7 news," I replied. "They tell me about lots of shitty people who I need to do away with."
"Circumstanstial evidence you hear on network news is hardly trustworthy." Its slithering voice wafted up the light fixtures which trembled. "Life means nothing to you, and you learn nothing."
"Death," I said. "Death, death, death... what did you expect? That you were presenting some morally high-caliber test? Please. You should have better specified the terms. I kill whom I please, and you take the life of one of my ants in exchange."
I snatched the ziplock bag and shook it in front of Death's hood. It recoiled ever slightly.
"There are 342 ants in this bag," it said. "Last week it was 400. Have you no remorse? Have you no conscience, no appreciation for what *life* is?"
"Look who's talking. Take the quail!" I said, chucking the small bird breast on top of the ziplock bag. "I've lost my appetite."
I walked around the island and fell sinking into my couch, grabbed the remote control, turned on the TV.
Death continued to stare at me.
"You can go now," I said. "I have research to do."
The entity rose from its stool, which squeaked as the weight was lifted. It glided toward my apartment's door and vanished in a swirl of black smoke.
I held the remote to my mouth and pressed the voice activation button. "Fox News," I said. It was time to get names.
&#x200B;
\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff is where I plop my big butt. Come check it out. | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | Martha had had enough of sitting around for twenty-two years. Those who had come after her had joyfully gone onto other astral planes, but somehow, she couldn’t progress. Though the horrifying experience of dying while giving birth had left her sorrowful initially, she tried to make the best of this state of limbo. Without a physical body to hold her back, she pursued the life she had always wanted. She had admired the northern lights from Skógar, had sat in an empty first-class seat from Los Angeles to Tokyo, and had swayed jauntily above the crowd as Beyonce performed live. As a farm girl she would have never had the means to do these things, but as a dead one, she didn’t need them. Lately however, these earthly thrills didn’t seem to hold much sway over her.
Donna, her latest grave-mate, urged Martha to get some structure in life – a set list of things to do to make the passage of days more meaningful, but what was meaning anyway? Martha, never one to shy away from trying new things even if they seemed dull, decided to apply to be a waitress at the new diner across the road. Its owner had struck an unwise pact with the devil and had to pay all his earnings to him. This left him with nothing to pay his employees – hence the ghost force was being recruited to help.
The structure that a waitress’s job provided helped Martha. At the very least, it distracted her. She strived to get orders right, balance as many plates as she could in one hand, and strategically stack all the dirty dishes before she carried them back to the kitchen. She realized it wasn’t too different from her job as a farm hand – feeding the animals and cleaning up the waste. The great thing about this job was that the walking, smiling, and memorizing was enough to leave her exhausted enough to just drop back into her grave at the end of the day.
The sunny Tuesday morning that greeted Martha when she arrived for her graveyard shift had transformed into a cloudy and grey afternoon. A few tables were occupied but nothing that the other dead girls couldn’t handle. Martha decided to spend some time trying to identify the ingredients of the diner’s famous hot sauce they all called Dead Red after which the diner was named. The concoction was rumored to be created by the devil himself - that explained its popularity with the patrons.
The bell chimed, signaling the entry of a new guest.
“Welcome to Dead Red,” they call cooed as was the custom.
A young man dressed in a blue suit flashed an awkward smile and took a seat.
Martha walked up to his booth and placed a glass of water over a napkin.
“Hello there, welcome to Dead Red. I’m Martha. What can I get you today?”
“Just some coffee and eggs please… scrambled.”
Martha couldn’t stop looking at his beautiful face. There was something alluring about the man and the way he carried himself. She barely managed to keep herself together.
“Absolutely, coming right up.”
Martha flashed him a smile before she retreated to the kitchen. Surely, she had seen this chap before, but she couldn’t tell from where.
.
.
.
“Thank you so much. That was the most delicious breakfast I’ve ever had”.
Martha smiled as she cleared out his plate and coffee mug. She had heard this line before but this time it seemed truly genuine.
“Say, are you from here? I’m have a feeling I’ve seen you before,” Martha enquired tentatively.
“Just here in town for a couple of days. My mother is from here. I grew up in Boston.”
“Boston eh, lovely city. Who is your mother? Given the size of this town, I’m sure I know her.”
He chuckled, “No way you know her. She died twenty-two years ago while giving birth to me. I just came back to see where she had lived."
Tears welled in Martha’s soul. she had just served her son.
That night, her soul ascended to a higher plane. | "To Dine For" fucking 'sosage' grade savage and prices to kill for, seriously I would kill for this food if I was dead broke & hungry enough. If only it wasnt so weird to see the kim clone waiting tables I'd be all up in there every day taking diabetes for a ride. Alas, kimmys been dead for like two maybe three years and the fucked up horn dog part of me that likes to keep her memory alive with sex an cuddle fantasies when I'm sad an missing her smile, makes goin in there when I see her be too emotional a trick for me to take.
Shake Shack has that unholy creation of the portabella mushroom coated in cheese then deep fried and those Fries that I suspect are double fried but with a shake cost around 21 ish bucks... theyre good but they aint To Dine For good.
Not a whole lotta people to know about the diner but those who do always come back for more. I stave off the hunger with Spätzel, bloodied steak, cheap shakes, getting drunk enough to think the 3 dollar Cheese Tony Pizzaaas are enough, taco bell, the hole in the wall Mexican, that illegal Itallian joint in the barn, an money permitting I grab some higher classed food in the town over but it all still aint To Dine For.
One day, a sad day, some that loniest day of my life cringe core shit, a bloodied face, and three broken fingers later I caved. Didn't care the Kim clone was there, I was high, hurtin, broken, and hungry. When I was just about finished calculating the menu she showed up like a cruel angel. I laughed she pulled a fake smile and I progressively ordered 80 dollars roughly worth of food. Maybe it was the marijuana that kept me chompin away, maybe it was the sight of that ass in those black jeans and freckled face even if it was fake one. I just wanted to stay a while longer there fillin up on some that to die for food an live a little memory even if it wasn't her, it sure as fuck looked like her an as I left for once I felt full.
The heart attack that followed me trying to run back home before the good feelings inside died out on me was more commical an I left the world a happy fuck. Laughin my ass off as my blood turned cold. Fat, happy, and full I went with smile on my face and a irish gal freshly minted on my heart. | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | "Rip's Diner?" Jenna asked her dad with a bit of apprehension in her voice. Her father had brought her and her sister into the small mountain town for a short fishing trip and an opportunity to get back to Nature, if only for a short while. The place seemed eerie for a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on. The chilly weather and dark overcast clouds didn't seem to brighten her mood any either. Her sister Hailey, just a year younger, shared her sentiment. " and doesn't it seem like there are hardly any people here, even for a small town?"
Indeed, their father has been thinking the same thing when they had finally pulled off the interstate after the long drive. In fact, upon arriving at the gas station to use the restrooms and buy something to drink, the small convenience store was empty of both customers and employees. They grabbed a few drinks after they had relief themselves oh, and their father Daniel walked around the store calling for an employee. Quotation marks this is sort of weird, he told his daughters, after they have patiently waited a few more minutes. They made small talk and fiddled with their phones for a couple more minutes, before Daniel finally said "Fuck it let's take the drinks I'll leave the money on the counter." He withdrew his wallet and removed a $5 bill which covered the drinks with some change to spare. "Yeah that is weird," said Jenna they returned to their car and set off again.
In fact, they hadn't seen a single soul until they had arrived at the diner, passing dozens of small storefronts on the short drive. Even the few cars they had seen had a layer of dust on them, as if they hadn't been used in quite a while. Daniel eyeballs the handful of cleaner cars in the diner parking lot and studied the sparse population occu-find the place through the large glass windows in front. The people visible looks older and well-worn. Makes sense, he thought, if I was young I'd have gotten the hell out of here too, somewhere in the city with more opportunities.
"Let's go pretty girls", he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and pushing the car door open. He shivered as the cold air hit him once more, and wondered how it could be so cold here. Just 30 minutes ago on the highway they had air conditioning on in the car with hardly a cloud in the sky, but what looked like a distant thunderhead seemed to envelop the sky quite quickly as they started to wind up the interstate into the foothills of the mountains. His daughters opened their doors and shivered at the same time. "We should have brought our sweaters," said Hailey, crossing her arms and rubbing them with her hands for warmth. "I know, right?" Jenna said as she followed her sister and father towards the diner.
The building was squat and rather small, peeling light blue paint framing white siding with a flat roof on top. The large plate glass covered three whole sides of the building, offering a view towards what looked like an overgrown meadow on the opposite side. Their appetites overpowered their suspicions, and Daniel said "Damn do you 2 smell that?" "Sort of," said Jenna as they made their way across the asphalt to the front doors. "Pancakes!" he said, opening the door to allow the girls inside and following them in. The smell of eggs, bacon, and to Daniel, delicious pancakes quickly assaulted the olfactory and made him even hungrier. An older but pleasant looking woman stood behind the counter, closing the drawer on the ancient cash register and offering them a polite "Hello!"
"Just 3? Follow me please!" Her apron had once been red but had faded to almost pink from years of work, covering a white cotton dress that they could see the other waitress in the diner wearing as well. Her name tag said "Jiovanna" and she seemed to scowl as she walked past them with some menus and disappeared behind the door that led into the kitchen. They passed the counter with some comfortable looking stools, where an older man nursed a coffee, and made their way past a few tables until they arrived at the booths in the back.
Edit: Sorry having issues formatting this and dictating the rest of the story! I'm using talk-to-text on my phone and it's frustrating I'll add the rest as soon as I can debug it. | "To Dine For" fucking 'sosage' grade savage and prices to kill for, seriously I would kill for this food if I was dead broke & hungry enough. If only it wasnt so weird to see the kim clone waiting tables I'd be all up in there every day taking diabetes for a ride. Alas, kimmys been dead for like two maybe three years and the fucked up horn dog part of me that likes to keep her memory alive with sex an cuddle fantasies when I'm sad an missing her smile, makes goin in there when I see her be too emotional a trick for me to take.
Shake Shack has that unholy creation of the portabella mushroom coated in cheese then deep fried and those Fries that I suspect are double fried but with a shake cost around 21 ish bucks... theyre good but they aint To Dine For good.
Not a whole lotta people to know about the diner but those who do always come back for more. I stave off the hunger with Spätzel, bloodied steak, cheap shakes, getting drunk enough to think the 3 dollar Cheese Tony Pizzaaas are enough, taco bell, the hole in the wall Mexican, that illegal Itallian joint in the barn, an money permitting I grab some higher classed food in the town over but it all still aint To Dine For.
One day, a sad day, some that loniest day of my life cringe core shit, a bloodied face, and three broken fingers later I caved. Didn't care the Kim clone was there, I was high, hurtin, broken, and hungry. When I was just about finished calculating the menu she showed up like a cruel angel. I laughed she pulled a fake smile and I progressively ordered 80 dollars roughly worth of food. Maybe it was the marijuana that kept me chompin away, maybe it was the sight of that ass in those black jeans and freckled face even if it was fake one. I just wanted to stay a while longer there fillin up on some that to die for food an live a little memory even if it wasn't her, it sure as fuck looked like her an as I left for once I felt full.
The heart attack that followed me trying to run back home before the good feelings inside died out on me was more commical an I left the world a happy fuck. Laughin my ass off as my blood turned cold. Fat, happy, and full I went with smile on my face and a irish gal freshly minted on my heart. | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | "Rip's Diner?" Jenna asked her dad with a bit of apprehension in her voice. Her father had brought her and her sister into the small mountain town for a short fishing trip and an opportunity to get back to Nature, if only for a short while. The place seemed eerie for a reason she couldn't quite put her finger on. The chilly weather and dark overcast clouds didn't seem to brighten her mood any either. Her sister Hailey, just a year younger, shared her sentiment. " and doesn't it seem like there are hardly any people here, even for a small town?"
Indeed, their father has been thinking the same thing when they had finally pulled off the interstate after the long drive. In fact, upon arriving at the gas station to use the restrooms and buy something to drink, the small convenience store was empty of both customers and employees. They grabbed a few drinks after they had relief themselves oh, and their father Daniel walked around the store calling for an employee. Quotation marks this is sort of weird, he told his daughters, after they have patiently waited a few more minutes. They made small talk and fiddled with their phones for a couple more minutes, before Daniel finally said "Fuck it let's take the drinks I'll leave the money on the counter." He withdrew his wallet and removed a $5 bill which covered the drinks with some change to spare. "Yeah that is weird," said Jenna they returned to their car and set off again.
In fact, they hadn't seen a single soul until they had arrived at the diner, passing dozens of small storefronts on the short drive. Even the few cars they had seen had a layer of dust on them, as if they hadn't been used in quite a while. Daniel eyeballs the handful of cleaner cars in the diner parking lot and studied the sparse population occu-find the place through the large glass windows in front. The people visible looks older and well-worn. Makes sense, he thought, if I was young I'd have gotten the hell out of here too, somewhere in the city with more opportunities.
"Let's go pretty girls", he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and pushing the car door open. He shivered as the cold air hit him once more, and wondered how it could be so cold here. Just 30 minutes ago on the highway they had air conditioning on in the car with hardly a cloud in the sky, but what looked like a distant thunderhead seemed to envelop the sky quite quickly as they started to wind up the interstate into the foothills of the mountains. His daughters opened their doors and shivered at the same time. "We should have brought our sweaters," said Hailey, crossing her arms and rubbing them with her hands for warmth. "I know, right?" Jenna said as she followed her sister and father towards the diner.
The building was squat and rather small, peeling light blue paint framing white siding with a flat roof on top. The large plate glass covered three whole sides of the building, offering a view towards what looked like an overgrown meadow on the opposite side. Their appetites overpowered their suspicions, and Daniel said "Damn do you 2 smell that?" "Sort of," said Jenna as they made their way across the asphalt to the front doors. "Pancakes!" he said, opening the door to allow the girls inside and following them in. The smell of eggs, bacon, and to Daniel, delicious pancakes quickly assaulted the olfactory and made him even hungrier. An older but pleasant looking woman stood behind the counter, closing the drawer on the ancient cash register and offering them a polite "Hello!"
"Just 3? Follow me please!" Her apron had once been red but had faded to almost pink from years of work, covering a white cotton dress that they could see the other waitress in the diner wearing as well. Her name tag said "Jiovanna" and she seemed to scowl as she walked past them with some menus and disappeared behind the door that led into the kitchen. They passed the counter with some comfortable looking stools, where an older man nursed a coffee, and made their way past a few tables until they arrived at the booths in the back.
Edit: Sorry having issues formatting this and dictating the rest of the story! I'm using talk-to-text on my phone and it's frustrating I'll add the rest as soon as I can debug it. | Martha had had enough of sitting around for twenty-two years. Those who had come after her had joyfully gone onto other astral planes, but somehow, she couldn’t progress. Though the horrifying experience of dying while giving birth had left her sorrowful initially, she tried to make the best of this state of limbo. Without a physical body to hold her back, she pursued the life she had always wanted. She had admired the northern lights from Skógar, had sat in an empty first-class seat from Los Angeles to Tokyo, and had swayed jauntily above the crowd as Beyonce performed live. As a farm girl she would have never had the means to do these things, but as a dead one, she didn’t need them. Lately however, these earthly thrills didn’t seem to hold much sway over her.
Donna, her latest grave-mate, urged Martha to get some structure in life – a set list of things to do to make the passage of days more meaningful, but what was meaning anyway? Martha, never one to shy away from trying new things even if they seemed dull, decided to apply to be a waitress at the new diner across the road. Its owner had struck an unwise pact with the devil and had to pay all his earnings to him. This left him with nothing to pay his employees – hence the ghost force was being recruited to help.
The structure that a waitress’s job provided helped Martha. At the very least, it distracted her. She strived to get orders right, balance as many plates as she could in one hand, and strategically stack all the dirty dishes before she carried them back to the kitchen. She realized it wasn’t too different from her job as a farm hand – feeding the animals and cleaning up the waste. The great thing about this job was that the walking, smiling, and memorizing was enough to leave her exhausted enough to just drop back into her grave at the end of the day.
The sunny Tuesday morning that greeted Martha when she arrived for her graveyard shift had transformed into a cloudy and grey afternoon. A few tables were occupied but nothing that the other dead girls couldn’t handle. Martha decided to spend some time trying to identify the ingredients of the diner’s famous hot sauce they all called Dead Red after which the diner was named. The concoction was rumored to be created by the devil himself - that explained its popularity with the patrons.
The bell chimed, signaling the entry of a new guest.
“Welcome to Dead Red,” they call cooed as was the custom.
A young man dressed in a blue suit flashed an awkward smile and took a seat.
Martha walked up to his booth and placed a glass of water over a napkin.
“Hello there, welcome to Dead Red. I’m Martha. What can I get you today?”
“Just some coffee and eggs please… scrambled.”
Martha couldn’t stop looking at his beautiful face. There was something alluring about the man and the way he carried himself. She barely managed to keep herself together.
“Absolutely, coming right up.”
Martha flashed him a smile before she retreated to the kitchen. Surely, she had seen this chap before, but she couldn’t tell from where.
.
.
.
“Thank you so much. That was the most delicious breakfast I’ve ever had”.
Martha smiled as she cleared out his plate and coffee mug. She had heard this line before but this time it seemed truly genuine.
“Say, are you from here? I’m have a feeling I’ve seen you before,” Martha enquired tentatively.
“Just here in town for a couple of days. My mother is from here. I grew up in Boston.”
“Boston eh, lovely city. Who is your mother? Given the size of this town, I’m sure I know her.”
He chuckled, “No way you know her. She died twenty-two years ago while giving birth to me. I just came back to see where she had lived."
Tears welled in Martha’s soul. she had just served her son.
That night, her soul ascended to a higher plane. | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | "Coffee, hun?" She said with a beaming smile.
Johnny looked up, and shook his head. Even though that coffee was out of the world, a fourth cup would be pushing it.
The waitress gone, Johnny slunk back to his thoughts, staring into the walls.
Long ago, when that unknown painter would have stepped back to admire his handiwork, the plaster would have been shining a bright white. But years of smoked bacon and steaming coffee seemed to have lend their hand to the painter's masterpiece, and turned it a pale yellow.
What was weird though, Johnny didn't remember this diner from much before. He had grown up in this town, and knew each and every nook and cranny here. He had asked Mary to settle here after marriage, and she had complied, leaving her big city behind. Mary used to joke he knew this town better than he knew her body. Her laugh would fill the room as he would pick her up and twirl her around. Let me show you want I know, he would say.
Over time, she too fell in love with the place. "It's a beautiful town. And the people are amazing." She used to say.
This place he had only seen a few months back. His friend Mack has taken him to here after her funeral, "Good food, good crowd, you will like it. Let's go, toast to those wonderful decades man."
Since then this diner had became a haven for him. He would sit at the same window booth everyday, looking over at the graveyard, her presence every so powerful. Sitting here it felt as if she was just sitting with him, her warmth radiating onto him.
"Coffee, sir?"
The voice startled him out of his daze. There was something eerily familiar about this voice.
He looked up to see this girl, not more than 18 years old, standing next to him. He sat there gaping at the new waitress, his mind racing. Granted she had been older when Johnny had met her, but this lady right here was a splitting image of his wife.
"Ahh. Ahhh. Sure. Why.. why not. You.. you new here?" He stammered, his heart pounding.
She beamed, "You know, I just started work here. This is a beautiful town, and some amazing people. Enjoy your coffee!"
As she turned and went to the next table in front, Johnny couldn't stop staring at her. She looked exactly like her. Her kettle empty, she moved back behind the counter, Johnny tracking her every move.
By now, his heart had stopped pounding and he let out a sigh. Clutching the warm cup, he looked out, over at the graveyard.
"Wouldn't be something, right dear?" He murmured as a smile escaped.
Wouldn't it be something. | "So what's up with this place?" Morgan asked, holding his coffee cup to keep his hands steady.
"What about it?" Lou asked, leaning back in the booth. The seating afforded the pair with a wide view of the rest of the diner, the counter, the window into its kitchen, the patrons and staff.
"You know, the people working here." Morgan leaned forward and whispered. "They're... dead."
"Caught that right away, did you?" Lou, for once, sounded impressed. He picked up the menu the hostess had left them with, glanced at it, and put it back down. "The living can be... inconsistent when it comes to noticing the dead. Or anything else. You ever hear that people tend to ignore details that don't jive with their understanding of the world?"
"No."
"Well they do. And the dead walkin' around? That's one o' them details people like to miss unless you make it real obvious for them."
"Okay, but that doesn't explain what they're all doing here. You know. Working in a diner. Do they all have an unfinished compulsion to work a shitty 9 to 5 or something?"
He trailed off as the waitress swung by, wearing the same pastel pink uniform that all the servers were wearing. She grinned a grin that almost literally split her skull in half, and spoke with the eldritch timbre that the dead shared. "Hello, y'all, I'm Darla and I'll be your server today. Can I get y'all anything to drink?"
"Coffee, black," Lou said.
"No, I'm, no." Morgan looked away from her grotesque visage, knowing it was rude but probably less rude than staring.
He could hear her smile, though. "Okay, great, I'll just give y'all a few minutes then."
"Okay that one?" Lou said once she'd left earshot. "Yeesh. But most of them? Mostly intact." He tracked someone walking through the kitchen. "Mostly. But here's the thing, kid. These aren't restless dead."
"Then why are they here?" Morgan asked. "How are they here? These are some... pretty big details not to notice, Lou."
"Okay, consider the facts. One, this place is right next to the fricken graveyard. You'd think that'd prime people to notice that the servers were, say, not so fresh." Lou steepled his fingers. "Two, this is a business, kid. Taxes. Payroll. W2s. Paperwork. Even if man is likely to overlook the dead man staring him in the face, Uncle Sam will not. Three..." he around to the booth behind them. "Hey buddy!"
The guy sitting behind them looked up from his human-flesh bound menu. "Yeah?"
"How long this place been here?" Lou asked.
The guy narrowed his eyes in thought. "A few weeks, maybe?"
"What was here before that?"
"Nothing. It just showed up one day."
Lou nodded. "This place popular?"
"Oh yeah, super popular. Everybody in town comes here. The food?" He did a chef kiss. "Amazing."
"Thanks, buddy." He turned back to Morgan. "Add up the facts, kid. Everybody comes here. Nobody thinks its weird that it just turned up. Their own freakin' dead are buried next door, come here to work, but nobody thinks it's weird that grandma Mertle is working the register."
"This place is slipping." Morgan gripped the table as the realization struck him. "Oh god, Lou, this place is slipping across the veil. All these people..."
"All these people are going to slip into death like it's a warm bath, kid. Won't even realize it. Probably never will."
Morgan's hand went to his mouth. "What do we do, Lou?"
Lou picked up the menu again, shrugging slightly. "You tell me, kid. You're the psychopomp." | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | Five in the morning, as usual, I sit down in the corner booth of Jack’s Diner. I have been eating at Jack’s every morning for the past four months, and have always had an excellent time doing so. Perfectly mopped floors, perfectly kept tables, and, most importantly, perfect food. The only thing off about Jack’s is the staff, really, being entirely composed of ghosts.
They’re not the bad kind mind you, like the kind you see in horror movies, they’re just ghosts. Sitting in the corner still, I spot another usual customer, Debbie. From what I’ve gathered, Debbie is about seventy years old, retired, and, like me, starts every day with a hardy breakfast at Jack’s. I watch her order a coffee black and a pancake combo, an excellent choice indeed.
A moment later, I am approached by an ethereal woman with a transparent cigarette hanging from her lips. “What’ll you have?” she asks, flipping her order sheet. Out of curiosity, I simply reply, “Whatever you think is best, I’ve tried everything out but can’t decide for myself.” She winks before writing quickly on her pad and returning to the counter, hanging my order on the line saying, “Graveyard shift special, extra special.” *Strange order* I thought, but it HAS to be good coming from here.
Idly rubbing my palms together, I feel a cold breeze blow by me. “Jack, you’re finally here,” the waitress shouts over to him before continuing, “Customers started rolling in about a half hour ago.” THE JACK, owner of this joint was here, standing at the doorway, but he didn’t look anything like I expected. He definitely wasn’t a ghost, clearly matte in appearance and breathing heavily as he removed his coat. “Sorry Donna, had to see about a new dish washer,” he said before walking to the door in the back.
“It didn’t pan out, old boy was *at peace* or some nonsense,” said Jack, removing a key from his pocket. With that, Jack opened the door and rushed inside, before closing and locking it behind him. A few minutes later, I got my order: a tall glass of OJ, two pieces of butter toast, a three... no, five egg omelet, and a bowl of gravy. “Wow,” is all I could muster before Donna said, “I know right, that’s what I think I’d have *if* I could have it.” She smirked, heading back to the register, and I dug in.
It tasted like my grandma made it, like everything else here, just perfect. “Compliments to the chef,” I say absentmindedly, content with life after a wonderful meal. “Compliment him yourself,” Donna said jokingly before knocking on the window to the kitchen. A man popped his head out, clearly confused judging by his face, before asking,”What? There an issue with the order?” Amused, I replied,”Yeah, there wasn’t enough of it,” chuckling before waving to Donna to let her know I wanted to pay.
She handed me the bill, which was surprisingly cheap. “Guess you don’t have to worry about feeding your busboy, huh?” I said jokingly. Her expression didn’t seem to indicate amusement, however. Shocked, she whispered,”Shut up, Timmy doesn’t understand that he’s... you know.” “What?” interjected a young man coming from the back with a cart. At a loss for words, Donna freezes, but I jump in,”Underpaid, but don’t worry, I’ll leave a big tip for you guys to split.” Smiling, I leave a twenty on the table, which seems to put both of them at ease.
After paying at the counter, I turn to leave, hearing the faintest *thank you* from Donna as I went. I need to be more careful, I guess not everyone can deal with being a ghost the same way. Hopping in my car, I look at the pickup parked in the ‘Manager’ spot, with a dirty shovel and a pile of burnt candles in the back. “Huh,” is all I say to myself before starting my car and driving away.
Edit: Fixed with paragraphing, typed on smartphone, sorry | "So what's up with this place?" Morgan asked, holding his coffee cup to keep his hands steady.
"What about it?" Lou asked, leaning back in the booth. The seating afforded the pair with a wide view of the rest of the diner, the counter, the window into its kitchen, the patrons and staff.
"You know, the people working here." Morgan leaned forward and whispered. "They're... dead."
"Caught that right away, did you?" Lou, for once, sounded impressed. He picked up the menu the hostess had left them with, glanced at it, and put it back down. "The living can be... inconsistent when it comes to noticing the dead. Or anything else. You ever hear that people tend to ignore details that don't jive with their understanding of the world?"
"No."
"Well they do. And the dead walkin' around? That's one o' them details people like to miss unless you make it real obvious for them."
"Okay, but that doesn't explain what they're all doing here. You know. Working in a diner. Do they all have an unfinished compulsion to work a shitty 9 to 5 or something?"
He trailed off as the waitress swung by, wearing the same pastel pink uniform that all the servers were wearing. She grinned a grin that almost literally split her skull in half, and spoke with the eldritch timbre that the dead shared. "Hello, y'all, I'm Darla and I'll be your server today. Can I get y'all anything to drink?"
"Coffee, black," Lou said.
"No, I'm, no." Morgan looked away from her grotesque visage, knowing it was rude but probably less rude than staring.
He could hear her smile, though. "Okay, great, I'll just give y'all a few minutes then."
"Okay that one?" Lou said once she'd left earshot. "Yeesh. But most of them? Mostly intact." He tracked someone walking through the kitchen. "Mostly. But here's the thing, kid. These aren't restless dead."
"Then why are they here?" Morgan asked. "How are they here? These are some... pretty big details not to notice, Lou."
"Okay, consider the facts. One, this place is right next to the fricken graveyard. You'd think that'd prime people to notice that the servers were, say, not so fresh." Lou steepled his fingers. "Two, this is a business, kid. Taxes. Payroll. W2s. Paperwork. Even if man is likely to overlook the dead man staring him in the face, Uncle Sam will not. Three..." he around to the booth behind them. "Hey buddy!"
The guy sitting behind them looked up from his human-flesh bound menu. "Yeah?"
"How long this place been here?" Lou asked.
The guy narrowed his eyes in thought. "A few weeks, maybe?"
"What was here before that?"
"Nothing. It just showed up one day."
Lou nodded. "This place popular?"
"Oh yeah, super popular. Everybody in town comes here. The food?" He did a chef kiss. "Amazing."
"Thanks, buddy." He turned back to Morgan. "Add up the facts, kid. Everybody comes here. Nobody thinks its weird that it just turned up. Their own freakin' dead are buried next door, come here to work, but nobody thinks it's weird that grandma Mertle is working the register."
"This place is slipping." Morgan gripped the table as the realization struck him. "Oh god, Lou, this place is slipping across the veil. All these people..."
"All these people are going to slip into death like it's a warm bath, kid. Won't even realize it. Probably never will."
Morgan's hand went to his mouth. "What do we do, Lou?"
Lou picked up the menu again, shrugging slightly. "You tell me, kid. You're the psychopomp." | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | "Coffee, hun?" She said with a beaming smile.
Johnny looked up, and shook his head. Even though that coffee was out of the world, a fourth cup would be pushing it.
The waitress gone, Johnny slunk back to his thoughts, staring into the walls.
Long ago, when that unknown painter would have stepped back to admire his handiwork, the plaster would have been shining a bright white. But years of smoked bacon and steaming coffee seemed to have lend their hand to the painter's masterpiece, and turned it a pale yellow.
What was weird though, Johnny didn't remember this diner from much before. He had grown up in this town, and knew each and every nook and cranny here. He had asked Mary to settle here after marriage, and she had complied, leaving her big city behind. Mary used to joke he knew this town better than he knew her body. Her laugh would fill the room as he would pick her up and twirl her around. Let me show you want I know, he would say.
Over time, she too fell in love with the place. "It's a beautiful town. And the people are amazing." She used to say.
This place he had only seen a few months back. His friend Mack has taken him to here after her funeral, "Good food, good crowd, you will like it. Let's go, toast to those wonderful decades man."
Since then this diner had became a haven for him. He would sit at the same window booth everyday, looking over at the graveyard, her presence every so powerful. Sitting here it felt as if she was just sitting with him, her warmth radiating onto him.
"Coffee, sir?"
The voice startled him out of his daze. There was something eerily familiar about this voice.
He looked up to see this girl, not more than 18 years old, standing next to him. He sat there gaping at the new waitress, his mind racing. Granted she had been older when Johnny had met her, but this lady right here was a splitting image of his wife.
"Ahh. Ahhh. Sure. Why.. why not. You.. you new here?" He stammered, his heart pounding.
She beamed, "You know, I just started work here. This is a beautiful town, and some amazing people. Enjoy your coffee!"
As she turned and went to the next table in front, Johnny couldn't stop staring at her. She looked exactly like her. Her kettle empty, she moved back behind the counter, Johnny tracking her every move.
By now, his heart had stopped pounding and he let out a sigh. Clutching the warm cup, he looked out, over at the graveyard.
"Wouldn't be something, right dear?" He murmured as a smile escaped.
Wouldn't it be something. | All the angels of death wanted was to organise a feast. Now that modern medicine became so developed, the angels grew bored with the few death they got per year. The diner was their new solution.
The diner called to those who should have died, hadn't it been for modern medicine and healing techniques. The waiters of the diner were angels of death as well. Feeding the guests untill they couldn't eat anymore.
Each diner the people who died came back, just to feast. Interacting with the other humans and the angels of death. It sure was less lonely for both the angels and corpses. The living didn't know they ate among the dead, hell, they didn't even realise each time they left the diner, they left with one less person.
How could they do this? You ask. Well. The food was cursed, but delicious. If you eat the food, you slowly die during the time you spend at the diner. And, of course, you stay there. This only works on the people who should have died some time ago though. If they just took anyone, the angels of life wouldn't accept the diber of death.
There are only 24 living left at the diner. Soon the angels of death would run out of people to take. Their new solution? They don't know yet. Maybe move to a different town, city or country. Or maybe make all the supposed-to-be-dead people come to their small village. Surely, only 24 are left, and a lot of houses are empty. There is enough space left, for both the living and the dead.
Who knows, maybe you and I will meet there. Either as living person and angel of death, or dead person and angel of death. It doesn't really matter. The angels will come for everyone. And once the last has joined the diner, we will dine forever. | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | Five in the morning, as usual, I sit down in the corner booth of Jack’s Diner. I have been eating at Jack’s every morning for the past four months, and have always had an excellent time doing so. Perfectly mopped floors, perfectly kept tables, and, most importantly, perfect food. The only thing off about Jack’s is the staff, really, being entirely composed of ghosts.
They’re not the bad kind mind you, like the kind you see in horror movies, they’re just ghosts. Sitting in the corner still, I spot another usual customer, Debbie. From what I’ve gathered, Debbie is about seventy years old, retired, and, like me, starts every day with a hardy breakfast at Jack’s. I watch her order a coffee black and a pancake combo, an excellent choice indeed.
A moment later, I am approached by an ethereal woman with a transparent cigarette hanging from her lips. “What’ll you have?” she asks, flipping her order sheet. Out of curiosity, I simply reply, “Whatever you think is best, I’ve tried everything out but can’t decide for myself.” She winks before writing quickly on her pad and returning to the counter, hanging my order on the line saying, “Graveyard shift special, extra special.” *Strange order* I thought, but it HAS to be good coming from here.
Idly rubbing my palms together, I feel a cold breeze blow by me. “Jack, you’re finally here,” the waitress shouts over to him before continuing, “Customers started rolling in about a half hour ago.” THE JACK, owner of this joint was here, standing at the doorway, but he didn’t look anything like I expected. He definitely wasn’t a ghost, clearly matte in appearance and breathing heavily as he removed his coat. “Sorry Donna, had to see about a new dish washer,” he said before walking to the door in the back.
“It didn’t pan out, old boy was *at peace* or some nonsense,” said Jack, removing a key from his pocket. With that, Jack opened the door and rushed inside, before closing and locking it behind him. A few minutes later, I got my order: a tall glass of OJ, two pieces of butter toast, a three... no, five egg omelet, and a bowl of gravy. “Wow,” is all I could muster before Donna said, “I know right, that’s what I think I’d have *if* I could have it.” She smirked, heading back to the register, and I dug in.
It tasted like my grandma made it, like everything else here, just perfect. “Compliments to the chef,” I say absentmindedly, content with life after a wonderful meal. “Compliment him yourself,” Donna said jokingly before knocking on the window to the kitchen. A man popped his head out, clearly confused judging by his face, before asking,”What? There an issue with the order?” Amused, I replied,”Yeah, there wasn’t enough of it,” chuckling before waving to Donna to let her know I wanted to pay.
She handed me the bill, which was surprisingly cheap. “Guess you don’t have to worry about feeding your busboy, huh?” I said jokingly. Her expression didn’t seem to indicate amusement, however. Shocked, she whispered,”Shut up, Timmy doesn’t understand that he’s... you know.” “What?” interjected a young man coming from the back with a cart. At a loss for words, Donna freezes, but I jump in,”Underpaid, but don’t worry, I’ll leave a big tip for you guys to split.” Smiling, I leave a twenty on the table, which seems to put both of them at ease.
After paying at the counter, I turn to leave, hearing the faintest *thank you* from Donna as I went. I need to be more careful, I guess not everyone can deal with being a ghost the same way. Hopping in my car, I look at the pickup parked in the ‘Manager’ spot, with a dirty shovel and a pile of burnt candles in the back. “Huh,” is all I say to myself before starting my car and driving away.
Edit: Fixed with paragraphing, typed on smartphone, sorry | All the angels of death wanted was to organise a feast. Now that modern medicine became so developed, the angels grew bored with the few death they got per year. The diner was their new solution.
The diner called to those who should have died, hadn't it been for modern medicine and healing techniques. The waiters of the diner were angels of death as well. Feeding the guests untill they couldn't eat anymore.
Each diner the people who died came back, just to feast. Interacting with the other humans and the angels of death. It sure was less lonely for both the angels and corpses. The living didn't know they ate among the dead, hell, they didn't even realise each time they left the diner, they left with one less person.
How could they do this? You ask. Well. The food was cursed, but delicious. If you eat the food, you slowly die during the time you spend at the diner. And, of course, you stay there. This only works on the people who should have died some time ago though. If they just took anyone, the angels of life wouldn't accept the diber of death.
There are only 24 living left at the diner. Soon the angels of death would run out of people to take. Their new solution? They don't know yet. Maybe move to a different town, city or country. Or maybe make all the supposed-to-be-dead people come to their small village. Surely, only 24 are left, and a lot of houses are empty. There is enough space left, for both the living and the dead.
Who knows, maybe you and I will meet there. Either as living person and angel of death, or dead person and angel of death. It doesn't really matter. The angels will come for everyone. And once the last has joined the diner, we will dine forever. | |
[WP] A diner next to a cemetery is staffed by the ghosts of those buried nearby. Some of the staff know they're dead, but keep this a secret from the ones who don't. No one knows where the diner came from, it just appeared one day. But the food is so good that people in town keep coming back... | The medium walked up to the front of the neon-lit diner, unsure what feeling was overwhelming her. It was like the world was shouting at her in a foreign language and all she could do was listen and not understand. It didn't help that the cemetery next door want exactly quiet. As she opened the door to the entrance, her eyes met with those of a waitress, who greeted her with a warm smile.
"Welcome to Woodland Brunch! Go ahead and sit yourself wherever you like!"
The shouting grew louder. The medium stood with her mouth open for a moment, collecting herself as a happy-looking elderly couple passed her to exit the building.
"I'm sorry... I'm not here to eat. I ran into some car trouble about half a mile south. Do you folks have a mechanic in town?"
The waitress's smile turned into a thoughtful frown as she glanced at the ceiling.
"Hmm...I don't know... Last mechanic I knew 'round these parts had an accident and just hangs around the doc's place. If you like, I can have my Gordon take a look at it on his next break. He's the cook here. It shouldn't be too long."
"Oh, that would be wonderful. I'll take any help I can get..."
The feeling grew into a roar that the medium couldn't ignore anymore. She closed her eyes rubbed the bridge of her nose as the pressure grew and grew. It struck her that the feeling wasn't coming from the world, it was coming from inside. She felt a cold sweat wash over her shoulders and crawl up her neck. Startled, she opened her eyes and looked up.
"Everything alright, honey? You look terrified. You sure car trouble is all you got?"
The medium's heart stopped. The waitress's eyes, although set in a friendly, concerned face, were alight in a pale green fire, no bigger a match flame, excited and jumping to and fro as if shaken by a wind from all directions. The waitress waited for an answer, unfazed and still caring. The medium gasped quickly and quietly as she looked around her for what seemed like the first time. The previously shiny windows and glass door were all broken and dirty. Ceiling panels were mostly spread on the ground, some left hanging in disrepair. The bright neon lights were all gone, replaced by shadows cast from sunlight. A strong damp smell of mold and decay overpowered her, almost as strong as the presence she felt right in front of her. No...all around her. This entire building was filled with spirits with intense desire, an unyielding determination to be...a diner. Every waitress, cook, and busboy, the neon lights, even the broken ice cream machine behind the counter, it was all a fabrication. Except for the customers.
The diner seats were sparsely occupied with living people working on their plates. The medium noticed they all had a dazed, happy look to them, as if they didn't notice their surroundings. The medium's stomach turned violently when she noticed the maggots on every plate.
"You can tell, can't you."
The medium accidentally squeaked instead of answered, her shock growing to unmanageable levels. She pointed at the nearest booth where a frail, young man was quietly munching on his fork.
"It's mealworm, not maggots. They can't tell. To the people of this town, the food here is the best bacon and eggs, the tastiest sandwiches, and the juiciest burgers. Please don't clear their sight. We aren't haunting anyone."
"Mealworm?"
"It's a healthy alternative to meat and some grains. The famine hit this place hard. With the crop fires and the sickness, folks just want to have a good meal. My friends and I know what it feels like to slowly die of hunger. We can't let that happen again. We just want to feed everyone. If they never know the difference, what does it matter?"
The medium took several deep breaths and centered herself.
"Ok, don't worry. I won't tell anyone. Im just passing through to visit family upstate. I don't have any reason to disrupt you. I just need some help with my car. Is Gordon a...?"
"Oh nevermind Gordon. If you're ok with it, we can head over to the doc's place and talk to our layabout mechanic. He had a car fall on him in his shop in '59, but he accused the doctor of stealing his wallet. Stupidest unfinished business in town. He's got an honest heart, but he ain't the brightest soul..." | "A what?!?"
If anyone had been counting, they could have told you that Abram Williams, proprietor of the Last Gasp Diner, had not been this shocked since 1902, when he was efficiently dispatched by the Unfortunate Accident involving the cat, the Penny Farthing and the petticoat.
"An inspection."
Larry was a good kid. He didn't know he was dead. Denial was one of the seven stages of grief, and even the dead must grieve, as much as those they leave behind.
Abram's faintly glowing jaw worked up and down, words uncharacteristically failing him. Eventually, he just repeated the question.
"A what?!?"
"A health inspection. That's what the letter says. Officials from the Health Department want to inspect our kitchen on..."
Larry scanned the text of the letter, found the date, and did a quick mental calculation.
"... in three week's time."
"But why, in the tarnation, do they want to do an inspection?"
"Apparently someone found a cockroach."
"But, an inspection? Of *our kitchen*?"
"Yes. That's what a health inspection is." Larry seemed bemused by his boss' confusion.
Abram sat down. "This is the most ridiculous thing to happen to me since the day I..."
He trailed off and looked sharply at Larry. The poor kid really wasn't ready to face his decease yet, and the shock of the so-called 'Health Inspection' had almost made Abram spill the beans.
"Since the day you what?" asked Larry.
"Since the day I.. ah... was young," said Abram.
"Look, it'll be fine," said Larry. "I managed a Health Inspection at my last job, and we got a glowing report."
"Your last job?" asked Abram.
"Yes, remember? I told you about it. I worked as a server at the 'Greasy Sparrow' on High Street."
"Ah, yes. I recall Christine telling me about that place."
"Christine? The girl who serves tables on weekends?"
"Yes. She ate at the Greasy Sparrow just before she..." Again Abram stopped himself.
"Before she what?"
"... before she... um... came to work here. Almost exactly two years ago."
"Hey, that was just before our Health Inspection."
"Oh, really?" Abram said, raising an eyebrow.
Larry smiled at his boss, and offered, "If you like, I'll manage the Inspection. We've got plenty of time to get rid of a few cockroaches. Let me handle everything!"
"All right, Larry, you go ahead and do whatever is necessary."
"I will!" he said, and left the room.
\----
"Here's the place. Wow, what a dump," said Tim.
"Sure is," said Aaron, and opened the back of the van. The van was emblazoned with the logo of his company, Aaaaaron's Exterminators. Aaron took pride in the fact that his was first in the phone book, blissfully unaware that his main competitor, Aaaabacus Pest Control, had recently received approval for another 'A'.
"Who's paying for this job, anyway?" Tim asked.
Aaron smiled. "When you've been in business long enough, you don't worry about who, as long as they have the dough."
Tim was flipping through the job file. "Huh. Roaches. Should be easy."
"Yup. That's the best kind of money. Why don't you unload the gear, and I'll see if anyone's here."
He approached the door of the abandoned diner, and was surprised to smell some rather delicious smells. He knocked, waited, and knocked again.
As he waited, he felt his skin grow prickly and cold. A dark shadow formed on the door of the diner, and a knot of horror gripped his stomach. The shadow formed into a netherous void, and coalesced into the form of a man - a young man with pale white and green skin - what was left of his skin, that is, that had not rotted away. The apparition reached an arm towards Aaron, and the middle-aged man heard a sepulchural breath forming the words *Ihhh'm glaahhhhd yhhhoou've cohhhhmmme!*
Aaron's chest tightened with sudden pain, like the doctor warned him about. The pain shot up his arm, and he suddenly felt dizzy. Everything went dark and he began to fall.
"I'm glad you've come!" Larry said, shaking the older man's hand.
"I'm glad to be here," said Aaron, ignoring the fact that his body had collapsed on the ground behind him. "You have a small roach problem, you say?"
"Yes, just a small one, but kind of urgent."
Aaron clicked his tongue in his cheeks. "Urgent, hey? Shouldn't really be a problem. Are you the boss here?"
"No, not at all!" said Larry, "but the boss has put me in charge of dealing with this."
"Well, you've called the right people," Aaron reassured him.
"Is that your colleague?" Larry asked
Aaron glanced at Tim. Tim was frantically trying to give his boss' body CPR with one hand, while calling 911 with the other. Weird.
"Yeah, give me a little tour of the kitchen first, I'll brief him when I've had a look," he said, and followed Larry into the diner. He made small talk with Larry as he toured the kitchen, and chose not to hear the sirens outside.
It was, indeed, a simple enough job. He decided not to bother Tim, who was talking frantically into his phone. He paid no attention to the ambulance parked in front of the van. He retrieved some baits and spray, stepped past the paramedics crowding his body, and went back to the kitchen to do the work he knew he was best at. By the time he'd finished, his body was covered with a sheet, which helped him ignore it. Even the dead must grieve, he thought briefly, before pushing the thought away.
\----
Inspection day arrived and there were roaches everywhere. They crawled across the benches, through the cupboards, under the tables, across the roof. They drifted through the walls and doors and the sides of pots, their tiny glowing antennae seeking food, their translucent scuttling legs carrying their ghostly bodies everywhere it was to be found. If they couldn't creep to the food, or pass through the sides of the serving containers, their ethereal forms would drift through the air wherever the smell of the cooking led them.
Christine shrieked at Abram, "*Do* something, boss, I can't keep up with orders if I have to fricking exorcise every fricking dish before it goes out!"
Poor Abram had zero idea what to do.
Just then, the door opened, and Larry appeared, smiling. His smile froze when he saw Abram's face.
"What's wrong, boss?"
"Oh, Larry, what did you do? What did you do to deal with our roach problem?"
"I hired an exterminator I found in the phone book." he noticed both Abram and Christine were looking at him sharply. "What?"
"An exterminator. To exterminate the cockroaches." Christine said. The way she said it, it didn't sound like a question.
"Yes," said Larry. He looked around at the cockroach-sized flickers of light infesting every corner. "I don't understand," he said. "They should all be dead..."
His voice trailed off, and he looked at the floating, scuttling, swarming insect shades. There did seem to be something odd about these particular cockroaches. He looked at Christine, and Abram, and then at his own hand, as if seeing them for the first time. There seemed to be something odd about them too.
Christine glanced meaningfully at the distraught old man and set her jaw. "Larry," she said firmly.
"Yes?" he said.
"You might want to sit down. There's something you need to be told." | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | I was somewhat surprised at how easy it had been to get the job of diplomat for the Terra-Prime Space-Faring Relations Board. I'd just sent in the application, and I had almost no experience, but they'd already called me in for an interview.
The interview itself was short, the first question was about my criminal record (which was nonexistent), and the second was whether I was a people person, which seemed almost redundant given that I was applying for a job as a diplomat.
But now it was time for my first day of work, and I was a bit nervous. I had barely been trained, and had been brought to the Grand United Space-Farer Station, or the Gus-Fast as the pilot of the transport had kept calling it on the way here. While the Gus-Fast was large, I was making steady progress toward the office where I would get my first assignment. Finally, I arrived at the door.
"Hello?" I called as I entered. I rapped my knuckles on the door, but it was already open by that point. "I'm Planter Blackwell, the new diplomat..."
"Uh? Oh!" a grizzled voice said. A middle-aged man jolted in his chair as I entered. The name on his desk read "Jerry". "So you're the new Dipper Junior? Come on, you're late."
The man gestured for me to follow him and began walking briskly down the hall.
"Hoo boy, the other dipper jr. ain't gonna be in a good mood, but it's a good thing you're here now," he said.
I followed Jerry, accidentally knocking over an empty trash can as I left the room. I barely had time to put it back in place before he was nearly out of sight, and had to scramble to catch up.
"Sir? I haven't really been briefed, what is my mission?" I asked.
"Hm? Oh yeah, you're doing a very important... eh, what do they say to call it... training mission? Yeah, I think that was it," he said. "Gotta take care of some VIPs for... some span of time... Ugh, I really need to lay off the vodka on work days."
"VIPs? That sounds awfully important for a training mission," I said.
"It'll make sense when we get there," Jerry said. He turned the corner and stopped in front of a door, which had the words "Dipper's Playhouse" written in Star-phonics. He knocked the door twice, then three times.
"Wait, is this some kind of scam? I was told I would be working as a diplomat," I said.
"You are, but the training for diplomats is a bit... strange," Jerry said.
Before he could elaborate, the door slammed open and a woman roughly my age wearing the same uniform I'd been given stormed out.
"Your problem now, newbie!" she shouted as she headed down the hall. "I'm getting lunch!"
"Well that's unfortunate," Jerry said. "Guess I've got to give the introduction then..."
Jerry walked over to the door and opened it, walking inside. As I entered, I noticed a large number of humanoid children with strange bodily features running around, screaming and throwing things.
"These are the children of nobility and other diplomats, so you've got to babysit them until you've been deemed ready to advance. It's a pain in the ass, so nobody wants to do it," he said. "And I've got paperwork to get back to, so try to survive until Jenny gets back."
"Wait, why do they seem so-" I asked, only to be cut off by the door slamming in my face. "Humanlike..."
"Teacher! Quigli took my markers!" A small mushroom person wearing a dress shouted as they ran over to me.
"Xiazha's lying! They're mine, not hers! I found them in the arts'n'crafts box! Finder's keepers!" a small boy said. He looked nearly human, save for the insectoid compound eyes and the mandibles around his mouth.
"Uh... Shasha, what makes the markers yours?" I asked.
"Xiazha!" the mushroom child said.
"Okay... Xiazha," I said, putting a bit of a sharper inflection on the words. "But don't dodge the question."
"We were picking our thing for the day and I picked the markers, so they're mine!" she said.
"I see... Well, there's more than one marker, can't you share?" I asked.
"The markers are my thing! I should get all of them!" Xiazha screamed.
"But you only use the red!" Quigli said.
"Red's the prettiest color!" she said. Naturally, the cap of her head was candy-apple red with white spots.
"Okay... Quigli, I don't know how this 'thing' thing works, but is there a reason you can't play with whatever you got?" I asked.
"Mom dropped me off late, so I didn't get anything," he said, his expression dropping.
"Right..." I said. I looked around, and spied a toy box at the far end of the room. "Why don't you just go grab something else from the toy box?"
"Really? It's not even toy time yet," he said.
"Uh... sure?" I said, now somewhat unsure of what exactly I was authorizing. "Just this once though."
The boy scampered off toward the toy box, and I turned my attention to the gooey green girl tugging at the end of my coat. She showed me a crayon drawing of the space station, which was surprisingly detailed.
"Ah, very nice... uh," I said, glancing down at the signature. "Melaani."
She emitted a small squeak and ran off to an extremely pale girl with mechanical limbs. Things seemed to be going well, then Jenny opened the door to the room, carrying half a sandwich, a soda, and a bag of squeezy froot.
"Okay, I'm back, and the place isn't on fire yet! Good stuff, newbie," the other junior diplomat said.
"Thank goodness, what on Gus-Fast is going on here?" I asked.
"You mean like with the station as a whole or just this room?" Jenny asked.
"I mean why do we have so many children on a space station?" I asked.
"Because they were born here," she said, taking a sip of her drink.
"Okay, but aren't aliens... you know, alien? Most of these guys look like human kids in convincing Halloween costumes," I said.
"Oh, human crossbreeds mostly. Diplomacy gets a bit freaky sometimes, and we tend to be a bit more... viable than one would expect with other farer species, so the higher ups thought it would be a good idea to remind us why the TePS-FaRB handbook has an entire volume detailing the rules and guidelines around canoodling with locals," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I prepared to ask another question before being interrupted by the sounds of pained screaming. Quigli was carrying what looked like a laser pistol and was firing it at the other kids, who were screaming and crying as the beams hit their skin.
"What? Hey! Quigli, no! It's not toy time yet, put that back!" Jenny shouted, putting down her food.
"No! Other teacher said I could get a toy early!" he said, shooting the laser pistol at her.
"Ow! That's it, get over here you little brat," she said, stomping toward the boy as he yelped in fear, throwing the laser pistol on the ground and backing away from it. She grabbed the weapon and stuffed in back in the box, gesturing at him with her fingers to communicate that she was keeping her eyes on him.
"Uh, Jenny? Why are there training weapons in the toybox?" I asked. "Aren't they supposed to be in weapon lockers like all the other weapons?"
"Toy time is code for combat training, most of these kids are going to be generals or warlords when they grow up, so we don't have enough actual toys to warrant a box for them. Besides, the weapon locker is full of medical supplies in case of emergency, so we had to keep the training weapons somewhere else," she said.
"Why are we keeping medical supplies in the weapons locker instead of the first aid kit?" I asked, gesturing at the medical supply box hanging on the wall.
"Because the first aid kit is full of snacks in case of hunger emergencies, obviously," she said, sucking a bit of the froot goo out of its soft plastic-adjacent package.
"You realize this is a terrible idea for organization, what if there had been an emergency and I needed to grab some gauze, but instead I got..." I said, popping open the first aid kit and sending several bags of candy tumbling to the floor, as well as a few loose pieces of fruit and packaged cookies. "Oops."
"Oh, you've done it now, newbie," she said.
"Snack time!" Xiazha shouted, running forward and grabbing a bag of gummee bitz, causing all the other kids to begin swarming to grab their own treats.
"No! Stop that, all of you!" I said ineffectually. It very quickly became clear that there weren't enough snacks to go around, and some of the ones that were available got ruined by kids playing tug of war over them.
Jenny just chuckled, then reached into the desk she'd been eating off of and pulled out a whistle. It let loose a sharp, shrill cry as she blew into it, and all the kids froze where they were.
"That seems... useful," I said.
"Once per day at most, newbie, don't want it to lose it's charm," she said. "Everyone go get your lunches, and put those snacks back where you found them."
The kids dropped the uneaten snacks back on the ground and began walking toward the cubbies toward the side of the room.
"What about the ones we already-" Xiazha began to ask.
"Did I stutter? Put them back," Jenny said, her voice becoming more stern.
The mushroom girl spat the half-chewed gummies back into the bag and placed it on the floor, walking to her cubby and grabbing what appeared to be a bag of spoiled vegetables and sawdust. While I wasn't sure about the nutritional needs of her species, she certainly didn't look like she was enjoying her lunch.
"So... why can't they keep the opened stuff?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I picked up the unopened snacks off the ground, and tossed the opened ones into the trash can.
"If they know we'll let them keep them, they'll just move faster next time. Trust me, it's better this way," she whispered. She raised her voice a little to say, "It's going to be a few hours before the parents come to pick them up, you might want to grab a bite to eat yourself."
"Sure," I said, heading for the door. "See you in a few." | The alarm clock ripped through Allice's dream bringing her back to reality and reminding her that she had to be at work in an hour. Grumbling to her self Allice got up took care of the normal morning necessities put on her one piece and climbed into her battle armor and headed out the door to the tram. One protein pack and a thirty minute commute later Allice waived good morning to the armored receptionist and retrieved her morning briefing packet. She scanned through it as she leaned up against the desk and looked up in shock
&#x200B;
"Sharon I thought I specifically requested not to be placed in the high risk ward for at least another month. Not after what happened last time with the Rino and the Aqua kids."
"I know Allice but there's nobody else on hand who can deal with an Aracnoid. Why anybody would have sex with something that looks like a spider is beyond me." Sharon respond. "Now shoo I've got five people on hold looking for spots for their kids today. Be glad your not in the Swamp room today there's ten Aqua kids in there today."
&#x200B;
Allice shuddered as she walked away from Sharon waiving good bye. Never again there was just something not right about something with the upper half of a human and the lower half of a squid. She headed back into the Red room and went looking for her team. According to the briefing notes there'd be two other's helping her both fairly new. Jane had been out of the training camp for a year now but Sandy had only been out for six months. She'd scored high ranks on her handling skills but none the less she'd have to keep an eye on her.
&#x200B;
Allice Found Jane sitting at the break room table chatting with Sandy who was putting something into the fridge. After introductions she let them know that most of the kids they'd be dealing with today wouldn't be all that bad but the Aracnoid, who's name was Carl, would be someone they would have to keep an eye on. They agreed on a schedule of activates and that Allice would be the one to keep next to Carl at all times to make sure he didn't attempt to wrap one of the kids up in webbing.
&#x200B;
Carl turned out to be a nice enough kid who looked almost like a spider except for the very distracting human head that had more eyes and way more fangs then a normal human head should have. It was enough to make you miss the hands at the end of each of the six legs. He his favorite toy a good size red fire truck. that he would race back and forth between his limbs while making a rather hissing siren noise that was both sweet and creepy at the same time.
The morning is progressing nicely with Allice keeping Carl busy and Jane and Sandy keeping the other kids occupied. It was almost time for lunch when Sharon pages Allice.
&#x200B;
"Allice, heads up I've got a Sarlax incoming. Their going to pay quadruple the normal rate for us to watch him for the second half of today."
&#x200B;
"SHIT Sharon you know you cant put a Sarlax and an Aracnoid in the same room together those two never get along with each other."
&#x200B;
"I know but there's not much I can do upper management already accepted payment and their pulling right now. They will be back with the kid, Timmy's his name, in like five minutes."
&#x200B;
Allice ground her teeth and gave a heads up to Jane and Sandy. At the same time she told Sandy she might as well go ahead and get lunch now but make it quick.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Sandy was sitting in the break room pulling out the components of her lunch and starting to assemble the massive Muffeleta sandwich that she spent all night last night preparing and was looking forward to sharing with her new coworkers, when the alert claxon sounded She glanced up from her just finished sandwich assembly work and grabbed her helmet racing back out into the main room putting it on at the same time. The day care had descended into anarchy Jane is over in one corner wrapped up in the coils of the Sarlax Timmy and Allice is over in the other corner attempting to calm Carl down, but his six legs are scrabbling at the deck attempting to propel him over at Timmy. She grabs the trank gun and heads into the fray pulling a few of the other children back from the mess to make it to Allice. Once there she puts the trank gun against Carl's thorax and doses him. Slowly his frantic legs slow down and he curls up into a little ball of legs and fangs. Allice stands up and checks the scratches on her armor rather dejectedly.
"Thank's Sandy. I don't think I could have calmed him down with out either the tranquilizers or his favorite toy that Timmy stole from him." Allice sighs "Little stinker just scratched my fresh paint coat. Ok lets go uncoil Timmy from Jane before he figures out he can actually crush her."
&#x200B;
"I'll grab the Snake pull" Sandy replies as she heads for the tools locker
&#x200B;
"No Time besides it's not like his fangs have come in yet. We'll be fine."
&#x200B;
They head over towards the writhing mass that is Timmy and begin the long process of unwinding him and getting him into his containment sack. Sandy starts with the head which has rather impressive blue near human eyes. His forked tong flicks out against her helmet shifting it out of it's socket. That's when Sandy realizes that in the rush to get out and help she forgot to latch the helmet down. Trying not to panic she activates the inter suit com system and lets Allice know what's happening. Allice drops Timmy's tail and heads over towards Sandy reaching out for Timmy's Head. Just as she's about to latch onto his head he uncoils his tail from Jane and instead wraps it around Allice's leg and wips her across the room into the supply cabinet cracking it open and spilling it's contents everywhere.
&#x200B;
Sandy realizing that Jane is going to be no help with her arms still pinned by the upper half of Timmy looks around frantic to find something to distract Timmy long enough so that she can latch her helmet down. She spots Timmy's the chew toy his mother had left that morning and makes a grab for it. Just as she gets her fingers around the toy she feels something brush up against the skin of her neck.
&#x200B;
Allice shaking herself and pushing up out of the destroyed remains of the supply cabinet ignores the sound of crunching glass to rush to Sandy's side. As she's pulling Timmy's mouth off of Sandy's neck the Crash team finally shows up. They quickly subdue Timmy and get a guard over his jaws. Allice franticly rushes over to the remains of the supply cabinet and starts looking for the injector pack and the anti venom kit. She finds the injector pack pretty quickly but gasps in horror when she realizes that the crunching sound she heard as she got up was the anti venom kit being crushed into tinny pieces. She wips around and calls to the medic who's looking at Jane and her partially crushed suit.
&#x200B;
"Where's your anti venom kit. I need the anti venom for a Sarlax bite." She screams
"Don't have any they didn't tells us there was a Sarlax on station today." the medic curtly responds ans he starts the process of cutting Jane out of her suit.
&#x200B;
The other members of the crash team not busy bundling Timmy into a containment sack and Carl into his borrow are clustered around Sandy's now convulsing body not wanting to do what has to be done before her body tears it's self apart. Allice drops next to Sandy and does the only thing she can and breaks her neck. With out being able to administer the anti venom right after the bite it's the only thing that can be done to help Sandy.
&#x200B;
An hour later after the Medic had gotten Jane into a stasis pod and the clean up crew had retrieved Sandy's body Allice was sitting in the break room absentmindedly eating the Muffeleta somebody had left out looking through the long list of available applicants. Trying to find three new replacements who could show up tomorrow on short notice. | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | An inglorious death when you’re changing a nappy and a half Sanathian fire puppy, half human baby decides to take that moment to fire fart in your face. To spare the families, that one was always listed as *mysterious causes*. Not inaccurate, but a helluva way to go.
Still easier than covering up having to quarantine half the ship, because some numbnuts decided to pop out a half human, half Wyburgian baby that literally spread pestilence everywhere it crawled and had a thing for getting caught in air ducts. Ain’t life a bitch?
In other words, Daycare *turnover* was off the charts these days since the hybrid baby boom. Humans were so inbred after the Collapse, that interbreeding developed as a means of *reducing* defects.
Now it’s become more of a competition as to who can create the most exotic offspring. Trying to get a red-haired Morovuan Gas Giant-human hybrid? Go for it!
‘And.
.
.
.
.
.
This.
.
.
Was.
.
.
.
.
.
Stan’s.
.
.
Life.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Now.’
The Commander had made that abundantly clear.
One day, Stan’d ended up on the wrong side of Omega Station’s Commander, one James Tiberius Kirk. All over a Giroxian Florax that they were both interested in. From then on, he was *gifted* with being in charge of Daycare.
‘Stan.
.
.
.
Daycare.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Is.
.
An.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Honor.’
And with that, the door to Stan’s life slammed firmly shut.
Some days, Stan swore it felt like half of the kids in Daycare were Jim’s. But a job’s a job, I guess. Ain’t life a bitch?
Stan rubbed his temple. Definitely a three beer night. Four more staff deaths today that had to be spirited away with some carefully worded paperwork. Otherwise, *NO* *ONE* in their right mind would work in Daycare.
Sure some of the work could be performed by droids. But ever since they were given the same rights as all sentient beings, they were often considered more valuable elsewhere. Stan got whoever and whatever was left. These days, making it through two months was pretty much a miracle for most staff. Poor bastards never saw it coming. Ain’t life a bitch? | Apparently, back in the day on Earth, running a daycare was one of the jobs they threatened you with if they thought you couldn't do much of anything else. Not much had changed in the centuries since; I sighed to myself in my office chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose as I paged through the notifications on my datapad.
One jumped out at me. A mail titled, "Seeking admission for our darling little half-Sparxian angel." I was tempted to auto-reply with a "Sorry, we are at temporal-spacial capacity, please try again within the next rotation" when the comm emergency-pager went off. I opened the channel immediately.
SPLORTCH. The unmistakable sound of liquid hitting glassene floors. "Hey, Mrs. Rhexus, it's Room 5 again...Larilene is spewing some kind of fluid from her beakhole and her hair is turning purple...No, Nnior, don't drink it!"
"What's her temperature, Ms. Maren?"
"I think the thermoscanner is broken. It's reading in the negatives."
Another sigh on my behalf. "Alright, I'll page her parents. Hope it's not a case of the Blooms. Her mom mentioned that the rest of her clutchmates had it when dropping her off..." And half-humans always seem to get it worse, I thought as I closed the comm. Never a dull moment. If it's not some weird disease, it's some condition or other that comes from being half-human. Just because we humans CAN breed with everything doesn't mean we always consider the implications of whether or not we SHOULD.
Another notification beep interrupted me from calling Larilene's parents. It was the latest bi-rotational regulatory update from the station council. I glanced through it and my eyes widened in shock. "What do you mean, we're not allowed to put half-transdimensional beings in time out anymore?" | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | I was somewhat surprised at how easy it had been to get the job of diplomat for the Terra-Prime Space-Faring Relations Board. I'd just sent in the application, and I had almost no experience, but they'd already called me in for an interview.
The interview itself was short, the first question was about my criminal record (which was nonexistent), and the second was whether I was a people person, which seemed almost redundant given that I was applying for a job as a diplomat.
But now it was time for my first day of work, and I was a bit nervous. I had barely been trained, and had been brought to the Grand United Space-Farer Station, or the Gus-Fast as the pilot of the transport had kept calling it on the way here. While the Gus-Fast was large, I was making steady progress toward the office where I would get my first assignment. Finally, I arrived at the door.
"Hello?" I called as I entered. I rapped my knuckles on the door, but it was already open by that point. "I'm Planter Blackwell, the new diplomat..."
"Uh? Oh!" a grizzled voice said. A middle-aged man jolted in his chair as I entered. The name on his desk read "Jerry". "So you're the new Dipper Junior? Come on, you're late."
The man gestured for me to follow him and began walking briskly down the hall.
"Hoo boy, the other dipper jr. ain't gonna be in a good mood, but it's a good thing you're here now," he said.
I followed Jerry, accidentally knocking over an empty trash can as I left the room. I barely had time to put it back in place before he was nearly out of sight, and had to scramble to catch up.
"Sir? I haven't really been briefed, what is my mission?" I asked.
"Hm? Oh yeah, you're doing a very important... eh, what do they say to call it... training mission? Yeah, I think that was it," he said. "Gotta take care of some VIPs for... some span of time... Ugh, I really need to lay off the vodka on work days."
"VIPs? That sounds awfully important for a training mission," I said.
"It'll make sense when we get there," Jerry said. He turned the corner and stopped in front of a door, which had the words "Dipper's Playhouse" written in Star-phonics. He knocked the door twice, then three times.
"Wait, is this some kind of scam? I was told I would be working as a diplomat," I said.
"You are, but the training for diplomats is a bit... strange," Jerry said.
Before he could elaborate, the door slammed open and a woman roughly my age wearing the same uniform I'd been given stormed out.
"Your problem now, newbie!" she shouted as she headed down the hall. "I'm getting lunch!"
"Well that's unfortunate," Jerry said. "Guess I've got to give the introduction then..."
Jerry walked over to the door and opened it, walking inside. As I entered, I noticed a large number of humanoid children with strange bodily features running around, screaming and throwing things.
"These are the children of nobility and other diplomats, so you've got to babysit them until you've been deemed ready to advance. It's a pain in the ass, so nobody wants to do it," he said. "And I've got paperwork to get back to, so try to survive until Jenny gets back."
"Wait, why do they seem so-" I asked, only to be cut off by the door slamming in my face. "Humanlike..."
"Teacher! Quigli took my markers!" A small mushroom person wearing a dress shouted as they ran over to me.
"Xiazha's lying! They're mine, not hers! I found them in the arts'n'crafts box! Finder's keepers!" a small boy said. He looked nearly human, save for the insectoid compound eyes and the mandibles around his mouth.
"Uh... Shasha, what makes the markers yours?" I asked.
"Xiazha!" the mushroom child said.
"Okay... Xiazha," I said, putting a bit of a sharper inflection on the words. "But don't dodge the question."
"We were picking our thing for the day and I picked the markers, so they're mine!" she said.
"I see... Well, there's more than one marker, can't you share?" I asked.
"The markers are my thing! I should get all of them!" Xiazha screamed.
"But you only use the red!" Quigli said.
"Red's the prettiest color!" she said. Naturally, the cap of her head was candy-apple red with white spots.
"Okay... Quigli, I don't know how this 'thing' thing works, but is there a reason you can't play with whatever you got?" I asked.
"Mom dropped me off late, so I didn't get anything," he said, his expression dropping.
"Right..." I said. I looked around, and spied a toy box at the far end of the room. "Why don't you just go grab something else from the toy box?"
"Really? It's not even toy time yet," he said.
"Uh... sure?" I said, now somewhat unsure of what exactly I was authorizing. "Just this once though."
The boy scampered off toward the toy box, and I turned my attention to the gooey green girl tugging at the end of my coat. She showed me a crayon drawing of the space station, which was surprisingly detailed.
"Ah, very nice... uh," I said, glancing down at the signature. "Melaani."
She emitted a small squeak and ran off to an extremely pale girl with mechanical limbs. Things seemed to be going well, then Jenny opened the door to the room, carrying half a sandwich, a soda, and a bag of squeezy froot.
"Okay, I'm back, and the place isn't on fire yet! Good stuff, newbie," the other junior diplomat said.
"Thank goodness, what on Gus-Fast is going on here?" I asked.
"You mean like with the station as a whole or just this room?" Jenny asked.
"I mean why do we have so many children on a space station?" I asked.
"Because they were born here," she said, taking a sip of her drink.
"Okay, but aren't aliens... you know, alien? Most of these guys look like human kids in convincing Halloween costumes," I said.
"Oh, human crossbreeds mostly. Diplomacy gets a bit freaky sometimes, and we tend to be a bit more... viable than one would expect with other farer species, so the higher ups thought it would be a good idea to remind us why the TePS-FaRB handbook has an entire volume detailing the rules and guidelines around canoodling with locals," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I prepared to ask another question before being interrupted by the sounds of pained screaming. Quigli was carrying what looked like a laser pistol and was firing it at the other kids, who were screaming and crying as the beams hit their skin.
"What? Hey! Quigli, no! It's not toy time yet, put that back!" Jenny shouted, putting down her food.
"No! Other teacher said I could get a toy early!" he said, shooting the laser pistol at her.
"Ow! That's it, get over here you little brat," she said, stomping toward the boy as he yelped in fear, throwing the laser pistol on the ground and backing away from it. She grabbed the weapon and stuffed in back in the box, gesturing at him with her fingers to communicate that she was keeping her eyes on him.
"Uh, Jenny? Why are there training weapons in the toybox?" I asked. "Aren't they supposed to be in weapon lockers like all the other weapons?"
"Toy time is code for combat training, most of these kids are going to be generals or warlords when they grow up, so we don't have enough actual toys to warrant a box for them. Besides, the weapon locker is full of medical supplies in case of emergency, so we had to keep the training weapons somewhere else," she said.
"Why are we keeping medical supplies in the weapons locker instead of the first aid kit?" I asked, gesturing at the medical supply box hanging on the wall.
"Because the first aid kit is full of snacks in case of hunger emergencies, obviously," she said, sucking a bit of the froot goo out of its soft plastic-adjacent package.
"You realize this is a terrible idea for organization, what if there had been an emergency and I needed to grab some gauze, but instead I got..." I said, popping open the first aid kit and sending several bags of candy tumbling to the floor, as well as a few loose pieces of fruit and packaged cookies. "Oops."
"Oh, you've done it now, newbie," she said.
"Snack time!" Xiazha shouted, running forward and grabbing a bag of gummee bitz, causing all the other kids to begin swarming to grab their own treats.
"No! Stop that, all of you!" I said ineffectually. It very quickly became clear that there weren't enough snacks to go around, and some of the ones that were available got ruined by kids playing tug of war over them.
Jenny just chuckled, then reached into the desk she'd been eating off of and pulled out a whistle. It let loose a sharp, shrill cry as she blew into it, and all the kids froze where they were.
"That seems... useful," I said.
"Once per day at most, newbie, don't want it to lose it's charm," she said. "Everyone go get your lunches, and put those snacks back where you found them."
The kids dropped the uneaten snacks back on the ground and began walking toward the cubbies toward the side of the room.
"What about the ones we already-" Xiazha began to ask.
"Did I stutter? Put them back," Jenny said, her voice becoming more stern.
The mushroom girl spat the half-chewed gummies back into the bag and placed it on the floor, walking to her cubby and grabbing what appeared to be a bag of spoiled vegetables and sawdust. While I wasn't sure about the nutritional needs of her species, she certainly didn't look like she was enjoying her lunch.
"So... why can't they keep the opened stuff?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I picked up the unopened snacks off the ground, and tossed the opened ones into the trash can.
"If they know we'll let them keep them, they'll just move faster next time. Trust me, it's better this way," she whispered. She raised her voice a little to say, "It's going to be a few hours before the parents come to pick them up, you might want to grab a bite to eat yourself."
"Sure," I said, heading for the door. "See you in a few." | Apparently, back in the day on Earth, running a daycare was one of the jobs they threatened you with if they thought you couldn't do much of anything else. Not much had changed in the centuries since; I sighed to myself in my office chair and rubbed the bridge of my nose as I paged through the notifications on my datapad.
One jumped out at me. A mail titled, "Seeking admission for our darling little half-Sparxian angel." I was tempted to auto-reply with a "Sorry, we are at temporal-spacial capacity, please try again within the next rotation" when the comm emergency-pager went off. I opened the channel immediately.
SPLORTCH. The unmistakable sound of liquid hitting glassene floors. "Hey, Mrs. Rhexus, it's Room 5 again...Larilene is spewing some kind of fluid from her beakhole and her hair is turning purple...No, Nnior, don't drink it!"
"What's her temperature, Ms. Maren?"
"I think the thermoscanner is broken. It's reading in the negatives."
Another sigh on my behalf. "Alright, I'll page her parents. Hope it's not a case of the Blooms. Her mom mentioned that the rest of her clutchmates had it when dropping her off..." And half-humans always seem to get it worse, I thought as I closed the comm. Never a dull moment. If it's not some weird disease, it's some condition or other that comes from being half-human. Just because we humans CAN breed with everything doesn't mean we always consider the implications of whether or not we SHOULD.
Another notification beep interrupted me from calling Larilene's parents. It was the latest bi-rotational regulatory update from the station council. I glanced through it and my eyes widened in shock. "What do you mean, we're not allowed to put half-transdimensional beings in time out anymore?" | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | I was somewhat surprised at how easy it had been to get the job of diplomat for the Terra-Prime Space-Faring Relations Board. I'd just sent in the application, and I had almost no experience, but they'd already called me in for an interview.
The interview itself was short, the first question was about my criminal record (which was nonexistent), and the second was whether I was a people person, which seemed almost redundant given that I was applying for a job as a diplomat.
But now it was time for my first day of work, and I was a bit nervous. I had barely been trained, and had been brought to the Grand United Space-Farer Station, or the Gus-Fast as the pilot of the transport had kept calling it on the way here. While the Gus-Fast was large, I was making steady progress toward the office where I would get my first assignment. Finally, I arrived at the door.
"Hello?" I called as I entered. I rapped my knuckles on the door, but it was already open by that point. "I'm Planter Blackwell, the new diplomat..."
"Uh? Oh!" a grizzled voice said. A middle-aged man jolted in his chair as I entered. The name on his desk read "Jerry". "So you're the new Dipper Junior? Come on, you're late."
The man gestured for me to follow him and began walking briskly down the hall.
"Hoo boy, the other dipper jr. ain't gonna be in a good mood, but it's a good thing you're here now," he said.
I followed Jerry, accidentally knocking over an empty trash can as I left the room. I barely had time to put it back in place before he was nearly out of sight, and had to scramble to catch up.
"Sir? I haven't really been briefed, what is my mission?" I asked.
"Hm? Oh yeah, you're doing a very important... eh, what do they say to call it... training mission? Yeah, I think that was it," he said. "Gotta take care of some VIPs for... some span of time... Ugh, I really need to lay off the vodka on work days."
"VIPs? That sounds awfully important for a training mission," I said.
"It'll make sense when we get there," Jerry said. He turned the corner and stopped in front of a door, which had the words "Dipper's Playhouse" written in Star-phonics. He knocked the door twice, then three times.
"Wait, is this some kind of scam? I was told I would be working as a diplomat," I said.
"You are, but the training for diplomats is a bit... strange," Jerry said.
Before he could elaborate, the door slammed open and a woman roughly my age wearing the same uniform I'd been given stormed out.
"Your problem now, newbie!" she shouted as she headed down the hall. "I'm getting lunch!"
"Well that's unfortunate," Jerry said. "Guess I've got to give the introduction then..."
Jerry walked over to the door and opened it, walking inside. As I entered, I noticed a large number of humanoid children with strange bodily features running around, screaming and throwing things.
"These are the children of nobility and other diplomats, so you've got to babysit them until you've been deemed ready to advance. It's a pain in the ass, so nobody wants to do it," he said. "And I've got paperwork to get back to, so try to survive until Jenny gets back."
"Wait, why do they seem so-" I asked, only to be cut off by the door slamming in my face. "Humanlike..."
"Teacher! Quigli took my markers!" A small mushroom person wearing a dress shouted as they ran over to me.
"Xiazha's lying! They're mine, not hers! I found them in the arts'n'crafts box! Finder's keepers!" a small boy said. He looked nearly human, save for the insectoid compound eyes and the mandibles around his mouth.
"Uh... Shasha, what makes the markers yours?" I asked.
"Xiazha!" the mushroom child said.
"Okay... Xiazha," I said, putting a bit of a sharper inflection on the words. "But don't dodge the question."
"We were picking our thing for the day and I picked the markers, so they're mine!" she said.
"I see... Well, there's more than one marker, can't you share?" I asked.
"The markers are my thing! I should get all of them!" Xiazha screamed.
"But you only use the red!" Quigli said.
"Red's the prettiest color!" she said. Naturally, the cap of her head was candy-apple red with white spots.
"Okay... Quigli, I don't know how this 'thing' thing works, but is there a reason you can't play with whatever you got?" I asked.
"Mom dropped me off late, so I didn't get anything," he said, his expression dropping.
"Right..." I said. I looked around, and spied a toy box at the far end of the room. "Why don't you just go grab something else from the toy box?"
"Really? It's not even toy time yet," he said.
"Uh... sure?" I said, now somewhat unsure of what exactly I was authorizing. "Just this once though."
The boy scampered off toward the toy box, and I turned my attention to the gooey green girl tugging at the end of my coat. She showed me a crayon drawing of the space station, which was surprisingly detailed.
"Ah, very nice... uh," I said, glancing down at the signature. "Melaani."
She emitted a small squeak and ran off to an extremely pale girl with mechanical limbs. Things seemed to be going well, then Jenny opened the door to the room, carrying half a sandwich, a soda, and a bag of squeezy froot.
"Okay, I'm back, and the place isn't on fire yet! Good stuff, newbie," the other junior diplomat said.
"Thank goodness, what on Gus-Fast is going on here?" I asked.
"You mean like with the station as a whole or just this room?" Jenny asked.
"I mean why do we have so many children on a space station?" I asked.
"Because they were born here," she said, taking a sip of her drink.
"Okay, but aren't aliens... you know, alien? Most of these guys look like human kids in convincing Halloween costumes," I said.
"Oh, human crossbreeds mostly. Diplomacy gets a bit freaky sometimes, and we tend to be a bit more... viable than one would expect with other farer species, so the higher ups thought it would be a good idea to remind us why the TePS-FaRB handbook has an entire volume detailing the rules and guidelines around canoodling with locals," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I prepared to ask another question before being interrupted by the sounds of pained screaming. Quigli was carrying what looked like a laser pistol and was firing it at the other kids, who were screaming and crying as the beams hit their skin.
"What? Hey! Quigli, no! It's not toy time yet, put that back!" Jenny shouted, putting down her food.
"No! Other teacher said I could get a toy early!" he said, shooting the laser pistol at her.
"Ow! That's it, get over here you little brat," she said, stomping toward the boy as he yelped in fear, throwing the laser pistol on the ground and backing away from it. She grabbed the weapon and stuffed in back in the box, gesturing at him with her fingers to communicate that she was keeping her eyes on him.
"Uh, Jenny? Why are there training weapons in the toybox?" I asked. "Aren't they supposed to be in weapon lockers like all the other weapons?"
"Toy time is code for combat training, most of these kids are going to be generals or warlords when they grow up, so we don't have enough actual toys to warrant a box for them. Besides, the weapon locker is full of medical supplies in case of emergency, so we had to keep the training weapons somewhere else," she said.
"Why are we keeping medical supplies in the weapons locker instead of the first aid kit?" I asked, gesturing at the medical supply box hanging on the wall.
"Because the first aid kit is full of snacks in case of hunger emergencies, obviously," she said, sucking a bit of the froot goo out of its soft plastic-adjacent package.
"You realize this is a terrible idea for organization, what if there had been an emergency and I needed to grab some gauze, but instead I got..." I said, popping open the first aid kit and sending several bags of candy tumbling to the floor, as well as a few loose pieces of fruit and packaged cookies. "Oops."
"Oh, you've done it now, newbie," she said.
"Snack time!" Xiazha shouted, running forward and grabbing a bag of gummee bitz, causing all the other kids to begin swarming to grab their own treats.
"No! Stop that, all of you!" I said ineffectually. It very quickly became clear that there weren't enough snacks to go around, and some of the ones that were available got ruined by kids playing tug of war over them.
Jenny just chuckled, then reached into the desk she'd been eating off of and pulled out a whistle. It let loose a sharp, shrill cry as she blew into it, and all the kids froze where they were.
"That seems... useful," I said.
"Once per day at most, newbie, don't want it to lose it's charm," she said. "Everyone go get your lunches, and put those snacks back where you found them."
The kids dropped the uneaten snacks back on the ground and began walking toward the cubbies toward the side of the room.
"What about the ones we already-" Xiazha began to ask.
"Did I stutter? Put them back," Jenny said, her voice becoming more stern.
The mushroom girl spat the half-chewed gummies back into the bag and placed it on the floor, walking to her cubby and grabbing what appeared to be a bag of spoiled vegetables and sawdust. While I wasn't sure about the nutritional needs of her species, she certainly didn't look like she was enjoying her lunch.
"So... why can't they keep the opened stuff?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I picked up the unopened snacks off the ground, and tossed the opened ones into the trash can.
"If they know we'll let them keep them, they'll just move faster next time. Trust me, it's better this way," she whispered. She raised her voice a little to say, "It's going to be a few hours before the parents come to pick them up, you might want to grab a bite to eat yourself."
"Sure," I said, heading for the door. "See you in a few." | An inglorious death when you’re changing a nappy and a half Sanathian fire puppy, half human baby decides to take that moment to fire fart in your face. To spare the families, that one was always listed as *mysterious causes*. Not inaccurate, but a helluva way to go.
Still easier than covering up having to quarantine half the ship, because some numbnuts decided to pop out a half human, half Wyburgian baby that literally spread pestilence everywhere it crawled and had a thing for getting caught in air ducts. Ain’t life a bitch?
In other words, Daycare *turnover* was off the charts these days since the hybrid baby boom. Humans were so inbred after the Collapse, that interbreeding developed as a means of *reducing* defects.
Now it’s become more of a competition as to who can create the most exotic offspring. Trying to get a red-haired Morovuan Gas Giant-human hybrid? Go for it!
‘And.
.
.
.
.
.
This.
.
.
Was.
.
.
.
.
.
Stan’s.
.
.
Life.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Now.’
The Commander had made that abundantly clear.
One day, Stan’d ended up on the wrong side of Omega Station’s Commander, one James Tiberius Kirk. All over a Giroxian Florax that they were both interested in. From then on, he was *gifted* with being in charge of Daycare.
‘Stan.
.
.
.
Daycare.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Is.
.
An.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Honor.’
And with that, the door to Stan’s life slammed firmly shut.
Some days, Stan swore it felt like half of the kids in Daycare were Jim’s. But a job’s a job, I guess. Ain’t life a bitch?
Stan rubbed his temple. Definitely a three beer night. Four more staff deaths today that had to be spirited away with some carefully worded paperwork. Otherwise, *NO* *ONE* in their right mind would work in Daycare.
Sure some of the work could be performed by droids. But ever since they were given the same rights as all sentient beings, they were often considered more valuable elsewhere. Stan got whoever and whatever was left. These days, making it through two months was pretty much a miracle for most staff. Poor bastards never saw it coming. Ain’t life a bitch? | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | I was somewhat surprised at how easy it had been to get the job of diplomat for the Terra-Prime Space-Faring Relations Board. I'd just sent in the application, and I had almost no experience, but they'd already called me in for an interview.
The interview itself was short, the first question was about my criminal record (which was nonexistent), and the second was whether I was a people person, which seemed almost redundant given that I was applying for a job as a diplomat.
But now it was time for my first day of work, and I was a bit nervous. I had barely been trained, and had been brought to the Grand United Space-Farer Station, or the Gus-Fast as the pilot of the transport had kept calling it on the way here. While the Gus-Fast was large, I was making steady progress toward the office where I would get my first assignment. Finally, I arrived at the door.
"Hello?" I called as I entered. I rapped my knuckles on the door, but it was already open by that point. "I'm Planter Blackwell, the new diplomat..."
"Uh? Oh!" a grizzled voice said. A middle-aged man jolted in his chair as I entered. The name on his desk read "Jerry". "So you're the new Dipper Junior? Come on, you're late."
The man gestured for me to follow him and began walking briskly down the hall.
"Hoo boy, the other dipper jr. ain't gonna be in a good mood, but it's a good thing you're here now," he said.
I followed Jerry, accidentally knocking over an empty trash can as I left the room. I barely had time to put it back in place before he was nearly out of sight, and had to scramble to catch up.
"Sir? I haven't really been briefed, what is my mission?" I asked.
"Hm? Oh yeah, you're doing a very important... eh, what do they say to call it... training mission? Yeah, I think that was it," he said. "Gotta take care of some VIPs for... some span of time... Ugh, I really need to lay off the vodka on work days."
"VIPs? That sounds awfully important for a training mission," I said.
"It'll make sense when we get there," Jerry said. He turned the corner and stopped in front of a door, which had the words "Dipper's Playhouse" written in Star-phonics. He knocked the door twice, then three times.
"Wait, is this some kind of scam? I was told I would be working as a diplomat," I said.
"You are, but the training for diplomats is a bit... strange," Jerry said.
Before he could elaborate, the door slammed open and a woman roughly my age wearing the same uniform I'd been given stormed out.
"Your problem now, newbie!" she shouted as she headed down the hall. "I'm getting lunch!"
"Well that's unfortunate," Jerry said. "Guess I've got to give the introduction then..."
Jerry walked over to the door and opened it, walking inside. As I entered, I noticed a large number of humanoid children with strange bodily features running around, screaming and throwing things.
"These are the children of nobility and other diplomats, so you've got to babysit them until you've been deemed ready to advance. It's a pain in the ass, so nobody wants to do it," he said. "And I've got paperwork to get back to, so try to survive until Jenny gets back."
"Wait, why do they seem so-" I asked, only to be cut off by the door slamming in my face. "Humanlike..."
"Teacher! Quigli took my markers!" A small mushroom person wearing a dress shouted as they ran over to me.
"Xiazha's lying! They're mine, not hers! I found them in the arts'n'crafts box! Finder's keepers!" a small boy said. He looked nearly human, save for the insectoid compound eyes and the mandibles around his mouth.
"Uh... Shasha, what makes the markers yours?" I asked.
"Xiazha!" the mushroom child said.
"Okay... Xiazha," I said, putting a bit of a sharper inflection on the words. "But don't dodge the question."
"We were picking our thing for the day and I picked the markers, so they're mine!" she said.
"I see... Well, there's more than one marker, can't you share?" I asked.
"The markers are my thing! I should get all of them!" Xiazha screamed.
"But you only use the red!" Quigli said.
"Red's the prettiest color!" she said. Naturally, the cap of her head was candy-apple red with white spots.
"Okay... Quigli, I don't know how this 'thing' thing works, but is there a reason you can't play with whatever you got?" I asked.
"Mom dropped me off late, so I didn't get anything," he said, his expression dropping.
"Right..." I said. I looked around, and spied a toy box at the far end of the room. "Why don't you just go grab something else from the toy box?"
"Really? It's not even toy time yet," he said.
"Uh... sure?" I said, now somewhat unsure of what exactly I was authorizing. "Just this once though."
The boy scampered off toward the toy box, and I turned my attention to the gooey green girl tugging at the end of my coat. She showed me a crayon drawing of the space station, which was surprisingly detailed.
"Ah, very nice... uh," I said, glancing down at the signature. "Melaani."
She emitted a small squeak and ran off to an extremely pale girl with mechanical limbs. Things seemed to be going well, then Jenny opened the door to the room, carrying half a sandwich, a soda, and a bag of squeezy froot.
"Okay, I'm back, and the place isn't on fire yet! Good stuff, newbie," the other junior diplomat said.
"Thank goodness, what on Gus-Fast is going on here?" I asked.
"You mean like with the station as a whole or just this room?" Jenny asked.
"I mean why do we have so many children on a space station?" I asked.
"Because they were born here," she said, taking a sip of her drink.
"Okay, but aren't aliens... you know, alien? Most of these guys look like human kids in convincing Halloween costumes," I said.
"Oh, human crossbreeds mostly. Diplomacy gets a bit freaky sometimes, and we tend to be a bit more... viable than one would expect with other farer species, so the higher ups thought it would be a good idea to remind us why the TePS-FaRB handbook has an entire volume detailing the rules and guidelines around canoodling with locals," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I prepared to ask another question before being interrupted by the sounds of pained screaming. Quigli was carrying what looked like a laser pistol and was firing it at the other kids, who were screaming and crying as the beams hit their skin.
"What? Hey! Quigli, no! It's not toy time yet, put that back!" Jenny shouted, putting down her food.
"No! Other teacher said I could get a toy early!" he said, shooting the laser pistol at her.
"Ow! That's it, get over here you little brat," she said, stomping toward the boy as he yelped in fear, throwing the laser pistol on the ground and backing away from it. She grabbed the weapon and stuffed in back in the box, gesturing at him with her fingers to communicate that she was keeping her eyes on him.
"Uh, Jenny? Why are there training weapons in the toybox?" I asked. "Aren't they supposed to be in weapon lockers like all the other weapons?"
"Toy time is code for combat training, most of these kids are going to be generals or warlords when they grow up, so we don't have enough actual toys to warrant a box for them. Besides, the weapon locker is full of medical supplies in case of emergency, so we had to keep the training weapons somewhere else," she said.
"Why are we keeping medical supplies in the weapons locker instead of the first aid kit?" I asked, gesturing at the medical supply box hanging on the wall.
"Because the first aid kit is full of snacks in case of hunger emergencies, obviously," she said, sucking a bit of the froot goo out of its soft plastic-adjacent package.
"You realize this is a terrible idea for organization, what if there had been an emergency and I needed to grab some gauze, but instead I got..." I said, popping open the first aid kit and sending several bags of candy tumbling to the floor, as well as a few loose pieces of fruit and packaged cookies. "Oops."
"Oh, you've done it now, newbie," she said.
"Snack time!" Xiazha shouted, running forward and grabbing a bag of gummee bitz, causing all the other kids to begin swarming to grab their own treats.
"No! Stop that, all of you!" I said ineffectually. It very quickly became clear that there weren't enough snacks to go around, and some of the ones that were available got ruined by kids playing tug of war over them.
Jenny just chuckled, then reached into the desk she'd been eating off of and pulled out a whistle. It let loose a sharp, shrill cry as she blew into it, and all the kids froze where they were.
"That seems... useful," I said.
"Once per day at most, newbie, don't want it to lose it's charm," she said. "Everyone go get your lunches, and put those snacks back where you found them."
The kids dropped the uneaten snacks back on the ground and began walking toward the cubbies toward the side of the room.
"What about the ones we already-" Xiazha began to ask.
"Did I stutter? Put them back," Jenny said, her voice becoming more stern.
The mushroom girl spat the half-chewed gummies back into the bag and placed it on the floor, walking to her cubby and grabbing what appeared to be a bag of spoiled vegetables and sawdust. While I wasn't sure about the nutritional needs of her species, she certainly didn't look like she was enjoying her lunch.
"So... why can't they keep the opened stuff?" I asked, keeping my voice low as I picked up the unopened snacks off the ground, and tossed the opened ones into the trash can.
"If they know we'll let them keep them, they'll just move faster next time. Trust me, it's better this way," she whispered. She raised her voice a little to say, "It's going to be a few hours before the parents come to pick them up, you might want to grab a bite to eat yourself."
"Sure," I said, heading for the door. "See you in a few." | "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands" i sing happily, *clap clap* is what i hear as i turn to the sad looking kids in the aquarium. "If you're happy and you know it flap your wings" i sing with a smile on my face before hearing multiple disorganized wings flapping. "If you have endorphins and you know what that means, if you have endorphins clap your fins" i sing as i look at the little ones inside the water, their faces shaping into forms that slightly resemble smiles as they flail their fins around, it was kind of difficult having to invent new lyrics that sounded good but it worked and it was worth it. As i try to calm down the children i hear the door opening and Martha coming through it holding a plate of spaghetti on her hands, "funny story, apparently the flying spaghetti monster is real, can you take care of this little guy while i go get checked up? My insides are burning and i don't know if it's a disease or just hot sauce" she says, handing me the plate of spaghetti, "you are the reason why i keep asking for raises, at least this one will convince them that this ain't easy, but sure, leave it to me" i respond as i grab the plate. As Martha exits the room and closes the door i type into the command panel "search synonyms of happy". | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | Astra 4 wasn’t like most space stations. It had a thriving human population, and they had integrated well with the other spacefaring races that made the big mining station home.
It was a rough time on the station. There was a general strike on due to the inhospitable conditions of the work, and the poor pay. Astra 4 produced some of the most coveted minerals in the galaxy, but historically the miners had been paid very little.
It was just another Tuesday on Astra 4 when a couple came in with a small levitating buggy. If the Elusian parents were any indicator, the child was probably Elusian as well.
“We were told you carry a certificate in Elusian care?” The tall pale, hairless, biped asked. He spoke in galactic common, and from the accent had come straight from deep Imperial Elusian space.
“Yes sir. Are you the Elusian Ambassador?” I replied in my best Galactic common, but I was pretty sure this was going to be an issue.
“Yes. How did a human come to have an Elusian care certificate?” he asked.
“That’s a very good question, but you see, human-run care facilities often have the highest number of certificates in the galaxy,” I started to explain.
I thought I might get this out of the way quickly, and asked, “I can show you the reason why, and help you decided if this is the right facility for you.” I motioned towards the door, and I buzzed it open.
“Yes, but that does not explain how you have a certificate,” he continued, but ushered his partner and the buggy through the door.
“It all comes down to a small but significant human ability. We have turned out to be very genetically fluid. In our history, we had a problem with fertility after a viral outbreak. It was so severe our race was very close to extinction. Then we had a scientific breakthrough.”
I walked the couple into the corridor to the large windows that looked into the toddler area, “We genetically altered ourselves in such a way that we were extremely capable of having children. It worked for us, and we didn’t think much of it until several thousands of years later when we happened on the galactic scene and started running into other species.”
As I paused in front of the window, I waited. However, this couple either hadn’t noticed or didn’t know what they were looking at, so I continued to explain, “That ‘miner’ genetic manipulation to get us past our own near extinction also allows us to procreate with almost all other galactic species. There is the odd exception, but as a general rule we can have children with anyone. Combine that with our rather gregarious nature, and you have the need for a large number of certificates for care for different species.”
I then let the moment hang.
I saw the smaller partner lean forward to the glass, and the waving tendrils that passed for hair in her species stood up in surprise.
“Are those human hybrids?” She asked in alarm.
“Well, it depends on what you call a hybrid. A hybrid implies someone bred those children to be that way, and that’s not exactly a term we like. Those are children that are from human/non-human pairings,” I explained. My face a polite mask of smiles.
“It might be contagious!” she said to her partner in alarm.
Aaaaand there it was. I had been waiting for it.
“No. You cannot be part human unless one of your genetically contributory parents are. The myths are lies and misinformation. These children are not unusual for Astra 4, or some of the other more isolated stations like this,” I explained.
“Why would anyone procreate with a human,” she said in disgust. “Your race hasn’t been able to do much more than work in the most dangerous menial positions. If you had anything to contribute, we’d have seen it by now. I mean really, what has your race really contributed? ”
I ignored the slight. I’d heard them all before. I continued, “I am assuming that you were sent by the Elusian delegation on behalf of the new union demands?”
The larger male tore his gaze from the glass, and looked at me directly, “How would you know about that?”
“Oh, Astra 4 is a pretty small station, and your government’s reaction to the Fortis 5 mining colony is not a secret around these parts. I’m not a miner, but my husband is in charge of the large processing equipment. We have family on Fortis 5, and you did manage to divide the miners up into separate groups based on species and they lost their bid for better conditions,” I answered. My smile slipped slightly but I figured they were not familiar enough with humans to be able to tell.
Neither of them looked comfortable, so I pressed on, “Regardless of your politics, I have the only certificate for Elusian on the station. There aren’t too many Elusians that take this kind of work, so unless you have a reason for it, nobody else has bothered to get a certificate here.”
“Can you even guarantee the safety of our child?” He asked, his tendril hair waving in alarm.
“I have personally cared for three Elusian children until near adulthood here on the station, and they seem pretty healthy,” I explained.
“So your husband is working on the processing equipment?” the male Elusian said as he realized what I had claimed, with concern.
“Yes. He’s graduated from the Althevia Institute and decided he’d rather come out here into space than apply it to his own world,” I said with the same smile I’d had plastered on my face.
“Your husband graduated from the Althevia Institute? I doubt any human has ever attended, let alone graduated,” the woman sneered.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” she said, her hair slicking to her head suddenly. “I don’t feel safe leaving our child here, and I’d have to verify this humans’ certificates. I doubt them. No Elusian would be out here without a reason, and she’s obviously not telling the truth about her husband.”
“Suit yourselves,” I said, with more of a real smile this time. Not taking on this child, and these parents would make my life much easier.
I guided them out and stepped out of the door with them.
Then three Elusian young adults were walking up the large hall, with a buggy of their own.
“If that’s all you needed? I’m sorry you don’t feel safe, but if you change your minds, I will be here,” I said as I started to step towards the teenagers.
“Here’s baby Henry, Dad says he’s going to be late because he has to meet personally with the ambassador. Something about Elusian tradition. We are heading to Aunt Sarah’s. The human quarter is a better place to be tonight! You should come down after work. Sarah says she has your dress mended,” the tallest said. She eyed the newcomers, her own tentacle hair dancing in suspicion.
I reached down and picked up the baby from the buggy, “Did your father say if I should keep dinner on?” I smiled down at my son. His pale white skin was the spitting image of his Elusian father’s complexion. His own tentacle hair as black as my own human hair, and his eyes as human as my own.
“Nope. He says duty calls,” my oldest stepdaughter said.
“Okay but be careful. Everyone is riled up, and no visiting that boy when you are down in the human quarter, got that?” I say, but I’m smiling through the admonishment.
I put my son on my hip and turn to smile at the Elusian couple and just watch them. I can see their tentacles writhe in disgust as they make the connection.
I stand and watch as my stepchildren head back onto the walkway, before turning to the woman that had spoken so poorly of my race.
“Family. We bring family and some measure of unity to the corners of the galaxy we inhabit,” I said, answering the Elusian woman’s question. Unspoken was my confidence that at least on Astra 4, family meant we were not going to be divided in the union talks. | "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands" i sing happily, *clap clap* is what i hear as i turn to the sad looking kids in the aquarium. "If you're happy and you know it flap your wings" i sing with a smile on my face before hearing multiple disorganized wings flapping. "If you have endorphins and you know what that means, if you have endorphins clap your fins" i sing as i look at the little ones inside the water, their faces shaping into forms that slightly resemble smiles as they flail their fins around, it was kind of difficult having to invent new lyrics that sounded good but it worked and it was worth it. As i try to calm down the children i hear the door opening and Martha coming through it holding a plate of spaghetti on her hands, "funny story, apparently the flying spaghetti monster is real, can you take care of this little guy while i go get checked up? My insides are burning and i don't know if it's a disease or just hot sauce" she says, handing me the plate of spaghetti, "you are the reason why i keep asking for raises, at least this one will convince them that this ain't easy, but sure, leave it to me" i respond as i grab the plate. As Martha exits the room and closes the door i type into the command panel "search synonyms of happy". | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | Astra 4 wasn’t like most space stations. It had a thriving human population, and they had integrated well with the other spacefaring races that made the big mining station home.
It was a rough time on the station. There was a general strike on due to the inhospitable conditions of the work, and the poor pay. Astra 4 produced some of the most coveted minerals in the galaxy, but historically the miners had been paid very little.
It was just another Tuesday on Astra 4 when a couple came in with a small levitating buggy. If the Elusian parents were any indicator, the child was probably Elusian as well.
“We were told you carry a certificate in Elusian care?” The tall pale, hairless, biped asked. He spoke in galactic common, and from the accent had come straight from deep Imperial Elusian space.
“Yes sir. Are you the Elusian Ambassador?” I replied in my best Galactic common, but I was pretty sure this was going to be an issue.
“Yes. How did a human come to have an Elusian care certificate?” he asked.
“That’s a very good question, but you see, human-run care facilities often have the highest number of certificates in the galaxy,” I started to explain.
I thought I might get this out of the way quickly, and asked, “I can show you the reason why, and help you decided if this is the right facility for you.” I motioned towards the door, and I buzzed it open.
“Yes, but that does not explain how you have a certificate,” he continued, but ushered his partner and the buggy through the door.
“It all comes down to a small but significant human ability. We have turned out to be very genetically fluid. In our history, we had a problem with fertility after a viral outbreak. It was so severe our race was very close to extinction. Then we had a scientific breakthrough.”
I walked the couple into the corridor to the large windows that looked into the toddler area, “We genetically altered ourselves in such a way that we were extremely capable of having children. It worked for us, and we didn’t think much of it until several thousands of years later when we happened on the galactic scene and started running into other species.”
As I paused in front of the window, I waited. However, this couple either hadn’t noticed or didn’t know what they were looking at, so I continued to explain, “That ‘miner’ genetic manipulation to get us past our own near extinction also allows us to procreate with almost all other galactic species. There is the odd exception, but as a general rule we can have children with anyone. Combine that with our rather gregarious nature, and you have the need for a large number of certificates for care for different species.”
I then let the moment hang.
I saw the smaller partner lean forward to the glass, and the waving tendrils that passed for hair in her species stood up in surprise.
“Are those human hybrids?” She asked in alarm.
“Well, it depends on what you call a hybrid. A hybrid implies someone bred those children to be that way, and that’s not exactly a term we like. Those are children that are from human/non-human pairings,” I explained. My face a polite mask of smiles.
“It might be contagious!” she said to her partner in alarm.
Aaaaand there it was. I had been waiting for it.
“No. You cannot be part human unless one of your genetically contributory parents are. The myths are lies and misinformation. These children are not unusual for Astra 4, or some of the other more isolated stations like this,” I explained.
“Why would anyone procreate with a human,” she said in disgust. “Your race hasn’t been able to do much more than work in the most dangerous menial positions. If you had anything to contribute, we’d have seen it by now. I mean really, what has your race really contributed? ”
I ignored the slight. I’d heard them all before. I continued, “I am assuming that you were sent by the Elusian delegation on behalf of the new union demands?”
The larger male tore his gaze from the glass, and looked at me directly, “How would you know about that?”
“Oh, Astra 4 is a pretty small station, and your government’s reaction to the Fortis 5 mining colony is not a secret around these parts. I’m not a miner, but my husband is in charge of the large processing equipment. We have family on Fortis 5, and you did manage to divide the miners up into separate groups based on species and they lost their bid for better conditions,” I answered. My smile slipped slightly but I figured they were not familiar enough with humans to be able to tell.
Neither of them looked comfortable, so I pressed on, “Regardless of your politics, I have the only certificate for Elusian on the station. There aren’t too many Elusians that take this kind of work, so unless you have a reason for it, nobody else has bothered to get a certificate here.”
“Can you even guarantee the safety of our child?” He asked, his tendril hair waving in alarm.
“I have personally cared for three Elusian children until near adulthood here on the station, and they seem pretty healthy,” I explained.
“So your husband is working on the processing equipment?” the male Elusian said as he realized what I had claimed, with concern.
“Yes. He’s graduated from the Althevia Institute and decided he’d rather come out here into space than apply it to his own world,” I said with the same smile I’d had plastered on my face.
“Your husband graduated from the Althevia Institute? I doubt any human has ever attended, let alone graduated,” the woman sneered.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” she said, her hair slicking to her head suddenly. “I don’t feel safe leaving our child here, and I’d have to verify this humans’ certificates. I doubt them. No Elusian would be out here without a reason, and she’s obviously not telling the truth about her husband.”
“Suit yourselves,” I said, with more of a real smile this time. Not taking on this child, and these parents would make my life much easier.
I guided them out and stepped out of the door with them.
Then three Elusian young adults were walking up the large hall, with a buggy of their own.
“If that’s all you needed? I’m sorry you don’t feel safe, but if you change your minds, I will be here,” I said as I started to step towards the teenagers.
“Here’s baby Henry, Dad says he’s going to be late because he has to meet personally with the ambassador. Something about Elusian tradition. We are heading to Aunt Sarah’s. The human quarter is a better place to be tonight! You should come down after work. Sarah says she has your dress mended,” the tallest said. She eyed the newcomers, her own tentacle hair dancing in suspicion.
I reached down and picked up the baby from the buggy, “Did your father say if I should keep dinner on?” I smiled down at my son. His pale white skin was the spitting image of his Elusian father’s complexion. His own tentacle hair as black as my own human hair, and his eyes as human as my own.
“Nope. He says duty calls,” my oldest stepdaughter said.
“Okay but be careful. Everyone is riled up, and no visiting that boy when you are down in the human quarter, got that?” I say, but I’m smiling through the admonishment.
I put my son on my hip and turn to smile at the Elusian couple and just watch them. I can see their tentacles writhe in disgust as they make the connection.
I stand and watch as my stepchildren head back onto the walkway, before turning to the woman that had spoken so poorly of my race.
“Family. We bring family and some measure of unity to the corners of the galaxy we inhabit,” I said, answering the Elusian woman’s question. Unspoken was my confidence that at least on Astra 4, family meant we were not going to be divided in the union talks. | I ducked down the corridor, narrowly avoiding being incinerated by the sheet of green and orange flame burning everything in its path. I sighed, shook my head and called out.
"Nivia? Nivia. Stop with the flames."
I peeked around the corner, seeing Nivia, a four-year old humanoid-esque girl with short, scaly dragon wings, a dragon tail and flame red eyes looking at me with an annoyed, yet cute scowl.
"He. Took. My. Teddy." She said.
"And you can have it back just as soon as you stop trying to incinerate, well, everything," I said patiently.
"I want teddy now," she yelled, her eyes flaring.
I ducked back around the corner as the next sheet of flame fired by.
"Crap," I said quietly to myself. Why didn't I get better grades and a proper job, I wondered, as the acrid smell of burnt carpet wafted by. At times like this I was glad for the station's ability to withstand just about everything including tantrums from humadragon mixes.
For a moment, I idly wondered how the father managed to avoid being burnt to a crisp at the crucial moment. But then again, the nursery was full of offspring from the most unlikely couplings. The one that always got me was how little Timmy's father had managed to get it on with an acidic, gelatinous lifeform which burned through anything it touched. I mean, that lifeform can melt solid steel in nanoseconds so how did he? I mean, really, just how did he? Where there's a will there's a way and all that but surely no-one's that horny. Mind you, Little Timmy was proof that maybe some guys just are.
Another flash of flame jolted me back to the present.
"Timmy, give Nivia back her teddy," I yelled, pulling open my locker and looking for my flameproof suit. "And Nivia, stop burning everything down."
I pulled the visor down on my helmet and stepped out right into the anti-gravity stream being emitted by Monty. He always anti-gravved in his pants when he was scared and let's face it, a humadragon in full tantrum mode would be pretty scary for a platoon of space marines, let alone a 4 year old humagrav.
"Crap," I said again as I bounced off the padded ceiling and walls with the collection of half-human, half-alien infants, their toys, the furniture and the collection of beverages laid out on the table. I was going to feel this in the morning.
I landed on something soft and squishy and for a short while, everything went black, then slowly phased back in. As I shook my head to try to clear it, the room seemed to spin, pretty lights flashed around my vision and bells rang. I groaned as I tried to move my battered body, my ears hurt as the air filled with the high pitched cries of screaming, scared younglings and suddenly, I realised I was somehow clutching a little dragon teddy. Ignoring the pain, I stretched out and tossed it over to Nivia who wrapped it up in her little arms and gave it a big squeeze.
"Bibby," she said.
"Bibby," I replied, hoping my concussion wasn't too severe.
I gradually lifted myself to my feet, wondering how to sort out this mess. Where to start? Well, at least I wasn't having to deal with a petulant humadragon. And then I heard the most frightening words in the English language.
"Where. Is. Booboo?"
Forgetting the pain and bruising, I launched myself towards the exit door, moving as fast as humanly possible.
"I want Booooboooooooo!!!!!" came the yell. Well, technically, it wasn't a yell, more a telepathic icepick to the brain reaching into the deepest corners of my mind.
"I can make it, I can make it, I can make it," I said to myself, more out of hope than anything else.
I scrambled hard, my hand on the handle, pulling it down, the door opening as if in slow motion, my eyes widening and then felt a tentacle wrap itself around my ankle. I swallowed hard, bracing myself for impact.
"Booooobooooo!!!!!!" came the telepathic yell. As a former space marine, I'd faced a lot, fighting the Scripiod on the moons of Terranus, the million man battles of the Outer Reaches and most terrifyingly, my ex-wife's divorce lawyer but a 3 year old humamindocto was, well, way above my paygrade. And probably above the capabilities of the average, missile regiment. I braced myself for a half-eternity of pain and suffering.
"Bobby, what are you doing?" came a voice in my head. "I told you never to do that to other beings."
"Mommy," said Bobby. "I want Booboo."
"And you shall have Booboo," replied Bobby's mum. "But let them all go."
Quietly, I started crawling towards the door again.
"Now Bobby, you musn't do that," said Bobby's mother standing in the doorway. "You understand?"
"But my Booboo," replied Bobby.
"Here he is," said his mother. "But you must never, ever do this. You understand?"
"Yes mommy," replied Bobby.
"Now what do you said to the scared human who's just peed himself and all your friends?" asked Bobby's mum.
"I'm sorry," said Bobby.
"Very good," replied his mum. "Now let's go, we have to go see your grandparents. They've just spaced in and are waiting for you. You OK?" The last two words were thrown in my direction.
I nodded weakly from my crawling position, looking up at the constantly, shape-shifting, multidimensional, tentacled creature in front of me. Again, I couldn't help but wonder just how...
"Good," said his mum. "And with great difficulty. Think he's still trapped in the eternity of agony that is the fifteenth dimension. Bit sad for little Bobby to grow up without a dad but you know how it is."
I nodded. I was alive. Which was a good day in the nursery. And a reminder never, ever to get too drunk and wake up with, well, I'm sober. Always. And time to work on getting better grades and a better job. Like anything at all... | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | Astra 4 wasn’t like most space stations. It had a thriving human population, and they had integrated well with the other spacefaring races that made the big mining station home.
It was a rough time on the station. There was a general strike on due to the inhospitable conditions of the work, and the poor pay. Astra 4 produced some of the most coveted minerals in the galaxy, but historically the miners had been paid very little.
It was just another Tuesday on Astra 4 when a couple came in with a small levitating buggy. If the Elusian parents were any indicator, the child was probably Elusian as well.
“We were told you carry a certificate in Elusian care?” The tall pale, hairless, biped asked. He spoke in galactic common, and from the accent had come straight from deep Imperial Elusian space.
“Yes sir. Are you the Elusian Ambassador?” I replied in my best Galactic common, but I was pretty sure this was going to be an issue.
“Yes. How did a human come to have an Elusian care certificate?” he asked.
“That’s a very good question, but you see, human-run care facilities often have the highest number of certificates in the galaxy,” I started to explain.
I thought I might get this out of the way quickly, and asked, “I can show you the reason why, and help you decided if this is the right facility for you.” I motioned towards the door, and I buzzed it open.
“Yes, but that does not explain how you have a certificate,” he continued, but ushered his partner and the buggy through the door.
“It all comes down to a small but significant human ability. We have turned out to be very genetically fluid. In our history, we had a problem with fertility after a viral outbreak. It was so severe our race was very close to extinction. Then we had a scientific breakthrough.”
I walked the couple into the corridor to the large windows that looked into the toddler area, “We genetically altered ourselves in such a way that we were extremely capable of having children. It worked for us, and we didn’t think much of it until several thousands of years later when we happened on the galactic scene and started running into other species.”
As I paused in front of the window, I waited. However, this couple either hadn’t noticed or didn’t know what they were looking at, so I continued to explain, “That ‘miner’ genetic manipulation to get us past our own near extinction also allows us to procreate with almost all other galactic species. There is the odd exception, but as a general rule we can have children with anyone. Combine that with our rather gregarious nature, and you have the need for a large number of certificates for care for different species.”
I then let the moment hang.
I saw the smaller partner lean forward to the glass, and the waving tendrils that passed for hair in her species stood up in surprise.
“Are those human hybrids?” She asked in alarm.
“Well, it depends on what you call a hybrid. A hybrid implies someone bred those children to be that way, and that’s not exactly a term we like. Those are children that are from human/non-human pairings,” I explained. My face a polite mask of smiles.
“It might be contagious!” she said to her partner in alarm.
Aaaaand there it was. I had been waiting for it.
“No. You cannot be part human unless one of your genetically contributory parents are. The myths are lies and misinformation. These children are not unusual for Astra 4, or some of the other more isolated stations like this,” I explained.
“Why would anyone procreate with a human,” she said in disgust. “Your race hasn’t been able to do much more than work in the most dangerous menial positions. If you had anything to contribute, we’d have seen it by now. I mean really, what has your race really contributed? ”
I ignored the slight. I’d heard them all before. I continued, “I am assuming that you were sent by the Elusian delegation on behalf of the new union demands?”
The larger male tore his gaze from the glass, and looked at me directly, “How would you know about that?”
“Oh, Astra 4 is a pretty small station, and your government’s reaction to the Fortis 5 mining colony is not a secret around these parts. I’m not a miner, but my husband is in charge of the large processing equipment. We have family on Fortis 5, and you did manage to divide the miners up into separate groups based on species and they lost their bid for better conditions,” I answered. My smile slipped slightly but I figured they were not familiar enough with humans to be able to tell.
Neither of them looked comfortable, so I pressed on, “Regardless of your politics, I have the only certificate for Elusian on the station. There aren’t too many Elusians that take this kind of work, so unless you have a reason for it, nobody else has bothered to get a certificate here.”
“Can you even guarantee the safety of our child?” He asked, his tendril hair waving in alarm.
“I have personally cared for three Elusian children until near adulthood here on the station, and they seem pretty healthy,” I explained.
“So your husband is working on the processing equipment?” the male Elusian said as he realized what I had claimed, with concern.
“Yes. He’s graduated from the Althevia Institute and decided he’d rather come out here into space than apply it to his own world,” I said with the same smile I’d had plastered on my face.
“Your husband graduated from the Althevia Institute? I doubt any human has ever attended, let alone graduated,” the woman sneered.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” she said, her hair slicking to her head suddenly. “I don’t feel safe leaving our child here, and I’d have to verify this humans’ certificates. I doubt them. No Elusian would be out here without a reason, and she’s obviously not telling the truth about her husband.”
“Suit yourselves,” I said, with more of a real smile this time. Not taking on this child, and these parents would make my life much easier.
I guided them out and stepped out of the door with them.
Then three Elusian young adults were walking up the large hall, with a buggy of their own.
“If that’s all you needed? I’m sorry you don’t feel safe, but if you change your minds, I will be here,” I said as I started to step towards the teenagers.
“Here’s baby Henry, Dad says he’s going to be late because he has to meet personally with the ambassador. Something about Elusian tradition. We are heading to Aunt Sarah’s. The human quarter is a better place to be tonight! You should come down after work. Sarah says she has your dress mended,” the tallest said. She eyed the newcomers, her own tentacle hair dancing in suspicion.
I reached down and picked up the baby from the buggy, “Did your father say if I should keep dinner on?” I smiled down at my son. His pale white skin was the spitting image of his Elusian father’s complexion. His own tentacle hair as black as my own human hair, and his eyes as human as my own.
“Nope. He says duty calls,” my oldest stepdaughter said.
“Okay but be careful. Everyone is riled up, and no visiting that boy when you are down in the human quarter, got that?” I say, but I’m smiling through the admonishment.
I put my son on my hip and turn to smile at the Elusian couple and just watch them. I can see their tentacles writhe in disgust as they make the connection.
I stand and watch as my stepchildren head back onto the walkway, before turning to the woman that had spoken so poorly of my race.
“Family. We bring family and some measure of unity to the corners of the galaxy we inhabit,” I said, answering the Elusian woman’s question. Unspoken was my confidence that at least on Astra 4, family meant we were not going to be divided in the union talks. | Things were grim in the station daycare. Little Carol, the offspring of Dave and a black hole, had opened her mouth, sucking in the surrounding universe and destroying half of the station. The other kids played behind her, stepping on their own tentacles and falling to the ground, unaware of the severity of the situation.
"Close your mouth, Carol!" I shouted at the top of my lungs but the deafening roar of the rupturing space buried my voice. "Carol!"
My eyes darted to Vishnalan, the girl with a hundred hands, who was fighting against Boris, the boy with a hundred tentacles for limbs. They were battling too close to Little Carol. Too close.
I drew a deep breath. Witnessing the station crumble made my blood boil and my pocket cry. They would take this off of my pay. I cursed under my breath. I was certain Talandar took off Little Carol's muzzle. It was either him or Qepoke or both, those gelatinous tricksters.
Vishnalan took a step back. Her shirt warped toward Little Carol. I had to act. She would be sucked into nothingness otherwise, compressed into her death. But if I went, I would risk dying too.
I shook off my selfish thoughts and remembered the oath of the spacial caretakers.
Certain, I dashed forth. Vishnalan's feet left the ground. Her face distorted with confusion. I sprung toward her and hauled her out of the black hole's radius. She said something to me, but the roaring of dying stars forbade me from hearing.
What she said became apparent a moment later. She struck the ground, while I never did. I was floating, a victim of the hole's violent pull. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My skin wobbled and stretched the closer to the center I got.
"Carol!" I said, floating above her. "Close your mouth!"
She looked at me. The curvature of her eyes resembled a smile. The little freak was enjoying this.
Despair and desperation kicked in. My mouth changed places with my nose and my nose seemed to have fallen to the floor. I was not myself anymore, but a knot of particles adrift in ever-warping tides of black--
Everything came to halt.
I struck the ground hard and looked at Little Carol. She had finished yawning. "Boris, the muzzle!" I shouted as Little Carol threatened to yawn again. He grabbed her from behind and put on the muzzle.
Little Carol stood up and slapped him.
I turned and studied the damages.
I sighed.
They didn't pay me enough.
\--
Dear reader, may I steal a bit more of your time? You see, I'm not a wealthy man. On the contrary, I'm a pauper, a miser, a beggar. If you have a follow to spare [on my profile](https://www.reddit.com/u/BeggaryAndBastardy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), I would never forget it. | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | "Wendell," I muttered quietly, "take Richie out of your mouth!"
"No!" said Wendell's second head. It pouted at me. "I'm asserting dominance!"
"Ah, but that only applies to other Y'hluts, and Richie isn't a Y'hlut!"
Wendell's first head sulked as it spat out Richie. The small half-J'gory hissed at Wendell, before standing up on his three spindly legs and marching across the floor then the wall.
"No, the vents are closed Richie."
"Wana lave," Richie mumbled through his feelers. I rolled my eyes.
"Mister Yogart," said the small, tiny little thing that had somehow crawled up beside me. Two wings on the back, a pair of pigtails for the tentacles on her head, and the claws on her hands - distinctly not where the fingernails should be - were the only things needed to ignore she could be considered human, not that I cared.
"What is it, An?"
"Klick is poopy again!"
Oh God no.
Klick was sitting in the corner, asleep, his fur bristly and a small cloud wafty from his diaper.
"Kids," I said, standing up. "Emergency!"
Richie crawled down and hid underneath the table while An flew into a cabinet. Wendell pouted and sat on the floor, bravely sticking out his tongue while the other head's mouth swirled a tentacle.
I marched over to the other corner, got in my hazmat suit, then picked up Klick. He squirmed briefly and woke up, looking up at me.
He smiled, revealing row upon row of turtle-like teeth - or what turtles had for teeth.
"You stinker," I muttered, "You'll be the death of me."
After that short crisis - during which I did not need to call a cleanup crew - I finally got the kids to sleep then sat in my chair, leaning back and sighing aloud.
The doors hissed open. "Hi honey-"
I held up a finger immediately at my heavily pregnant, violet skinned wife. Her slithering mass of worms for hair quieted instantly. "Thank you," I muttered, "how are you, sweetheart?"
"Pleasant," she said, patting her round stomach, "I brought you something."
"Oh?" I asked, leaning closer. "What?"
She held out a small black and white picture. "The ultrasound went very well," she said, coming closer, "and... well, can you see it?"
"I'm seeing-" I blinked, leaning back. "Are those... twins?"
She smiled broadly. "Yup," she whispered, "you're going to be a dad twice over!"
"Oh great!" I sighed, smiling. "That's going to be an adventure..." | Things were grim in the station daycare. Little Carol, the offspring of Dave and a black hole, had opened her mouth, sucking in the surrounding universe and destroying half of the station. The other kids played behind her, stepping on their own tentacles and falling to the ground, unaware of the severity of the situation.
"Close your mouth, Carol!" I shouted at the top of my lungs but the deafening roar of the rupturing space buried my voice. "Carol!"
My eyes darted to Vishnalan, the girl with a hundred hands, who was fighting against Boris, the boy with a hundred tentacles for limbs. They were battling too close to Little Carol. Too close.
I drew a deep breath. Witnessing the station crumble made my blood boil and my pocket cry. They would take this off of my pay. I cursed under my breath. I was certain Talandar took off Little Carol's muzzle. It was either him or Qepoke or both, those gelatinous tricksters.
Vishnalan took a step back. Her shirt warped toward Little Carol. I had to act. She would be sucked into nothingness otherwise, compressed into her death. But if I went, I would risk dying too.
I shook off my selfish thoughts and remembered the oath of the spacial caretakers.
Certain, I dashed forth. Vishnalan's feet left the ground. Her face distorted with confusion. I sprung toward her and hauled her out of the black hole's radius. She said something to me, but the roaring of dying stars forbade me from hearing.
What she said became apparent a moment later. She struck the ground, while I never did. I was floating, a victim of the hole's violent pull. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My skin wobbled and stretched the closer to the center I got.
"Carol!" I said, floating above her. "Close your mouth!"
She looked at me. The curvature of her eyes resembled a smile. The little freak was enjoying this.
Despair and desperation kicked in. My mouth changed places with my nose and my nose seemed to have fallen to the floor. I was not myself anymore, but a knot of particles adrift in ever-warping tides of black--
Everything came to halt.
I struck the ground hard and looked at Little Carol. She had finished yawning. "Boris, the muzzle!" I shouted as Little Carol threatened to yawn again. He grabbed her from behind and put on the muzzle.
Little Carol stood up and slapped him.
I turned and studied the damages.
I sighed.
They didn't pay me enough.
\--
Dear reader, may I steal a bit more of your time? You see, I'm not a wealthy man. On the contrary, I'm a pauper, a miser, a beggar. If you have a follow to spare [on my profile](https://www.reddit.com/u/BeggaryAndBastardy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), I would never forget it. | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | The little girls arm was completely missing, blood dripping onto the floor as her eyes stared wide in shock.
“Toby bit me!”
Sighing from exhaustion I unwrapped the first aid kit bandage that had the regrowth serum infused with it. The toddlers color started to flush back into her cheeks as she came out of shock. Her teeth began to lengthen with anger accompanied by a rumbling growl that escaped as I interrupted with a kind tone.
“That was not very nice was it? Use your words and tell Toby how biting hurts! And Toby, go tell Ooble-nact you’re sorry that’s not okay.”
“Toby no thank you! Hurts!”
The little girl yelled.
Toby continued to crunch what was left of Ooble-nact’s fingers before swallowing with a loud gulp. Guilty protruding eyes batted as his bloody lips utter a “Sorry...hungry!”
Rubbing my eyes I retrieved the cleaning agent and started cleaning the pool of blood on the floor.
“We just had snack Toby, you’ll have to wait for lunch time love bug.” | Things were grim in the station daycare. Little Carol, the offspring of Dave and a black hole, had opened her mouth, sucking in the surrounding universe and destroying half of the station. The other kids played behind her, stepping on their own tentacles and falling to the ground, unaware of the severity of the situation.
"Close your mouth, Carol!" I shouted at the top of my lungs but the deafening roar of the rupturing space buried my voice. "Carol!"
My eyes darted to Vishnalan, the girl with a hundred hands, who was fighting against Boris, the boy with a hundred tentacles for limbs. They were battling too close to Little Carol. Too close.
I drew a deep breath. Witnessing the station crumble made my blood boil and my pocket cry. They would take this off of my pay. I cursed under my breath. I was certain Talandar took off Little Carol's muzzle. It was either him or Qepoke or both, those gelatinous tricksters.
Vishnalan took a step back. Her shirt warped toward Little Carol. I had to act. She would be sucked into nothingness otherwise, compressed into her death. But if I went, I would risk dying too.
I shook off my selfish thoughts and remembered the oath of the spacial caretakers.
Certain, I dashed forth. Vishnalan's feet left the ground. Her face distorted with confusion. I sprung toward her and hauled her out of the black hole's radius. She said something to me, but the roaring of dying stars forbade me from hearing.
What she said became apparent a moment later. She struck the ground, while I never did. I was floating, a victim of the hole's violent pull. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My skin wobbled and stretched the closer to the center I got.
"Carol!" I said, floating above her. "Close your mouth!"
She looked at me. The curvature of her eyes resembled a smile. The little freak was enjoying this.
Despair and desperation kicked in. My mouth changed places with my nose and my nose seemed to have fallen to the floor. I was not myself anymore, but a knot of particles adrift in ever-warping tides of black--
Everything came to halt.
I struck the ground hard and looked at Little Carol. She had finished yawning. "Boris, the muzzle!" I shouted as Little Carol threatened to yawn again. He grabbed her from behind and put on the muzzle.
Little Carol stood up and slapped him.
I turned and studied the damages.
I sighed.
They didn't pay me enough.
\--
Dear reader, may I steal a bit more of your time? You see, I'm not a wealthy man. On the contrary, I'm a pauper, a miser, a beggar. If you have a follow to spare [on my profile](https://www.reddit.com/u/BeggaryAndBastardy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), I would never forget it. | |
[WP] Humans are unique among all space faring creatures, they can interbreed successfully with any sentient lifeform. You run the station daycare. | I put in my earplugs, strapped on my gloves and face mask, and tightened my steel, sterile breastplate. Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the space station nursery.
'The earplugs are meant to be heard through in case of an emergency.' I tried to remind myself as the high-pitched wailing of half-human, half-alien babies pinched at my eardrums.
'Get through today, and I'll buy that big chocolate cake sitting in the cafeteria window.' I promised myself. 'No accidents! That's the goal: Not one containment pod destroyed. I can do it this time. Please.'
The lime green text on the space black monitor typed out the day's reminders,
"CHANGE KLORNAX'S DIAPER.
ROCK PIDDLEKINS TO SLEEP.
BURP LAVABACK IN OXYGEN FREE POD.
SING TO VINIA BY WINDOW."
It looked like a lot for one day, but I survived the human dad fainting during his Dinosian wife's pregnancy. The burn scars healed in less than a month. No problem.
Klornax's long brown hair tickled, even through the double layered plastic gloves as I reached into his hermetically sealed baby bed. Taking off the diaper from his lower human half, the dark black cloud of intestinal gas filled the small glass enclosure. I couldn't see the poop shoot meant for safely disposing of half-human, half-Venusian solid waste, but I had it's location memorized. Peeling one fresh diaper from the dispenser, I put it on him. The gas waste was sucked away revealing his smiling purple face.
The other nurses didn't like the feel of Piddlekins' boulder-like hide against them, but I didn't mind. I took off most of my protective equipment and held him against my chest. I ran the diamond gem resembling his mother's fist down his back. His cries diminished, and I could feel the rumbling inside him settle down. After putting him back in the crib, I washed off the blood tricking down the fresh wounds on my chest.
Lavaback was trickiest. Last week we had to vent the oxygen for a dangerous ten seconds, in order to keep everyone from dying a horrible, burning death. But we got through it! Dinosians couldn't control their dragonbreath until the age of two, but for half breeds, it caused acid reflux. So it had to be done. I attached the oxygen tube to his wide lizard nostrils, and the suction tube to his mouth, before giving him a few firm pats on his partially-scaly, human back. The gas and liquid mixture burst into flame coming out of his mouth, but the spittle quickly extinguished as it was sucked out into space. No problems!
Vinia was beautiful. I felt the computer must have given her to me last as a reward. A thick green stalk, rising up from a dirt-filled pot, ended in a tightly shut bulb. Two large leaves extended outward at about the height of an upright human baby's arms. She sat next to the tinted window, soaking up as much UV radiation as was deemed safe. I started humming before I remembered that it was the carbon dioxide that was important, not the song. So I changed to a breath-taking rendition of Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You.'
I was pleasantly shocked when Vinia began to wiggle. I quickly called through the station's intercom system, "Mr, and Mrs. Sunflower, come quick! Vinia's about to blossom!" I knew, because of how far the greenhouse was from the nursery, that it was unlikely they'd arrive in time to see it happen. But the station's camera's would record it, and they'd just be happy to see their little girl's smiling face.
Leaning close, I held my hands pressed together in front my mouth. Blinking could wait.
The green leaves of the bulb fell gently down, followed by yellow flower petals. In their wake a tiny pink human face stared back at me. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOhh, look at you! You have your father's nose."
Vinia's mouth began to move. Surely she couldn't be about to say her first word?
"Yes, Vinia? What is it?" I leaned in as close as I could to hear what she was about to say.
A thin, green vine, longer than she was tall, shot out from Vinia's mouth and began to wrap tightly around my neck. 'Of all the ways to die on this station, this one had to be unique.'
I never realized before that you could actually feel your face turning blue. I fell over hard, luckily, right between the rows of cribs. The last thing I saw before I passed out, was two long, green, leg-like stalks sprinting across the grated, metal floor towards me.
Pulling the oxygen mask from my face a few minutes later, I spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Sunflower. "I didn't think Vinia was so close to her Faceday?"
Mr. Sunflower laughed, cradling their daughter between his leaves. "She's an early bloomer. That usually means she'll be a star!"
Mrs. Sunflower extended a plate towards me, "In celebration, would you like some chocolate cake?"
Smiling more broadly than I had all day, I thanked her. "Yes, yes I would." It was sweeter than I had imagined. | Things were grim in the station daycare. Little Carol, the offspring of Dave and a black hole, had opened her mouth, sucking in the surrounding universe and destroying half of the station. The other kids played behind her, stepping on their own tentacles and falling to the ground, unaware of the severity of the situation.
"Close your mouth, Carol!" I shouted at the top of my lungs but the deafening roar of the rupturing space buried my voice. "Carol!"
My eyes darted to Vishnalan, the girl with a hundred hands, who was fighting against Boris, the boy with a hundred tentacles for limbs. They were battling too close to Little Carol. Too close.
I drew a deep breath. Witnessing the station crumble made my blood boil and my pocket cry. They would take this off of my pay. I cursed under my breath. I was certain Talandar took off Little Carol's muzzle. It was either him or Qepoke or both, those gelatinous tricksters.
Vishnalan took a step back. Her shirt warped toward Little Carol. I had to act. She would be sucked into nothingness otherwise, compressed into her death. But if I went, I would risk dying too.
I shook off my selfish thoughts and remembered the oath of the spacial caretakers.
Certain, I dashed forth. Vishnalan's feet left the ground. Her face distorted with confusion. I sprung toward her and hauled her out of the black hole's radius. She said something to me, but the roaring of dying stars forbade me from hearing.
What she said became apparent a moment later. She struck the ground, while I never did. I was floating, a victim of the hole's violent pull. I felt hot and cold at the same time. My skin wobbled and stretched the closer to the center I got.
"Carol!" I said, floating above her. "Close your mouth!"
She looked at me. The curvature of her eyes resembled a smile. The little freak was enjoying this.
Despair and desperation kicked in. My mouth changed places with my nose and my nose seemed to have fallen to the floor. I was not myself anymore, but a knot of particles adrift in ever-warping tides of black--
Everything came to halt.
I struck the ground hard and looked at Little Carol. She had finished yawning. "Boris, the muzzle!" I shouted as Little Carol threatened to yawn again. He grabbed her from behind and put on the muzzle.
Little Carol stood up and slapped him.
I turned and studied the damages.
I sighed.
They didn't pay me enough.
\--
Dear reader, may I steal a bit more of your time? You see, I'm not a wealthy man. On the contrary, I'm a pauper, a miser, a beggar. If you have a follow to spare [on my profile](https://www.reddit.com/u/BeggaryAndBastardy?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share), I would never forget it. | |
[WP] You get hit by a car. As you lie dying, your life flashes before your eyes; but then you notice something strange. You raise your hand to Death, and tell them; "Excuse me...but these aren't my memories at all." | OF COURSE THEY ARE ALBERT JACKSON. Said Death.
You don't hear the words so much as feel the letters drop into your head like tombstones.
"But, but that's not even my name... Is it?"
The black robes shift a bit and from its depth pops out a skeletal hand holding a plain hourglass. All the sand is in the bottom half... except for one grain.
BLAST! NOT THIS AGAIN. Death said irritably.
EXCUSE ME, ITS THE UNCERTAINTY THEORY AGAIN. BEEN WRECKING HAVOC WITH MY SCHEDULE YOU SEE.
Your eyes are glued to that one grain of sand. "Wait, what's that?"
I'M NOT SURE. GIVE THE UNIVERSE A MINUTE TO MAKE UP ITS MIND.
Both your eyes move to your laying body and time restarts.
You see the car that hit you stop at the cross roads and the driver, blue tooth ear piece and expensive suit douche combo, step out and start telling you off for damaging his car... with your body.
One of the bystanders seems to be a healthcare provider and rushes to stop the bleeding while yelling for an ambulance.
Douche Mc Doucheface starts yelling about suing you and the person helping for *"emotional damage"* when he and his car are hit by school bus.
AH, ALBERT JACKSON I PRESUME? I BELIEVE I JUST GAVE THE FLASHBACK SEQUENCE TO YOUR FRIEND HERE. TO COMPENSATE FOR THE EMOTIONAL DAMAGE THAT CAUSED I BELIEVE HE IS OWED... THIS.
And with that Death flipped your hourglass around. | "Oh shit, my bad fam" Death says as he fills my final moments with my memories.
"Its so beautiful" I say, tears rolling down my cheeks. "I somehow managed to spend a combined total of 15 years sitting on my ass in bed"
Death stands by impatiently tapping his foot. "I've got to head out at 4, can you hurry it up so I can collect your soul?"
I lay dying and reliving the happiest memory of my life: The time when I was 17 and I ate an entire footlong chimichanga in two bites. I feel so at peace. I feel so happy. I feel so...
"Ah, to hell with it. Just fucking keep your soul, I don't even want it anymore," Death says, and he vanishes into thin air.
I pass out from the pain and wake up in a hospital bed surrounded by my parents who were crying tears of joy. I had managed to cheat Death. | |
[WP] You get hit by a car. As you lie dying, your life flashes before your eyes; but then you notice something strange. You raise your hand to Death, and tell them; "Excuse me...but these aren't my memories at all." | These faces. These places. None of them are familiar.
"Those weren't mine..." I protest, the images begin to fade, a drunk tongue slurring my words.
"Of course they aren't," Death responds, their tone annoyingly disinterested as I lay there on the road. "They belong to him." My eyes follow the direction of their gesture to the mangled wreck of metal now resting on its side. The hood has popped open, leaving a deep cavity that seems to yell at me *Look out!* though its warning has come too late.
"Those weren't mine..." I repeat, allowing my attention to drift on back to Death. Again my words are jumbled by the booze still on my breath.
"Of course they aren't!" Death hissed. "As selfish in death as you were in life," they now loom over me. "This isn't about you, you made your decision, and as always, didn't think twice."
I stare in disbelief as Death begins to preach.
"That was a life. A soul. A being. They existed despite your lack of awareness. They smiled, they cried, they hurt, they dreamed, they hoped, and they survived — at least until they had the misfortune of meeting you."
"Those weren't mine..." my voice now meek my inebriated brain failing to find new words.
"His life wasn't yours either, but you still took that!" Death snapped back. | "Oh shit, my bad fam" Death says as he fills my final moments with my memories.
"Its so beautiful" I say, tears rolling down my cheeks. "I somehow managed to spend a combined total of 15 years sitting on my ass in bed"
Death stands by impatiently tapping his foot. "I've got to head out at 4, can you hurry it up so I can collect your soul?"
I lay dying and reliving the happiest memory of my life: The time when I was 17 and I ate an entire footlong chimichanga in two bites. I feel so at peace. I feel so happy. I feel so...
"Ah, to hell with it. Just fucking keep your soul, I don't even want it anymore," Death says, and he vanishes into thin air.
I pass out from the pain and wake up in a hospital bed surrounded by my parents who were crying tears of joy. I had managed to cheat Death. | |
[WP] While walking down the street one day you accidentally step on a snail. Instead of it squishing, it's like you stepped on a rock. This snail is Rodney, the most powerful creature in the universe. You have angered him. | It’s not fair really. You didn’t even see him. Now you’ll spend the rest of your life forever looking over your shoulder.
It was a day like any other, you hit snooze on your phone, fall back asleep, have turbulent five minute dreams, rinse and repeat until you roll exhausted out of bed. Fumble with the Keurig, decide against brushing your teeth, dunk your head in the shower and win the war to tame your wild hair briefly. You’re late but what’s new. You stumble out the door, and if you bothered to lock it behind you that’s a win for the day but you probably didn’t. Now you always lock doors behind you because the thing that follows you is deadly serious and hellbent on your destruction.
A light jog is the choice of the day. Not enough of a jog to actually get anywhere faster but a good enough pace to tell yourself you’re doing something to make up lost time. You wouldn’t want to break a sweat but your slightly neurotic guilt is warring with your innate laziness and a jog will keep both parties equally unhappy.
In the midst of this halfhearted shuffle your foot comes down on a rock, a pebble really or so you assume. You step awkwardly off it and decide jogging isn’t for you, what’s the rush really? Then you feel it. An intense hatred so hot it sears into your shoulder blades exposing bone and sinew beneath the blistering gaze. You look back at the pebble, a rock really, and see the conical shell of a small snail. Heat rises off the tiny armored gastropod warping the very air above it. You can vaguely see your house through the shimmering super-heated air coalescing above the mad mollusk. Thunder cracks rending the sky in two, pressure waves ricocheting off your eardrums and you clutch your head in pain.
“What the f-” you begin as the snail rights itself and crawls slowly towards you. You look around as the sky darkens and the ground begins to tremble and you decide jogging is actually for you and take off in a dead sprint eager to put any and all distance you can between you and this vengeful, malevolent creature.
You arrive at work panting in a cold sweat, confused and preoccupied. But confusion and preoccupation are basically your occupation and nary a coworker bats an eye at your untimely and disheveled appearance. You sit down at your desk and look outside and the day is clear and the sun is shining and in the safety and security of your nine to five you begin to calm down.
It’s merely a snail after all. What could a snail truly do to you? The thunder you chalk up to arcane meteorology and abstract sciences you care nothing about. No one knows what the weather will be anyway. Whether you’re a farmer or a weatherman or a rain dancing shaman you really have no clue. Secure in your lazy skepticism you get to work. The day passes without event and you opt to take the bus home without really thinking about why.
At a stoplight on Fourth and Madison all hell breaks loose. The bus careens into a traffic light and upends itself you’re thrust against the windows and a mass of humanity tumbles around you. The dust settles and you find your face slapped wet against the glass and out of the corner of your eye you see it, a speck on the pavement staring intently and angrily up at you. You can make out the conical shell so deep black and dark you wonder how any light can even exist. The blood red swirl arching gracefully up the back of the creature. It’s the snail!
You scream but everyone is screaming or groaning or speaking in tongues making desperate incantations of pain. No one notices you as you crawl toward the front of the bus, out the emergency exit and tumble onto the pavement. Sirens wail in the distance converging on your location. You’re bleeding profusely as head wounds are wont to do. You stumble awkwardly and painfully in the direction of home, pushing through the crowd of eager onlookers, desperate to get away from the vengeful god you have angered.
You get home and lock your door, deadbolted, draw the window shades. You sit in the darkness, disoriented and confused. It’s just a snail. You pull out your smartphone and stare past the shattered screen as you do a hasty google search on wrathful snail spirits.
Rodney.
An eldritch horror that Cthulu himself fears. The real reason the old gods fled Earth.
The deadbolt won’t be enough you can feel his hateful anger growing ever nearer at that glacial, creeping pace. You hastily throw together an overnight bag of clothes, grab your laptop and chargers and white noise machine. You leave the Ambien on your night stand. You’ll never sleep again. Not with that monster always a snail’s pace behind you.
You flee. But you can never rest. Every day you put enough distance to guarantee a night’s sleep. But you dream only of black conical shells with bloodred swirls and wake up in a cold sweat. You skip the continental breakfasts across the continent and dip out early from a running carousel Holiday and Hampton Inns as you finally reach the west coast. Your funds running low you book a flight across the Pacific. Hopefully there is sanctuary in some obscure corner of Russia. But when you finally lay down in snowy Yakustk in the remote interior of Siberia you cannot sleep. You can only imagine Rodney that awful god traversing the wide ocean always a snail’s pace behind you.
Months pass. You have constant whiplash from looking over your shoulder. Your appearance is haggard and you have aged ten years in a span of months. Your foot aches where you stepped on that dreadful monstrosity. You develop a limp as you push forever onward away from that dread presence always at your back. You finally collapse somewhere in Ukraine. You wake up in a hospital ward strapped to a gurney. You’ve been ranting about snails for 16 hours. They had to sedate you. Three times. You plead with the doctors to let you free. They have no idea what is coming for you. They just look at you with complacent eyes and tell you to take your medicine. Sleep. Wake. Sleep. For days or weeks you live in a pharmaceutical haze as your horrible fate stalks ever closer. Finally, there is a knock at your door. Just there at the bottom. You hear the clash of shell upon steel and you close your tired eyes. Rodney. | Edit: \[Poem\]
There was a small snail named Rodney
who was on his way to a snail party.
Before reaching the rave
his shell it did crave
to destroy the lives of the innocent.
&#x200B;
Not a second thought rolled in
when he caught himself thinking sin
he shook the thought out
with a sigh and a pout
and carried on his slimy old way.
&#x200B;
Rodney enjoyed the crisp cold breeze
and reminisced of his times near big trees.
Along came old DuhhIshBlue
who came stomping with his large blue shoes
to find he made a horrible mistake.
&#x200B;
DuhhIshBlue returned to his home
not aware he will not be alone.
Rodney will not let him forget.
He will not live to see the sunset.
His rage will shock him to the bone.
&#x200B;
The snail mass have all gone online
They have all learnt of your crime.
You will not go unpunished.
Oh, no. Not this time.
&#x200B;
You posted this prompt on Reddit
and now you will forever regret it.
Never sleeping, slowly creeping, never weeping.
The snails will decide your fate. | |
[WP] You are a Narrator, a very bad one. Describe a great historical event in the most mundane way possible. | It all began with Chris, a stupid man who didn't know how to read a map. He accidentally discovered a new continent, which was immediately pillaged and plundered by a bunch of fat, greedy men with really sweet looking helmets. They were like pirates, but Spanish and on land.
Once the ships laden with gold headed back to the king, other countries were like, "Bruh. Gimme." And so, they began to set up their own little operation in this new continent. Eventually, arguments began to break out over all sorts of things - an ear, territory, and religion, leading to Good Ol' King G getting about thirteen little colonies to his name.
And then a bunch of drunk farmers kicked him out because they were mad about taxes. | Once upon a time England had a king. This king had no kids and promised a relative that the relative could be the new king one day. However, when he did some men chose an English noble named Harold Godwinson to be king instead. The late king's relative, William, was from France and born out of wedlock, so he wasn't exactly popular in England.
William didn't like this. He got some friends, recruited an army, and crossed the English Channel to take England for himself. At the same time, a Viking army attacked England to the north. Harold had to face them first, and defeated the Vikings at a bridge to keep them out of England. But William and his army were still arriving in the south.
Thus, a battle took place at a place called Hastings, between Harold's men and William's men. The battle was a long one, but William's men won, and Harold was killed. After this, no one opposed William anymore, and he had himself crowned King of England on Christmas day.
This is how William of Normandy became William the Conqueror, first Norman king of England.
(I tried to do an elementary historical textbook approach to the prompt. Those kinds of textbooks can be quite dry and make a really interesting subject rather dull sounding at times.) | |
[WP] You are a Narrator, a very bad one. Describe a great historical event in the most mundane way possible. | So George was a lousy leader and sent a bunch of guys to fight people who didn't like him, who picked George to lead the fight, and George didn't have a bunch of guys to fight, so they ran away a lot making George's guys get tired. So George's guys and George's guys would fight and then run away and then fight more. Eventually, some of George's guys (not the first guys, other guys) got tired of all the fighting George was making other guys do, and they didn't want to keep paying for the fighting, plus George had some clever victories, so George gave it up and that was the end, but George remained in charge and then George was named the guy in charge.
Oh, did I mention these are different Georges? | Once upon a time England had a king. This king had no kids and promised a relative that the relative could be the new king one day. However, when he did some men chose an English noble named Harold Godwinson to be king instead. The late king's relative, William, was from France and born out of wedlock, so he wasn't exactly popular in England.
William didn't like this. He got some friends, recruited an army, and crossed the English Channel to take England for himself. At the same time, a Viking army attacked England to the north. Harold had to face them first, and defeated the Vikings at a bridge to keep them out of England. But William and his army were still arriving in the south.
Thus, a battle took place at a place called Hastings, between Harold's men and William's men. The battle was a long one, but William's men won, and Harold was killed. After this, no one opposed William anymore, and he had himself crowned King of England on Christmas day.
This is how William of Normandy became William the Conqueror, first Norman king of England.
(I tried to do an elementary historical textbook approach to the prompt. Those kinds of textbooks can be quite dry and make a really interesting subject rather dull sounding at times.) | |
[WP] You are a Narrator, a very bad one. Describe a great historical event in the most mundane way possible. | Bonny was a tiny bloke. Didn't stop him from *reaching up* for something grand.
He hated the posh bastards, living it up their fancy castles, eating their fancy white cakes, drinking the bubbly paid for courtesy of the plebs. When the whole country started wondering, 'why do we even let this thing go on since forever?", ol' Bonny hatched a plan.
He and his mates started building up a whole gang of men with pointy guns and sticks. Then they beat the other boys fighting for the posh twats, ended up winning. It was crazy. The whole lot started cheering, choppin' people heads off like piñatas, and burning stuff like in some hippie bonfire thing. Absolute bonkers.
But the other rich posh lot from all over started seeing ol' Bonny as a dangerous man.
"He might be short, but this lad can start chopping *all* of our heads off too, mate!" said one nutty king.
"Damn, we should start, like, ganging up on him or whatever," said another king with a large silly hat.
"Yeah, let's just kick his arse now!" cried an emperor with some fancy uniform.
So all these pretentious silly mates just did that... and they lost. Big time.
Ol' Bonny then put on a fucking silly hat of his own and said, "I found this stinkin' crusty crown thing on the gutter, so I'm gonna put it on my own head, everyone cool?". To which everyone in his gang gave a thumbs up and so he became another rich pompous king of sort.
Yada yada yada, the old pompous king mates then came back for an encore. In fact, they did that seven times.
Yada yada yada, they got their arses beaten six times. Then they won on the seventh.
It was wild, but pretty much the same thing repeated seven times. Like, who wrote this crap?
That's it.
Napoleon Bonaparte. Good ol' short Bonny. | The world wars, they first one was a bad war, a war so bad that it was amazing.
Everyone knows that bad things become amazing because it is so bad, just like ww2.
Ww2 was even worse than ww1 because it was badder than the first one.
It started because everyone simultaneously agreed we should have another, big bad war, just like the first world War, a bigger and badder war will outshine the first big bad war.
Because everyone loves sequels, and world wars were no exception.
So everyone created another as a group project.
They were proud of it and decided to give it another name aside from ww2.
The ones who survived called it another name aside from world War 2.
#World War 2: Electric Boogaloo | |
[WP] Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn't exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back. |
As the eldest daughter of King Phebus, it should have been Seraphina who was first in line. Alas she had been too young and naive to wish for her fathers death before he sired a male heir. Her younger brother's mother was unknown, which one would think should effect his claim, but illegitimate Kings were common for the land of Ferseus. Far worse, her father's fairy godmother had been suspicious of Seraphina from the moment of her birth--for a Princess to have a fairy godfather was unheard of, and Titania detested Cane, although she would never outright say such a thing about a fellow fey. Titania had been slowly turning Phebus against his kin for too long...
**Cane was quite taken aback when he found himself teleported to another realm to witness the birth of a human girl. He had never thought of what blessing he would give to a human charge, as usually only women were called to the realm of men. He took several days to decide, but the moment he chose, he returned to the fey world as quickly as he arrived, as though no time had passed. Consumed with gaining control of the North Star, he had almost forgotten the babe when he found himself in front of a young girl. She looked him up and down with an entitled smirk, but he could still see the fear behind her facade.
"I've been wondering when you would show up. As my godfather you owe me three wishes, and I have decided upon my first. I wish to be the first Queen of Ferseus." Cane had never been wished at before. He opened his mouth to rebuke the girl for her rudeness, but instead he found himself advising her to sneak her bodyguard the meat from her plate. The young girl did not approve of this, and stated that he was supposed to chant or something and make it so, not expect her to work. He laughed at her idiocy, told her all wishes came with a price, and his was quite cheap, considering. **
It did not take Seraphina long to realise that Cane was not making her pay for her wish. Her guard became her strongest ally in her father's court. Next, she swayed her father's servants. Then she bribed the chefs to sneak bread and stews made from leftovers to the slums in her name. Word began to spread of Princess Seraphina's kindness, and it was not long until the people's cheers for her rivaled those for her father. Of course it helped that every now and then, her godfather placed changelings here and there, but it wasn't Seraphina's fault that she couldn't tempt the high priest to her favour.
The night her father died she tried not to feel guilt. The council tried to investigate but she enough information to stop that. She used her power over the masses to threaten war upon her own realm, and Ferseus crowned its very first Queen.
Cane was not present at the crowning of Queen Seraphina, instead he was taking her younger brother from his bed, not knowing why he felt such a strong urge to keep him safe. Little did he know he was taking the feys half blood prince home. | Looking back I can see where it all went wrong.
It was my 11th birthday, I had everything, an amazing venue with food, music and lots of happy guests. My pile of presents dwarfed my 11 year old self and I could barely resist the temptation of ripping into them all, the only problem was the birthday cake hadn’t arrived, my mother was soooo stressed, she was on the phone for what to me seemed hours, eventually she said to my father “the bakery have fucked it all up can you go and take care of em”, after that my dad and a few of his friends left........ | |
[WP] Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn't exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back. | Princess Marigold of Austria wandered around Oxford Street aimlessly window shopping. To the swarming crowds around her, she was nobody, just another rich kid, flexing Daddy’s plastic. She liked the anonymity. It was peaceful, and let's face it, she didn’t really want to rule, not if she was being really honest. Which was good, given that being 18th in line meant the only thing that would get her on the throne was a nuke aimed at the middle of Europe, and even then she wouldn’t have anything left to rule over. Schooled in the finest English girl’s schools, she was confined behind high, ivy covered walls. Her father was often jetting the world, hedging funds, or whatever it was that he did. He wasn’t a bad father, you must understand, but he was an absent father. And her mother just self medicated on expensive vodka and slightly dodgily prescribed Prozac. It’s amazing what you could procure when you could pay a doctor’s monthly salary for one visit.
&nbsp;
Sighing, Meg tossed what little cash she had to a beggar on the street corner who grinned at her, showing a little flash of gold in the corner of his smile. She couldn’t resist smiling back, although the smile drained away as soon as she turned. It just wouldn’t hold on her face. It was her eighteenth birthday. Most parents would want to spend time, taking her out, or showering her with gifts and attention. Not that she cared about gifts, but it’s a birthday, you’re supposed to have surprises.
&nbsp;
Instead, she’d received a prepaid credit card in the mail, with a note written by her father’s personal assistant, hoping she had a nice birthday and unfortunately Dad had to go to Tokyo; super important, couldn’t miss it. Yadayadayada. Included had been a silver bracelet from her mother. There wasn’t even a card to go with the traditional gift. It was beautiful, a delicate chain, with inset stones of vibrant purple and pale blue. Amethyst, for her February and March birthdays. Yes, Meg was a leap year child, born on the twenty ninth of February. For some reason, her mother never celebrated a day earlier, but always on either the leap year, or the first of March. Meg had once asked her mother about that, and why couldn’t she just celebrate on the twenty eighth of February? Her mother had gazed at her with a seriously confused expression, and Meg came to the conclusion that it was due to her vodka-pickled brains.
&nbsp;
Making up her mind, she turned and ran back to the beggar on the corner. Why not spend her birthday with someone who wanted something from her? As she approached, the man grinned up at her, flashing that gold tooth.
&nbsp;
“Hello. I’m Mari...uh...Meg”, she stammered. Goddamn it, she hated the name Marigold, it was just ingrained from years of swish soirees.
“James”, came the curt but confused sounding reply.
Meg shifted from foot to foot. Why was she nervous? “I have a favour to ask. I know you don’t know me. But it’s my birthday, and I’ll be spending it all alone. Er...would you come to dinner with me? I figured it’s win/win, I get company, you get food. Oh gods, this was such a terrible idea, I’m sorry.” Meg spun and started to run off, but James swarmed to his feet. He caught her arm, and they stood there, frozen in a tableau of uncertainty.
“I’d love to,” came the gravelly reply, “but these are all I’ve got,” as he motioned to the dirty tracksuit bottoms, oversize coat and tattered shoes.
“Well that’s easy to fix,” she grinned.
Meg had never been happier. She had dragged James around the stores of Oxford Street, throwing so much stuff into the baskets they carried. Fresh undies, socks, warm clothes, hats, anything he looked longingly at. He had a haircut and hot shave at some hole in the wall barber they passed. They had made their exhausted way back to Meg’s apartment, where Meg had set him up in the guest room and went to get ready herself. She sat on her sofa, her knee length, bottle green dress becoming unbelievably creased as she curled up. Scrolling aimlessly through her phone, she looked up when the guest room door creaked open.
&nbsp;
James stood in the doorway, ever present cocky grin in place as he leaned casually against the doorframe. His black hair shone in the low light, eyes dark and dangerous. He wore a black three piece suit with faint pinstripes, with the jacket hanging over his shoulder; he was the epitome of confidence. Meg snapped her mouth shut, aware, with a hot flush of embarrassment, that she’d been staring. At that moment, her phone pinged. Thank God for Uber.
&nbsp;
A few hours later, they ran back up the stairs to her apartment, heels in hand and laughing hysterically. Meg was on a high, it was such a fantastic birthday! Dinner at her favourite restaurant, a few drinks; they had even found some dive bar playing jazz as smoky as the atmosphere, and had danced. James was a great dancer, something that surprised her. Even though he was only a few years older than her, she was surprised that, given his rough life, he was so accomplished. She’d had hours upon hours of dance lessons and finishing school, but James...well, he had shared some of his life with her. It wasn’t pleasant. He’d been unwilling to share detail with her, saying it would be a downer on her birthday. She hadn’t said much about herself. But there didn’t seem any need to, it was like he already knew her. Still, she supposed, don’t her romance novels all say that you get that connection, that spark? Maybe James was hers. | Looking back I can see where it all went wrong.
It was my 11th birthday, I had everything, an amazing venue with food, music and lots of happy guests. My pile of presents dwarfed my 11 year old self and I could barely resist the temptation of ripping into them all, the only problem was the birthday cake hadn’t arrived, my mother was soooo stressed, she was on the phone for what to me seemed hours, eventually she said to my father “the bakery have fucked it all up can you go and take care of em”, after that my dad and a few of his friends left........ | |
[WP] Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn't exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back. | My fairy godfather appeared for the very first time when the Regent's daughter, unhappy that I had apparently shown her up in front of our tutor, pushed me into a rosebush on the castle grounds during playtime. I put out my hands to break my fall, and cried out in pain when thorns scratched my palm and forearms, one of them leaving a particularly nasty gash. A tear leaked out of one eye despite my willing it not to.
"Serves you right - you think you're *so* smart," she sneered, and ran off, her long pigtail swinging behind her - and then was suddenly caught in a fist that shot out from behind an oak tree. She screamed, and a tall, thin man stepped out from behind the trunk.
He was dressed curiously, in an elegant long-sleeved black jacket of sorts with a white collared shirt underneath, and a bow at the neck. Long tapered black pantaloons clad his legs. It definitely wasn't the garb of servants, but the nobles in the court did not dress this way, either. He was possibly a visiting foreign dignitary, but I hadn't been informed of anyone, and as the princess it was my duty to feast with them when they arrived.
He casually yanked Ching-Yi's pigtail so that she stumbled backwards, her hands flying to the base of her pigtail to ease the pressure. His other hand held a cigar, ribbons of purple smoke issuing from the glowing tip, and as he brought it casually to his lips for a long pull, I realised that he was looking at me.
"All right, Princess?" he asked, purple smoke issuing from his mouth. A very neatly trimmed moustache grew above his upper lip, but he had no beard - another indication that he was a visitor, for it was the fashion for men in court to keep all the facial hair they could grow to show their masculinity.
"Y - yes, I think so," I said shakily, standing up and looking at my bloodied palms. He nodded.
"Let me go!" Ching-Yi shrieked, turning around and trying to yank her hair from his grip. "Do you know who my father is?"
"I do," said the man silkily. "Regent of this country, he thinks he is the most powerful man alive and forgets that he ought to serve his Princess. As do you." So saying, he released her pigtail suddenly, and, mid-tug, she fell to the ground. "How dare you treat the Princess Song Huey so? Do you wish to be beheaded?"
Beheading was outlawed in the land, but I did not bother correcting the gentleman. It was far too pleasurable watching Ching-Yi's eyes fill with fear. She was never one for history lessons.
"Apologise to Her Highness. Now."
Ching-Yi looked from me to the man, and then back to me again.
"APOLOGISE!" barked the man, and she uttered a squeal of apologies, before picking herself up to run away. The man watched her go calmly, and then gracefully flicked his fingers at her retreating back. "She will fall into a rosebush on the way."
"There are no rosebushes that way," I said.
"Is that so? There will be one there right about... now." His self-satisfied smile died as he turned to me, and he held out his hand. "Come here, Your Highness, I want to take a look at your injuries."
I hung back, uncertain of the stranger. As the sole heir to the throne, I should have been guarded, but Ching-Yi, who had been cold to me in the past few months, had pretended that she was bringing me to a secret hideout. Naively, I had commanded them to wait by the tower we had our lessons. "Who are you?" I quavered.
He smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. "Your fairy godfather. All princesses have one."
"They have fairy godmothers," I countered, frowning.
"Who are mostly pacifists," said the man who claimed to be my fairy godfather, snorting. "Cinderella still had to do all the dirty work in the house, didn't she? And Sleeping Beauty - didn't she still fall asleep? When just a few punches and kicks at certain folk would've done the job and saved them all that pain. That's why I demanded for my boys and I to be in on the job, and today the higher-ups finally relented. You, my little Princess, are our first charge, and you have my word: you will never be in danger again."
I gaped at him, and, impatiently, he stepped forward, covering the distance between us easily in two long strides. Picking up my hand, he tutted at the injuries and then, putting his cigar between his teeth, knelt down and pulled out a small tin of what turned out to be powder from his jacket. "Fairy dust," he said, winking, and applied it on my wounds. I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes, expecting it to sting, but there was only a gentle, cooling sensation, and when I cracked my eyes open, I saw that the worst of the injuries had been reduced to a week-old scab. My jaw dropped.
"Effective, isn't it?" he said, pleased. "You've no idea how much I paid for it - it's only available on the black market. And the best part is, you can smoke it - and it is *divine*."
There was no question about it, then; this man was truly my fairy godfather. He stood up, brushing off the grass that stuck to the knees of his pantaloons. "Now, Princess, whenever you need me, the higher-ups tell me that I'll be able to appear before you whenever you cry" (- he rolled his eyes -) "which is likely to be when it's too late, like just now. So I've come up with an alternative. You can call out to me with a codeword."
"What should I say?"
"'Kill these motherfuckers,'" he said promptly.
I looked at him icily. "I am only nine," I said.
"Never too young to learn swearwords," he said brightly, petting my head as if I was a beloved child. An orphan since I was seven, I couldn't help but lean into his touch. His gaze softened, and he said, "You darling child. Fine, you can summon me by saying 'Godpapa'."
"'Godpapa,'" I repeated with a smile. "Thank you, Godpapa."
"Anytime, Your Highness." He gave a courtly bow, and as he rose, disappeared.
I looked wonderingly at the spot where he had vanished just as a couple of the royal guards raced into view, panting.
"Your Highness!" shouted one of them. "Are you all right? Ching-Yi said that there was an intruder on the castle grounds!"
"An intruder?" I said placidly. "No, there was no such person about. She must have been hallucinating."
"She might have been," said the other guard uncertainly to the other. "She was screaming about a new rosebush by pond, but I did not see any. Her hands sure were bloody, though, and there was a thorn stuck in her palm."
I put out my own hands, watching the scab fall off and leave behind pretty, star-shaped scar, and smiled.
*Seven Years Later*
"You have to sign here, Your Highness," said Regent Hu, tapping at the blank line. "And stamp your imperial seal next to it."
"And what is this document?" I asked, idly examining my fingernails. In my peripheral view, ministers in court looked at each other, and I pretended not to notice.
The man leered, showing all his teeth, yellow and long. "Why, it was the very document you spent last night revising, Your Highness. The one which paves the way for your coronation as Queen tomorrow and relinquishes me from my duty as Regent."
"Regent Hu," I said, leaning forward and tapping a fingernail on the scroll. "Please do not take me for an idiot."
His smile faltered. "I could never think that, Your Highness."
"You must have done," I said, smiling broadly myself, "for you have switched out the document for one which has me abdicating my throne and putting you in power. Nine years of acting as Regent, and I see that the power has gone to your head."
Regent Hu had gone white, and then he shrugged. "I knew it could possibly come to this," he said.
I stood up, pushing the table roughly and upsetting the inkwell. Pitch liquid flowed across the treasonous document.
"Kill these motherfuckers!" I yelled.
The guards on either side of my throne did not move, and Regent Hu started to chuckle. "I'm afraid your guards are not your own, Your Highness. I've bought them over years ago."
I laughed, too. "Oh, you *should* be afraid, Regent Hu, for I was not talking to them."
Screams issued from the traitorous ministers as a group of men seemed to step out of nowhere into the middle of my court. Leading the pack was a tall, thin gentleman, smoking a cigar and engulfed in a cloud of purple haze.
"All right, Princess?"
Edit: typos and added some sentences, and I just wanted to thank OP for this prompt. I've been struggling to write for the longest time, so I'm just so glad to have enjoyed writing something even if that means staying up till 2am on a workday night. Thank you, and TGIF! | Looking back I can see where it all went wrong.
It was my 11th birthday, I had everything, an amazing venue with food, music and lots of happy guests. My pile of presents dwarfed my 11 year old self and I could barely resist the temptation of ripping into them all, the only problem was the birthday cake hadn’t arrived, my mother was soooo stressed, she was on the phone for what to me seemed hours, eventually she said to my father “the bakery have fucked it all up can you go and take care of em”, after that my dad and a few of his friends left........ | |
[WP] Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn't exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back. | My fairy godfather appeared for the very first time when the Regent's daughter, unhappy that I had apparently shown her up in front of our tutor, pushed me into a rosebush on the castle grounds during playtime. I put out my hands to break my fall, and cried out in pain when thorns scratched my palm and forearms, one of them leaving a particularly nasty gash. A tear leaked out of one eye despite my willing it not to.
"Serves you right - you think you're *so* smart," she sneered, and ran off, her long pigtail swinging behind her - and then was suddenly caught in a fist that shot out from behind an oak tree. She screamed, and a tall, thin man stepped out from behind the trunk.
He was dressed curiously, in an elegant long-sleeved black jacket of sorts with a white collared shirt underneath, and a bow at the neck. Long tapered black pantaloons clad his legs. It definitely wasn't the garb of servants, but the nobles in the court did not dress this way, either. He was possibly a visiting foreign dignitary, but I hadn't been informed of anyone, and as the princess it was my duty to feast with them when they arrived.
He casually yanked Ching-Yi's pigtail so that she stumbled backwards, her hands flying to the base of her pigtail to ease the pressure. His other hand held a cigar, ribbons of purple smoke issuing from the glowing tip, and as he brought it casually to his lips for a long pull, I realised that he was looking at me.
"All right, Princess?" he asked, purple smoke issuing from his mouth. A very neatly trimmed moustache grew above his upper lip, but he had no beard - another indication that he was a visitor, for it was the fashion for men in court to keep all the facial hair they could grow to show their masculinity.
"Y - yes, I think so," I said shakily, standing up and looking at my bloodied palms. He nodded.
"Let me go!" Ching-Yi shrieked, turning around and trying to yank her hair from his grip. "Do you know who my father is?"
"I do," said the man silkily. "Regent of this country, he thinks he is the most powerful man alive and forgets that he ought to serve his Princess. As do you." So saying, he released her pigtail suddenly, and, mid-tug, she fell to the ground. "How dare you treat the Princess Song Huey so? Do you wish to be beheaded?"
Beheading was outlawed in the land, but I did not bother correcting the gentleman. It was far too pleasurable watching Ching-Yi's eyes fill with fear. She was never one for history lessons.
"Apologise to Her Highness. Now."
Ching-Yi looked from me to the man, and then back to me again.
"APOLOGISE!" barked the man, and she uttered a squeal of apologies, before picking herself up to run away. The man watched her go calmly, and then gracefully flicked his fingers at her retreating back. "She will fall into a rosebush on the way."
"There are no rosebushes that way," I said.
"Is that so? There will be one there right about... now." His self-satisfied smile died as he turned to me, and he held out his hand. "Come here, Your Highness, I want to take a look at your injuries."
I hung back, uncertain of the stranger. As the sole heir to the throne, I should have been guarded, but Ching-Yi, who had been cold to me in the past few months, had pretended that she was bringing me to a secret hideout. Naively, I had commanded them to wait by the tower we had our lessons. "Who are you?" I quavered.
He smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. "Your fairy godfather. All princesses have one."
"They have fairy godmothers," I countered, frowning.
"Who are mostly pacifists," said the man who claimed to be my fairy godfather, snorting. "Cinderella still had to do all the dirty work in the house, didn't she? And Sleeping Beauty - didn't she still fall asleep? When just a few punches and kicks at certain folk would've done the job and saved them all that pain. That's why I demanded for my boys and I to be in on the job, and today the higher-ups finally relented. You, my little Princess, are our first charge, and you have my word: you will never be in danger again."
I gaped at him, and, impatiently, he stepped forward, covering the distance between us easily in two long strides. Picking up my hand, he tutted at the injuries and then, putting his cigar between his teeth, knelt down and pulled out a small tin of what turned out to be powder from his jacket. "Fairy dust," he said, winking, and applied it on my wounds. I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes, expecting it to sting, but there was only a gentle, cooling sensation, and when I cracked my eyes open, I saw that the worst of the injuries had been reduced to a week-old scab. My jaw dropped.
"Effective, isn't it?" he said, pleased. "You've no idea how much I paid for it - it's only available on the black market. And the best part is, you can smoke it - and it is *divine*."
There was no question about it, then; this man was truly my fairy godfather. He stood up, brushing off the grass that stuck to the knees of his pantaloons. "Now, Princess, whenever you need me, the higher-ups tell me that I'll be able to appear before you whenever you cry" (- he rolled his eyes -) "which is likely to be when it's too late, like just now. So I've come up with an alternative. You can call out to me with a codeword."
"What should I say?"
"'Kill these motherfuckers,'" he said promptly.
I looked at him icily. "I am only nine," I said.
"Never too young to learn swearwords," he said brightly, petting my head as if I was a beloved child. An orphan since I was seven, I couldn't help but lean into his touch. His gaze softened, and he said, "You darling child. Fine, you can summon me by saying 'Godpapa'."
"'Godpapa,'" I repeated with a smile. "Thank you, Godpapa."
"Anytime, Your Highness." He gave a courtly bow, and as he rose, disappeared.
I looked wonderingly at the spot where he had vanished just as a couple of the royal guards raced into view, panting.
"Your Highness!" shouted one of them. "Are you all right? Ching-Yi said that there was an intruder on the castle grounds!"
"An intruder?" I said placidly. "No, there was no such person about. She must have been hallucinating."
"She might have been," said the other guard uncertainly to the other. "She was screaming about a new rosebush by pond, but I did not see any. Her hands sure were bloody, though, and there was a thorn stuck in her palm."
I put out my own hands, watching the scab fall off and leave behind pretty, star-shaped scar, and smiled.
*Seven Years Later*
"You have to sign here, Your Highness," said Regent Hu, tapping at the blank line. "And stamp your imperial seal next to it."
"And what is this document?" I asked, idly examining my fingernails. In my peripheral view, ministers in court looked at each other, and I pretended not to notice.
The man leered, showing all his teeth, yellow and long. "Why, it was the very document you spent last night revising, Your Highness. The one which paves the way for your coronation as Queen tomorrow and relinquishes me from my duty as Regent."
"Regent Hu," I said, leaning forward and tapping a fingernail on the scroll. "Please do not take me for an idiot."
His smile faltered. "I could never think that, Your Highness."
"You must have done," I said, smiling broadly myself, "for you have switched out the document for one which has me abdicating my throne and putting you in power. Nine years of acting as Regent, and I see that the power has gone to your head."
Regent Hu had gone white, and then he shrugged. "I knew it could possibly come to this," he said.
I stood up, pushing the table roughly and upsetting the inkwell. Pitch liquid flowed across the treasonous document.
"Kill these motherfuckers!" I yelled.
The guards on either side of my throne did not move, and Regent Hu started to chuckle. "I'm afraid your guards are not your own, Your Highness. I've bought them over years ago."
I laughed, too. "Oh, you *should* be afraid, Regent Hu, for I was not talking to them."
Screams issued from the traitorous ministers as a group of men seemed to step out of nowhere into the middle of my court. Leading the pack was a tall, thin gentleman, smoking a cigar and engulfed in a cloud of purple haze.
"All right, Princess?"
Edit: typos and added some sentences, and I just wanted to thank OP for this prompt. I've been struggling to write for the longest time, so I'm just so glad to have enjoyed writing something even if that means staying up till 2am on a workday night. Thank you, and TGIF! |
As the eldest daughter of King Phebus, it should have been Seraphina who was first in line. Alas she had been too young and naive to wish for her fathers death before he sired a male heir. Her younger brother's mother was unknown, which one would think should effect his claim, but illegitimate Kings were common for the land of Ferseus. Far worse, her father's fairy godmother had been suspicious of Seraphina from the moment of her birth--for a Princess to have a fairy godfather was unheard of, and Titania detested Cane, although she would never outright say such a thing about a fellow fey. Titania had been slowly turning Phebus against his kin for too long...
**Cane was quite taken aback when he found himself teleported to another realm to witness the birth of a human girl. He had never thought of what blessing he would give to a human charge, as usually only women were called to the realm of men. He took several days to decide, but the moment he chose, he returned to the fey world as quickly as he arrived, as though no time had passed. Consumed with gaining control of the North Star, he had almost forgotten the babe when he found himself in front of a young girl. She looked him up and down with an entitled smirk, but he could still see the fear behind her facade.
"I've been wondering when you would show up. As my godfather you owe me three wishes, and I have decided upon my first. I wish to be the first Queen of Ferseus." Cane had never been wished at before. He opened his mouth to rebuke the girl for her rudeness, but instead he found himself advising her to sneak her bodyguard the meat from her plate. The young girl did not approve of this, and stated that he was supposed to chant or something and make it so, not expect her to work. He laughed at her idiocy, told her all wishes came with a price, and his was quite cheap, considering. **
It did not take Seraphina long to realise that Cane was not making her pay for her wish. Her guard became her strongest ally in her father's court. Next, she swayed her father's servants. Then she bribed the chefs to sneak bread and stews made from leftovers to the slums in her name. Word began to spread of Princess Seraphina's kindness, and it was not long until the people's cheers for her rivaled those for her father. Of course it helped that every now and then, her godfather placed changelings here and there, but it wasn't Seraphina's fault that she couldn't tempt the high priest to her favour.
The night her father died she tried not to feel guilt. The council tried to investigate but she enough information to stop that. She used her power over the masses to threaten war upon her own realm, and Ferseus crowned its very first Queen.
Cane was not present at the crowning of Queen Seraphina, instead he was taking her younger brother from his bed, not knowing why he felt such a strong urge to keep him safe. Little did he know he was taking the feys half blood prince home. | |
[WP] Other princesses have Fairy Godmothers. You have a Fairy Godfather. He doesn't exactly grant wishes in the usual way, but the Fairy Mob always has your back. | My fairy godfather appeared for the very first time when the Regent's daughter, unhappy that I had apparently shown her up in front of our tutor, pushed me into a rosebush on the castle grounds during playtime. I put out my hands to break my fall, and cried out in pain when thorns scratched my palm and forearms, one of them leaving a particularly nasty gash. A tear leaked out of one eye despite my willing it not to.
"Serves you right - you think you're *so* smart," she sneered, and ran off, her long pigtail swinging behind her - and then was suddenly caught in a fist that shot out from behind an oak tree. She screamed, and a tall, thin man stepped out from behind the trunk.
He was dressed curiously, in an elegant long-sleeved black jacket of sorts with a white collared shirt underneath, and a bow at the neck. Long tapered black pantaloons clad his legs. It definitely wasn't the garb of servants, but the nobles in the court did not dress this way, either. He was possibly a visiting foreign dignitary, but I hadn't been informed of anyone, and as the princess it was my duty to feast with them when they arrived.
He casually yanked Ching-Yi's pigtail so that she stumbled backwards, her hands flying to the base of her pigtail to ease the pressure. His other hand held a cigar, ribbons of purple smoke issuing from the glowing tip, and as he brought it casually to his lips for a long pull, I realised that he was looking at me.
"All right, Princess?" he asked, purple smoke issuing from his mouth. A very neatly trimmed moustache grew above his upper lip, but he had no beard - another indication that he was a visitor, for it was the fashion for men in court to keep all the facial hair they could grow to show their masculinity.
"Y - yes, I think so," I said shakily, standing up and looking at my bloodied palms. He nodded.
"Let me go!" Ching-Yi shrieked, turning around and trying to yank her hair from his grip. "Do you know who my father is?"
"I do," said the man silkily. "Regent of this country, he thinks he is the most powerful man alive and forgets that he ought to serve his Princess. As do you." So saying, he released her pigtail suddenly, and, mid-tug, she fell to the ground. "How dare you treat the Princess Song Huey so? Do you wish to be beheaded?"
Beheading was outlawed in the land, but I did not bother correcting the gentleman. It was far too pleasurable watching Ching-Yi's eyes fill with fear. She was never one for history lessons.
"Apologise to Her Highness. Now."
Ching-Yi looked from me to the man, and then back to me again.
"APOLOGISE!" barked the man, and she uttered a squeal of apologies, before picking herself up to run away. The man watched her go calmly, and then gracefully flicked his fingers at her retreating back. "She will fall into a rosebush on the way."
"There are no rosebushes that way," I said.
"Is that so? There will be one there right about... now." His self-satisfied smile died as he turned to me, and he held out his hand. "Come here, Your Highness, I want to take a look at your injuries."
I hung back, uncertain of the stranger. As the sole heir to the throne, I should have been guarded, but Ching-Yi, who had been cold to me in the past few months, had pretended that she was bringing me to a secret hideout. Naively, I had commanded them to wait by the tower we had our lessons. "Who are you?" I quavered.
He smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. "Your fairy godfather. All princesses have one."
"They have fairy godmothers," I countered, frowning.
"Who are mostly pacifists," said the man who claimed to be my fairy godfather, snorting. "Cinderella still had to do all the dirty work in the house, didn't she? And Sleeping Beauty - didn't she still fall asleep? When just a few punches and kicks at certain folk would've done the job and saved them all that pain. That's why I demanded for my boys and I to be in on the job, and today the higher-ups finally relented. You, my little Princess, are our first charge, and you have my word: you will never be in danger again."
I gaped at him, and, impatiently, he stepped forward, covering the distance between us easily in two long strides. Picking up my hand, he tutted at the injuries and then, putting his cigar between his teeth, knelt down and pulled out a small tin of what turned out to be powder from his jacket. "Fairy dust," he said, winking, and applied it on my wounds. I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes, expecting it to sting, but there was only a gentle, cooling sensation, and when I cracked my eyes open, I saw that the worst of the injuries had been reduced to a week-old scab. My jaw dropped.
"Effective, isn't it?" he said, pleased. "You've no idea how much I paid for it - it's only available on the black market. And the best part is, you can smoke it - and it is *divine*."
There was no question about it, then; this man was truly my fairy godfather. He stood up, brushing off the grass that stuck to the knees of his pantaloons. "Now, Princess, whenever you need me, the higher-ups tell me that I'll be able to appear before you whenever you cry" (- he rolled his eyes -) "which is likely to be when it's too late, like just now. So I've come up with an alternative. You can call out to me with a codeword."
"What should I say?"
"'Kill these motherfuckers,'" he said promptly.
I looked at him icily. "I am only nine," I said.
"Never too young to learn swearwords," he said brightly, petting my head as if I was a beloved child. An orphan since I was seven, I couldn't help but lean into his touch. His gaze softened, and he said, "You darling child. Fine, you can summon me by saying 'Godpapa'."
"'Godpapa,'" I repeated with a smile. "Thank you, Godpapa."
"Anytime, Your Highness." He gave a courtly bow, and as he rose, disappeared.
I looked wonderingly at the spot where he had vanished just as a couple of the royal guards raced into view, panting.
"Your Highness!" shouted one of them. "Are you all right? Ching-Yi said that there was an intruder on the castle grounds!"
"An intruder?" I said placidly. "No, there was no such person about. She must have been hallucinating."
"She might have been," said the other guard uncertainly to the other. "She was screaming about a new rosebush by pond, but I did not see any. Her hands sure were bloody, though, and there was a thorn stuck in her palm."
I put out my own hands, watching the scab fall off and leave behind pretty, star-shaped scar, and smiled.
*Seven Years Later*
"You have to sign here, Your Highness," said Regent Hu, tapping at the blank line. "And stamp your imperial seal next to it."
"And what is this document?" I asked, idly examining my fingernails. In my peripheral view, ministers in court looked at each other, and I pretended not to notice.
The man leered, showing all his teeth, yellow and long. "Why, it was the very document you spent last night revising, Your Highness. The one which paves the way for your coronation as Queen tomorrow and relinquishes me from my duty as Regent."
"Regent Hu," I said, leaning forward and tapping a fingernail on the scroll. "Please do not take me for an idiot."
His smile faltered. "I could never think that, Your Highness."
"You must have done," I said, smiling broadly myself, "for you have switched out the document for one which has me abdicating my throne and putting you in power. Nine years of acting as Regent, and I see that the power has gone to your head."
Regent Hu had gone white, and then he shrugged. "I knew it could possibly come to this," he said.
I stood up, pushing the table roughly and upsetting the inkwell. Pitch liquid flowed across the treasonous document.
"Kill these motherfuckers!" I yelled.
The guards on either side of my throne did not move, and Regent Hu started to chuckle. "I'm afraid your guards are not your own, Your Highness. I've bought them over years ago."
I laughed, too. "Oh, you *should* be afraid, Regent Hu, for I was not talking to them."
Screams issued from the traitorous ministers as a group of men seemed to step out of nowhere into the middle of my court. Leading the pack was a tall, thin gentleman, smoking a cigar and engulfed in a cloud of purple haze.
"All right, Princess?"
Edit: typos and added some sentences, and I just wanted to thank OP for this prompt. I've been struggling to write for the longest time, so I'm just so glad to have enjoyed writing something even if that means staying up till 2am on a workday night. Thank you, and TGIF! | Princess Marigold of Austria wandered around Oxford Street aimlessly window shopping. To the swarming crowds around her, she was nobody, just another rich kid, flexing Daddy’s plastic. She liked the anonymity. It was peaceful, and let's face it, she didn’t really want to rule, not if she was being really honest. Which was good, given that being 18th in line meant the only thing that would get her on the throne was a nuke aimed at the middle of Europe, and even then she wouldn’t have anything left to rule over. Schooled in the finest English girl’s schools, she was confined behind high, ivy covered walls. Her father was often jetting the world, hedging funds, or whatever it was that he did. He wasn’t a bad father, you must understand, but he was an absent father. And her mother just self medicated on expensive vodka and slightly dodgily prescribed Prozac. It’s amazing what you could procure when you could pay a doctor’s monthly salary for one visit.
&nbsp;
Sighing, Meg tossed what little cash she had to a beggar on the street corner who grinned at her, showing a little flash of gold in the corner of his smile. She couldn’t resist smiling back, although the smile drained away as soon as she turned. It just wouldn’t hold on her face. It was her eighteenth birthday. Most parents would want to spend time, taking her out, or showering her with gifts and attention. Not that she cared about gifts, but it’s a birthday, you’re supposed to have surprises.
&nbsp;
Instead, she’d received a prepaid credit card in the mail, with a note written by her father’s personal assistant, hoping she had a nice birthday and unfortunately Dad had to go to Tokyo; super important, couldn’t miss it. Yadayadayada. Included had been a silver bracelet from her mother. There wasn’t even a card to go with the traditional gift. It was beautiful, a delicate chain, with inset stones of vibrant purple and pale blue. Amethyst, for her February and March birthdays. Yes, Meg was a leap year child, born on the twenty ninth of February. For some reason, her mother never celebrated a day earlier, but always on either the leap year, or the first of March. Meg had once asked her mother about that, and why couldn’t she just celebrate on the twenty eighth of February? Her mother had gazed at her with a seriously confused expression, and Meg came to the conclusion that it was due to her vodka-pickled brains.
&nbsp;
Making up her mind, she turned and ran back to the beggar on the corner. Why not spend her birthday with someone who wanted something from her? As she approached, the man grinned up at her, flashing that gold tooth.
&nbsp;
“Hello. I’m Mari...uh...Meg”, she stammered. Goddamn it, she hated the name Marigold, it was just ingrained from years of swish soirees.
“James”, came the curt but confused sounding reply.
Meg shifted from foot to foot. Why was she nervous? “I have a favour to ask. I know you don’t know me. But it’s my birthday, and I’ll be spending it all alone. Er...would you come to dinner with me? I figured it’s win/win, I get company, you get food. Oh gods, this was such a terrible idea, I’m sorry.” Meg spun and started to run off, but James swarmed to his feet. He caught her arm, and they stood there, frozen in a tableau of uncertainty.
“I’d love to,” came the gravelly reply, “but these are all I’ve got,” as he motioned to the dirty tracksuit bottoms, oversize coat and tattered shoes.
“Well that’s easy to fix,” she grinned.
Meg had never been happier. She had dragged James around the stores of Oxford Street, throwing so much stuff into the baskets they carried. Fresh undies, socks, warm clothes, hats, anything he looked longingly at. He had a haircut and hot shave at some hole in the wall barber they passed. They had made their exhausted way back to Meg’s apartment, where Meg had set him up in the guest room and went to get ready herself. She sat on her sofa, her knee length, bottle green dress becoming unbelievably creased as she curled up. Scrolling aimlessly through her phone, she looked up when the guest room door creaked open.
&nbsp;
James stood in the doorway, ever present cocky grin in place as he leaned casually against the doorframe. His black hair shone in the low light, eyes dark and dangerous. He wore a black three piece suit with faint pinstripes, with the jacket hanging over his shoulder; he was the epitome of confidence. Meg snapped her mouth shut, aware, with a hot flush of embarrassment, that she’d been staring. At that moment, her phone pinged. Thank God for Uber.
&nbsp;
A few hours later, they ran back up the stairs to her apartment, heels in hand and laughing hysterically. Meg was on a high, it was such a fantastic birthday! Dinner at her favourite restaurant, a few drinks; they had even found some dive bar playing jazz as smoky as the atmosphere, and had danced. James was a great dancer, something that surprised her. Even though he was only a few years older than her, she was surprised that, given his rough life, he was so accomplished. She’d had hours upon hours of dance lessons and finishing school, but James...well, he had shared some of his life with her. It wasn’t pleasant. He’d been unwilling to share detail with her, saying it would be a downer on her birthday. She hadn’t said much about herself. But there didn’t seem any need to, it was like he already knew her. Still, she supposed, don’t her romance novels all say that you get that connection, that spark? Maybe James was hers. |
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