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[WP] While on a road trip find yourself in a small town. As you exit the car, a deafening siren resounds throughout the town. A resident approaches you and yells frantically " We have 30 minutes left until sunset, either leave this town or find place to hide!" | "We have 30 minutes left until sunset, either leave this town or find a place to hide!"
I stood there dazed for a moment holding my newly purchased pack of Bourbons whilst I allowed myself a moment for me to process the interaction. I had spotted the man who was now in a frantic hurry to what I can only assume was his home, in the corner shop I had just exited.
I had grown up in a large metropolitan area and as such was used to having strange things barked at me by passers-by, but something about this brief scenario had stunned me.
Normally I would brush these things off without much hesitation, assuming the deliverer of such warnings was either delusional, struggling with a mental condition or just off their nut on some wild concoction of medical grade smack. However nothing about this man's demeanour had struck me as odd at all. In fact quite the opposite. He was a well dressed man in his mid thirties wearing a navy shirt with a floral pattern and rounded glasses. Despite such a brief exchange, it was clear there was an eloquence to the mans speech. His tone was serious and his delivery precise, except for a minor quiver. Was it fear?
It wasn't until the piercing monotone eruption of noise escaping from a locally concealed siren started to drone that my brain whirred back to life and my mind started to race.
My first thought was to turn my eyes to the sky. Expecting to see a formation of planes flying over, like some 1940s blitz tasked with delivering me from my somewhat squandered, short human life. Instead my eyes were met with the contrasting calmness of a glorious peach and magenta sunset.
Hearing a clank and whirr I snapped my vision back to the shop that I had just exited which now began to lower some thick iron shutters at the store front. I watched as the man behind the shutters moved to lock the door, before he vanished behind the steel wall.
Adrenaline was now pumping through my body as I threw myself into my car, started the engine and raced from the car park back onto to the nearby motorway, not too afraid to check my rear view mirror even once.
It wasn't until I was 20 minutes clear of the town and the light was all but gone that I realised I'd dropped my fucking Bourbons. | The engine hummed as the truck sped through the crudely made desert roads. It kicked up dust in it's wake, great clouds of it flying past the windows. It blared 90s Rock Music from the radio as it moved.
It would have been a strange sight to see. The driver, whom we will call "Steven", was even stranger, a scraggly looking man. With disheveled brown hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in days. Yet, it wasn't that long.
He was dressed in a White T-Shirt, Blue Jeans, White Sneakers that had been covered in little dust splotches here and there. Freckles covered the bridge of his nose and accented the Sky Blue Eyes that sat just above them.
He had been heading into town after a long weekend of camping. His town was a little strange, but it was also quite quaint. Little did he know, he might've been in-store for a little more "strange" then he expected.
He had been sitting in his car, listening to the radio play as he sang to it while driving. His eyes peering around at the dusty roads and the cactus' that were spread throughout the desert at random points.
Suddenly, his phone blinked and two things happened. First, it showed that he was almost 100 Miles from the nearest town. But, the second thing happened so quickly he had little time to think about the first.
His wife was calling, Steven, not wanting to upset her. Understandably reached out and pressed the "accept" button. His wife's face flashing briefly onto the screen. Before it turned into an Icon and he could hear her speaking.
"Hello, love. I just got home from work. I love you. I was thinking we could do pasta tonight, huh? Pasta sounds good, right?" She sounded a bit tired and Steven didn't want to cause her anymore hassle.
"Of course, love. Pasta sounds delicious! I'm on my way home now with the rest of the supplies. I got it, because you had to go into work early." He responded.
"Oh, thank you! You're too kind." She laughed. "Alright. I'll see you get home, Mwuah! Love you." Steven smiled and then spoke before she could disconnect.
"And tell our little angel that Dad says Goodnight and he loves here!" He responded with a smile. The line was quiet for a few seconds, before his wife spoke again.
"Yes, I will. Love you, honey. I'll go get the pasta ready and I'll tell her. Will you be home soon?" She asked.
Steven thought about this. Forgetting the message that his phone had flashed moments before. "Yes, I should be home, soon." He responded with a smile.
Then, he disconnected the call and returned to driving. He could now see a town that was coming into sight. It looked almost exactly like his own. But something was a little off...
It wasn't even something visible... and then he heard it. The Siren, so loud it even drowned out the rock music which he still had on full volume. It screamed through the town.
Steven looked around and watched as frantic towns people ran past his truck. Some in groups, some ran solo. Then, a loud THUMP! Came from the outside of his truck...
He whipped around and there they were. Staring wide-eyed at him. "THE SIREN!" They hissed as he rolled down the window just enough to hear them. The Rock Music now off and forgotten.
"The... Siren?" He asked. "YES!" They responded. "It always rings close to sundown!" They hissed. "You, me, we all have 30 Minutes Left until Sundown! Either GET OUT or find a place to hide!" They hissed.
Steven could feel the sweat beading on his forehead from the sickly desert heat. His mind was recoiling in shock and strangely, he felt angry. The kind of angry when you get a sick joke played on you by a bunch of teenagers.
"WHAT IS THIS? SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?" He roared, turning around to face the person who backed away, almost tripping over themselves in hasty shock and raising their hands in the air.
"30 Minutes Until Sundown... Hide or Get Out..." They hissed. Then, they rushed back towards the truck. Steven stared in horror and quickly attempted to throw it into reverse. But it had completely stopped working...
They whispered it again. "30 Minutes Until Sundown... Hide or Get Out..." Then, they turned. Joining the crowds stampeding to shelters as Steven recoiled again. He attempted to work the truck again, but it wouldn't move.
He threw his hands down hard on the dashboard and screamed in frustration. Then, he remembered. Reaching into the Glove Box, he brought out the Smith & Wesson 627 Revolver. Fully Loaded.
He checked his watch. *25 Minutes Left.* He decided to heed the strangers advice. Throwing the car door open and knocking one of the stampeding men with his car door, who fell flat on their back and groaned.
He didn't have time to help them now. Did he? He checked his watch. *24 Minutes Left.* He cursed. "Fuck it." He muttered and bent down. "Hey, you okay?" He asked as he held out a hand.
The man gratefully took it and nodded. "Yeah, 'the name's Dan." He responded. "Steven." Steven said quickly. "We're supposed to hide, right?" He asked Dan. "Yeah, 'before them's things get out here." Dan responded.
Steven nodded and checked his watch. *22 Minutes Left.* He tugged at Dan. "Let's go! 24 Minutes Left!" He and Dan took off down the street with the other stampeding people.
Steven looked down at his watch. 19 *Minutes Left.* Everything felt like it was going in slow motion.
They continued to run as fast as they could. Arriving at a safe shelter with only 10 Minutes Left. They, and several other people were pulled inside. Before the doors slammed shut.
Steven watched as the time ticked down, *9 Minutes, 8 Minutes, 7 Minutes, 6 Minutes, 5 Minutes, 4 Minutes, 3 Minutes, 2 Minutes, 1 Minute...* And then the time was over. Those outside began screaming, the shrill screams echoed through the town.
Strangely, Steven noticed. It seemed like none of the people in the shelter reacted. Strangely, the people's screams died out quickly and no noise could be heard.
Until the screams started up again. But then, the sound of panicking and running people could also be heard along with more screams... but these... these seemed inhuman... and suddenly...
To his horror, Steven realized that these screams were coming from inside the shelter... these inhuman screams...
Then, as if mechanically all the towns people, including Dan. Stumbled towards him, their steps strange and uneven. Like their legs were two different sizes.
They let out more screams as they began to converge on him. Through the Moonlight Steven could see that something about them was beginning to change...
They were starting to look... furry... they looked like... wolves... The Moonlight shone off the slick, shiny coats of fur that had begun to cover their bodies as they hunched over...
That was it. The Moon, it was a full Moon... The screams turned to piercing howls. Steven gulped... What should he do?
He watched in horror and stunned silence as they converged on him. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. Not that it would be heard over the howls anyway...
His body began to malfunction. Sweat poured down his forehead and tears stung his eyes. He thought about his wife, his daughter... And then everything went black... | |
[WP] While on a road trip find yourself in a small town. As you exit the car, a deafening siren resounds throughout the town. A resident approaches you and yells frantically " We have 30 minutes left until sunset, either leave this town or find place to hide!" | "Thirty minutes? It's a small town, we got time. Why don't I give you a ride home?"
"I don't have one, my parents kicked me out last week." The kid in front of me couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. I couldn't tell whether I was looking at a boy or a girl; the only clue came from their backpack covered in pins. Among the rainbows, cute characters, and memes, one of the pins read He/They.
"Alright, got any drugs or weapons?"
"I wish." They laughed dryly. "I have a multi-tool in my backpack."
"Okay, take it out and put it in the back seat." I waited.
"Why?"
"Because I want to help you get out of here, and I also don't wanna get killed." I lifted my t-shirt to show a pair of yoga pants with no pockets. "Besides, I got nothing."
The kid tossed their Leatherman in the back and sat down in the passenger seat.
"Which way do we go to avoid whatever it is we're avoiding?"
"Any way. Just get out of town!"
"Great. My name is Kathy. I'm going as far west as Denver, then south to Albuquerque to visit my sister. What's your name, and do you prefer he or they?"
"I'm Riley. I prefer he pronouns. Nice to meet you, ma'am." He paused, for just long enough to make it awkward. "I have an auntie in Goodland, Kansas who might take me in."
"Awesome, get ahold of her." I punched the directions into my GPS app.
Instead of seeing a typical map, I saw dark spots covering the tiny town we'd just left, then spreading over the screen. In red, the words "It's getting dark" zoomed in until they covered the entire screen.
"Shit!" Riley shrieked.
"Is that what we're running from?" I glanced in my side mirrors. The sky behind me was pitch black.
"Oh God, hurry! It's the curse!" Riley looked over his shoulder. His knuckles were white, gripping his backpack straps.
"I'll try, hon, but I'm towing an Airstream." I geared down, trying to get some extra speed.
"It can follow us through our phones." Riley reached up and turned my phone off.
I glanced up at the road ahead. It was empty. The traffic light ahead was red.
"Just run it!" Riley glanced over his shoulder again.
"Oh, that was the plan." I blew through the red light, and past the Speed Limit 35 sign, at 60 and climbing. The engine whined, so I shifted up.
I heard the distinct whoop of a police siren behind me. Crap. I glanced over at Riley, who buried his face in his hands, and I started nosing my truck over to the shoulder.
The Nebraska State Patrol officer blew by me. Great! I geared down again and punched it.
"We're good, Riley, they just wanted to pass."
Riley didn't calm down until we were nearly to Oberlin, Nebraska, when he could look outside at the night sky and see stars.
"Alright, hon. I have two questions for you."
"Yeah?" He pushed a lock of curly blue hair away from his eyes.
"First of all, you think we're safe now? I needed diesel and a bathroom when I stopped in Firth and picked you up. And I should probably get directions to your aunt's house."
"Yeah. The stars are out. We're good."
"Secondly, and pardon me, what the FUCK, man?" | The engine hummed as the truck sped through the crudely made desert roads. It kicked up dust in it's wake, great clouds of it flying past the windows. It blared 90s Rock Music from the radio as it moved.
It would have been a strange sight to see. The driver, whom we will call "Steven", was even stranger, a scraggly looking man. With disheveled brown hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in days. Yet, it wasn't that long.
He was dressed in a White T-Shirt, Blue Jeans, White Sneakers that had been covered in little dust splotches here and there. Freckles covered the bridge of his nose and accented the Sky Blue Eyes that sat just above them.
He had been heading into town after a long weekend of camping. His town was a little strange, but it was also quite quaint. Little did he know, he might've been in-store for a little more "strange" then he expected.
He had been sitting in his car, listening to the radio play as he sang to it while driving. His eyes peering around at the dusty roads and the cactus' that were spread throughout the desert at random points.
Suddenly, his phone blinked and two things happened. First, it showed that he was almost 100 Miles from the nearest town. But, the second thing happened so quickly he had little time to think about the first.
His wife was calling, Steven, not wanting to upset her. Understandably reached out and pressed the "accept" button. His wife's face flashing briefly onto the screen. Before it turned into an Icon and he could hear her speaking.
"Hello, love. I just got home from work. I love you. I was thinking we could do pasta tonight, huh? Pasta sounds good, right?" She sounded a bit tired and Steven didn't want to cause her anymore hassle.
"Of course, love. Pasta sounds delicious! I'm on my way home now with the rest of the supplies. I got it, because you had to go into work early." He responded.
"Oh, thank you! You're too kind." She laughed. "Alright. I'll see you get home, Mwuah! Love you." Steven smiled and then spoke before she could disconnect.
"And tell our little angel that Dad says Goodnight and he loves here!" He responded with a smile. The line was quiet for a few seconds, before his wife spoke again.
"Yes, I will. Love you, honey. I'll go get the pasta ready and I'll tell her. Will you be home soon?" She asked.
Steven thought about this. Forgetting the message that his phone had flashed moments before. "Yes, I should be home, soon." He responded with a smile.
Then, he disconnected the call and returned to driving. He could now see a town that was coming into sight. It looked almost exactly like his own. But something was a little off...
It wasn't even something visible... and then he heard it. The Siren, so loud it even drowned out the rock music which he still had on full volume. It screamed through the town.
Steven looked around and watched as frantic towns people ran past his truck. Some in groups, some ran solo. Then, a loud THUMP! Came from the outside of his truck...
He whipped around and there they were. Staring wide-eyed at him. "THE SIREN!" They hissed as he rolled down the window just enough to hear them. The Rock Music now off and forgotten.
"The... Siren?" He asked. "YES!" They responded. "It always rings close to sundown!" They hissed. "You, me, we all have 30 Minutes Left until Sundown! Either GET OUT or find a place to hide!" They hissed.
Steven could feel the sweat beading on his forehead from the sickly desert heat. His mind was recoiling in shock and strangely, he felt angry. The kind of angry when you get a sick joke played on you by a bunch of teenagers.
"WHAT IS THIS? SOME KIND OF SICK JOKE?" He roared, turning around to face the person who backed away, almost tripping over themselves in hasty shock and raising their hands in the air.
"30 Minutes Until Sundown... Hide or Get Out..." They hissed. Then, they rushed back towards the truck. Steven stared in horror and quickly attempted to throw it into reverse. But it had completely stopped working...
They whispered it again. "30 Minutes Until Sundown... Hide or Get Out..." Then, they turned. Joining the crowds stampeding to shelters as Steven recoiled again. He attempted to work the truck again, but it wouldn't move.
He threw his hands down hard on the dashboard and screamed in frustration. Then, he remembered. Reaching into the Glove Box, he brought out the Smith & Wesson 627 Revolver. Fully Loaded.
He checked his watch. *25 Minutes Left.* He decided to heed the strangers advice. Throwing the car door open and knocking one of the stampeding men with his car door, who fell flat on their back and groaned.
He didn't have time to help them now. Did he? He checked his watch. *24 Minutes Left.* He cursed. "Fuck it." He muttered and bent down. "Hey, you okay?" He asked as he held out a hand.
The man gratefully took it and nodded. "Yeah, 'the name's Dan." He responded. "Steven." Steven said quickly. "We're supposed to hide, right?" He asked Dan. "Yeah, 'before them's things get out here." Dan responded.
Steven nodded and checked his watch. *22 Minutes Left.* He tugged at Dan. "Let's go! 24 Minutes Left!" He and Dan took off down the street with the other stampeding people.
Steven looked down at his watch. 19 *Minutes Left.* Everything felt like it was going in slow motion.
They continued to run as fast as they could. Arriving at a safe shelter with only 10 Minutes Left. They, and several other people were pulled inside. Before the doors slammed shut.
Steven watched as the time ticked down, *9 Minutes, 8 Minutes, 7 Minutes, 6 Minutes, 5 Minutes, 4 Minutes, 3 Minutes, 2 Minutes, 1 Minute...* And then the time was over. Those outside began screaming, the shrill screams echoed through the town.
Strangely, Steven noticed. It seemed like none of the people in the shelter reacted. Strangely, the people's screams died out quickly and no noise could be heard.
Until the screams started up again. But then, the sound of panicking and running people could also be heard along with more screams... but these... these seemed inhuman... and suddenly...
To his horror, Steven realized that these screams were coming from inside the shelter... these inhuman screams...
Then, as if mechanically all the towns people, including Dan. Stumbled towards him, their steps strange and uneven. Like their legs were two different sizes.
They let out more screams as they began to converge on him. Through the Moonlight Steven could see that something about them was beginning to change...
They were starting to look... furry... they looked like... wolves... The Moonlight shone off the slick, shiny coats of fur that had begun to cover their bodies as they hunched over...
That was it. The Moon, it was a full Moon... The screams turned to piercing howls. Steven gulped... What should he do?
He watched in horror and stunned silence as they converged on him. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. Not that it would be heard over the howls anyway...
His body began to malfunction. Sweat poured down his forehead and tears stung his eyes. He thought about his wife, his daughter... And then everything went black... | |
[WP] While on a road trip find yourself in a small town. As you exit the car, a deafening siren resounds throughout the town. A resident approaches you and yells frantically " We have 30 minutes left until sunset, either leave this town or find place to hide!" | "Thirty minutes? It's a small town, we got time. Why don't I give you a ride home?"
"I don't have one, my parents kicked me out last week." The kid in front of me couldn't have been more than fourteen years old. I couldn't tell whether I was looking at a boy or a girl; the only clue came from their backpack covered in pins. Among the rainbows, cute characters, and memes, one of the pins read He/They.
"Alright, got any drugs or weapons?"
"I wish." They laughed dryly. "I have a multi-tool in my backpack."
"Okay, take it out and put it in the back seat." I waited.
"Why?"
"Because I want to help you get out of here, and I also don't wanna get killed." I lifted my t-shirt to show a pair of yoga pants with no pockets. "Besides, I got nothing."
The kid tossed their Leatherman in the back and sat down in the passenger seat.
"Which way do we go to avoid whatever it is we're avoiding?"
"Any way. Just get out of town!"
"Great. My name is Kathy. I'm going as far west as Denver, then south to Albuquerque to visit my sister. What's your name, and do you prefer he or they?"
"I'm Riley. I prefer he pronouns. Nice to meet you, ma'am." He paused, for just long enough to make it awkward. "I have an auntie in Goodland, Kansas who might take me in."
"Awesome, get ahold of her." I punched the directions into my GPS app.
Instead of seeing a typical map, I saw dark spots covering the tiny town we'd just left, then spreading over the screen. In red, the words "It's getting dark" zoomed in until they covered the entire screen.
"Shit!" Riley shrieked.
"Is that what we're running from?" I glanced in my side mirrors. The sky behind me was pitch black.
"Oh God, hurry! It's the curse!" Riley looked over his shoulder. His knuckles were white, gripping his backpack straps.
"I'll try, hon, but I'm towing an Airstream." I geared down, trying to get some extra speed.
"It can follow us through our phones." Riley reached up and turned my phone off.
I glanced up at the road ahead. It was empty. The traffic light ahead was red.
"Just run it!" Riley glanced over his shoulder again.
"Oh, that was the plan." I blew through the red light, and past the Speed Limit 35 sign, at 60 and climbing. The engine whined, so I shifted up.
I heard the distinct whoop of a police siren behind me. Crap. I glanced over at Riley, who buried his face in his hands, and I started nosing my truck over to the shoulder.
The Nebraska State Patrol officer blew by me. Great! I geared down again and punched it.
"We're good, Riley, they just wanted to pass."
Riley didn't calm down until we were nearly to Oberlin, Nebraska, when he could look outside at the night sky and see stars.
"Alright, hon. I have two questions for you."
"Yeah?" He pushed a lock of curly blue hair away from his eyes.
"First of all, you think we're safe now? I needed diesel and a bathroom when I stopped in Firth and picked you up. And I should probably get directions to your aunt's house."
"Yeah. The stars are out. We're good."
"Secondly, and pardon me, what the FUCK, man?" | "We have 30 minutes left until sunset, either leave this town or find a place to hide!"
I stood there dazed for a moment holding my newly purchased pack of Bourbons whilst I allowed myself a moment for me to process the interaction. I had spotted the man who was now in a frantic hurry to what I can only assume was his home, in the corner shop I had just exited.
I had grown up in a large metropolitan area and as such was used to having strange things barked at me by passers-by, but something about this brief scenario had stunned me.
Normally I would brush these things off without much hesitation, assuming the deliverer of such warnings was either delusional, struggling with a mental condition or just off their nut on some wild concoction of medical grade smack. However nothing about this man's demeanour had struck me as odd at all. In fact quite the opposite. He was a well dressed man in his mid thirties wearing a navy shirt with a floral pattern and rounded glasses. Despite such a brief exchange, it was clear there was an eloquence to the mans speech. His tone was serious and his delivery precise, except for a minor quiver. Was it fear?
It wasn't until the piercing monotone eruption of noise escaping from a locally concealed siren started to drone that my brain whirred back to life and my mind started to race.
My first thought was to turn my eyes to the sky. Expecting to see a formation of planes flying over, like some 1940s blitz tasked with delivering me from my somewhat squandered, short human life. Instead my eyes were met with the contrasting calmness of a glorious peach and magenta sunset.
Hearing a clank and whirr I snapped my vision back to the shop that I had just exited which now began to lower some thick iron shutters at the store front. I watched as the man behind the shutters moved to lock the door, before he vanished behind the steel wall.
Adrenaline was now pumping through my body as I threw myself into my car, started the engine and raced from the car park back onto to the nearby motorway, not too afraid to check my rear view mirror even once.
It wasn't until I was 20 minutes clear of the town and the light was all but gone that I realised I'd dropped my fucking Bourbons. | |
[WP] While on a road trip find yourself in a small town. As you exit the car, a deafening siren resounds throughout the town. A resident approaches you and yells frantically " We have 30 minutes left until sunset, either leave this town or find place to hide!" | The windows were down and the music was blaring in my car as I drove across the lonely road. I was belting out the lyrics, likely in a very tone-deaf manor, "I fixed up the motor today...and we can leave any time we want to.
Your tattoos are faded away...now, you can be anything you want to...now, you can be anything you want, tonight..."
It looked like a small town was coming up so I turned down the music. I didn't want to be that douche blasting music through the quiet town. The sun was starting to set and pink and orange colors appeared in the sky.
The speed limit slowed down to 35 and then 25 as I came up on the quaint downtown area of wherever I was. This had been a great toad trip so far by myself. I took it to forget about everything going on in my life and to try to find some new experiences.
I was getting low on gas and really had to pee. Luckily there was a gas station just before the shops and restaurants began. As I pulled next to one of the pumps, I noticed it was one of the old fashioned non-electronic ones where the numbers spun while you pumped. There didn't look to be any activity in the downtown area or at the gas station.
There was a small repair shop attached to the small shop and a worker ran out of there. When he got closer, he started yelling, "What are you doing? You need to get out of here! There is only thirty minutes left and the clock is ticking!"
I was caught of guard by this wild-eyed weirdo. "Umm, I just need some gas and thought I'd go for a sunset walk downtown. I also reeeeaaaly have to pee."
"For God sakes man, don't you know where you are?"
"A gas station?" I said. I remained calm and asked him if he could fill-er-up while I used the bathroom.
He was so nervous he was shaking, but he raised his finger and pointed to the side of the building. I handed him a thirty bucks and went to use the bathroom.
When I finished my business I walked outside and gazed at the picturesque sky behind the gas station.
He was still pumping the gas so I took my time looking in the store windows and the shop. There was an old Mustang up on the lift with the wheels off.
"Sweet car," I said. "What year is that?"
He stuttered, "Ninet-t-t-teen sixty n-n-n-nine."
"Cool," I said. I knew next to nothing about cars, but could still appreciate a nice one and would love to own one like that some day.
"Any good places to grab a beer?" I asked.
"No... you're too late. Y-y-you've made me late," he said.
A bell dinged and the gas stopped flowing when the it hit $30 on the pump.
"There's n-n-no time! We've got to h-hide! Follow me," he said and ran into the shop.
"Well this is different," I thought. But it was at least some sort of adventure. I was really curious what he was so nervous about so I followed him.
When I made it inside the shop, he closed the clear door and led me to a trap door in the ground. He opened it up, climbed down a ladder, and switched on a light.
"Hurry, down here!" he shouted.
I've seen that movie before. "Hell no," I said.
"F-f-fine, but don't let them see you!" he said and slammed the door shut.
Was he just the town crazy person or was something truly sinister going on here? I couldn't wait to find out.
Just to be safe I ducked down underneath the clear panels on the door so I wouldn't be seen. I was looking around for a vampire or werewolf or some other fictional danger. Then as the last bit of sunlight disappeared, I saw a cat about 100 feet away. "Hey crazy dude. There's a cat out there. Should we let it in?"
I heard a few locks unlatch and the trap door popped up a tiny bit. "Are you insane? Stay in here and don't go near it." He slammed it shut again and I heard the click of the locks.
I looked back out at the cat and now there were three out there. Then another. And another. The cats kept coming out just like a bunch of carnies when "Hey, Rube" was yelled.
They ran around and played with each other and rolled on the ground. They were so cute.
"Open the door, I want to go out there and pet them," I said.
The locks unlatched and the trapdoor popped up again. "I shouldn't have let you in," he said.
I looked back at the cute cats and saw a person out there, "Oh, is that the vampire you are so afraid of?" I asked.
He lifted the trap door a little higher, "Timmy? Timmy, noooo!" he said.
I turned around just in time to see the cats run over and pounce on Timmy. In a matter of seconds all that was left was a pile of bones on the ground.
"What...the..." I started to say, but then the cats suddenly started walking towards the shop.
"Move aside!" I shouted and jumped down the trapdoor knocking the guy down. I pulled myself back up on the ladder and slammed the door shut and locked it.
Edit: typos | Almost everyone agrees that America's history is not a pretty one. No matter what they told you in elementary school.
Well, its present isn't very pretty either.
I was starkly reminded of this when I was on a road trip through the southern states to visit a friend in Florida.
I pulled into the run down looking gas station in Mississippi and got out of my gray Toyota Camry. I still had about a quarter of a tank left, but my dad always told me it was best not to let it go below that. Something about it ruining your engine or something, I admit I wasn't really listening.
The man working at the gas station was watching me through the window, a scowl on his face. He looked like the most exaggerated caricature of a southern hick I'd ever seen. I decided not to deal with him and just stuck my debit card in the card reader.
The ancient gas pump took three tries and a good kick to start filling the tank, and I leaned against my car while it worked, closing my eyes and enjoying the warmth of the setting sun and slight breeze.
I was jolted out of my relaxation by a distant klaxon alarm. I gasped, standing straight and looking around, heart pounding.
The hick was grinning nastily at me before he disappeared from sight.
Another car was passing the gas station, driving down the empty road so quickly I was sure they were going *way* above the speed limit.
It screeched to a loud stop and backed up, the electric window buzzing down. The older woman inside looked at me her eyes wide and stark against her dark skin. "What are you doing outside?" She asked in a frantic tone.
I frowned in confusion and motioned at the gas pump still filling my car. "Uh, just getting a tank of gas. Why? What's going on?"
The woman ran a hand over her fluffy graying hair. "Don't you know it's only 30 minutes to sunset?! Either get inside or get out of town!"
Before I could ask what the hell she meant by that, she was speeding away.
I swallowed heavily and cut off the pump. My tank wasn't full yet, but it had enough to get me far away from here.
As I was getting back in the car, I saw the hick in the window again. He had a shotgun in his hands.
I put his gas station and him in my rear view mirror, and kept driving until my tank was almost empty in Georgia. The one I pulled into was a newer looking place with a lot of people going in and out. Much safer.
While I was filling my tank, I pulled out my phone and looked up the town I had been in. Just to see what that whole thing was about.
That was the first time I'd ever heard of a Sundown Town. | |
[WP] Ghosts were always stated to be intangible beings you couldn’t touch. You believed this to be true until one day, as you were driving home from work, you hit one with your car. Both shocked and confused, you step outside your vehicle to confront the now agitated spectre. | The thing was looking pretty irate. It was mouthing something nasty, arms shooting out in an accusatory manner. The body lurched forward, blinking in and out of sight as it flickered between patches of sun on the road.
Ice grew from the impact zone like a viral infection. My car began to creak and groan as a sudden temperature shift quickly grew into a crushing frost, strong enough to envelop and shatter the car like a glass toy.
"Well." I looked at the looming figure and the trail of icy death in its wake. Didn't seem to be much point in trying to change its mind. I turned on my heel and ran.
Running, it has to be said, really only gets you so far. So, rarely does that distance, especially in times of crisis, ever seem to reach where you need it to.
This was certainly one of those cases.
The apparition approached with as much disdain as a shapeless fog can muster, intent on beating me to death with disapproval before following up with the real thing. I seemed to be running in place. I could almost pretend it was all a dream, if it wasn't so damn cold.
I closed my eyes, ready to let the dead take me. One straggling, haggard thought, however, suddenly realized for itself an opportune moment to bounce back from some far off wall on the inside of my skull. So I did as the thought commanded, reached down, and swung the puny twig I had acquired with my whole might.
It shattered. I would say I expected nothing less, but honestly the idea, which had since conspicuously fled the premises, had fully convinced me that my weapon of choice would cleave straight through the ghost and likely continue on down most of the earth's crust, right to the core.
As it were, the results were more of a limp slap that served only to further enrage the specter. I weighed my options, of which there were none. The process nonetheless took an astoundingly long time, because by the time I had finished thinking it the beast was nigh upon me.
I launched a frantic sputter of prayer to whatever entity may be lurking out amongst the stars, but if it spied my plight it surely cared not. I couldn't much blame it, as this didn't seem a particularly exciting way to go, being frozen solid by someone who's already died once. Rather undignified, really. At least have a proper death at the hands of someone still, you know, pumping ichor through their veins.
My irritated musings were cut short by a very chill sensation that crept slowly from the toes, rode up the sides of my legs, and then nestled between each dip and peak down the whole length of my spine. My hair tingled and stood on end, about the only thing left I could feel.
A truck came barreling out of the fog, laying on its horn too late, and I thought I could make out the ghosts surprised face, mouth twisting into an "Oh shit," before it was rushed away by a fierce gust of wind.
My prayers had been answered! The great unknowable sky beast was real! Maybe. Still better to be safe about these things. Probably I was just that lucky or cosmically vital to-
I looked down. No longer cold, sure. Standing in ice, also sure. Not a good combination? No, not really. I strained my visual calculus, desperately trying to determine where the dots weren't quite lining up, and landed pretty squarely on my newly transparent body. Seemed a big issue, that. Must have been a pretty big truck as well.
I cursed my luck. I cursed the perverts watching from above, or lack thereof, inactionable and useless as they are/aren't, and that truck driver, and that ghost in particular. I laid down about a dozen curses in the first thirty seconds but, unsure of my ability to make them stick, had to settle for grumpily mouthing obscenities and rude hand gestures at a nearby squirrel, who had taken umbridge at my sudden appearance. I felt a sinking sense of familiarity and found myself wishing I could simply sink further into the concrete and forget about it all but my ethereal vessel was still inconveniently solid.
After some minutes of intense fuming and heated sign language exchanges with the nearby wildlife, I resigned myself to my apparent vigil. No point in getting aggrieved now, I suppose. Surely, there are a lot of fates worse than death. | You couldnt tell what the car hit. You stagger out of the car, thankful you’re still in one piece. Theres nothing on the other side of the car. Maybe it moved? The collision was pretty bad, so unless you hit a human that ran away...god, you hope it wan’t from a human. It would really suck to be in jail for third degree murder. (Or second degree? You always mix those two up).
You move back to the steering wheel. In hindsight, not very smart. Of course the car wouldn’t work anymore. Intense crashes like these would need you to get a new car! Just your luck.
But as you’re getting back in, you see something that makes you jump. It’s a child, probably around six, with long black hair and pale white skin. You gasped. The air froze around you, and was only unfrozen when someone told her to check the child’s pulse while they call an ambulance.
You do.
There is no pulse.
Time to go to jail, you thought. This is too much information to process. You attempted to sit down, but there never was a chair there so it wasn’t graceful.
The girls eyes fluttered open.
You should’ve been scared. After all, a person who you thought was dead was alive and not even unconscious. But the first feeling you felt was relief. No jail, probably. Just a shit ton of medical costs.
The girl smiled at you eerily. You try to console the girl, tell her the ambulance is on its way, do something. But instead all you do is smile back.
The girl stood up so fast you thought they must be a professional acrobat. Jumping up that quickly is impressive, let alone when you’re injured.
She strode toward you. You began to feel unnerved by the girl.
You try to move backwards but bump against the blasted car. The girl made a run for it and reaches you.
She stared at you intently, and made it so you couldn’t run away if you wanted to, but you didn’t.
Because at that point the girl was whispering with her eyes.
(I had a personal challenge to try and do a prompt without dialogue in it. I think it’s pretty good, all things considered. Let me know though.) | |
[WP] You are a skilled hitman always getting your mark, but every month you get another contract from the same person. They are immortal, or they at least come back to life every time you kill them. They are always asking you to try different ways of killing hoping one would keep them dead | How long has it been? Three years? Four?
Is it strange that I get excited every time the same contract comes to my phone every month?
It all happened when I was hired a client to kill...herself. Attached to her file was a note, written, "Find a way to kill me as effectively as possible."
Confused, I first killed her like how I usually take down my targets; with my trusted sniper gun. A clear shot from her office window, completely vulnerable. Yet, she send me a cold shiver down my spine as she was staring out of a window, expecting to get a headshot.
"What is wrong with her?" I muttered to myself, right before I gave a bullet to her, a direct hit on her forehead. She dropped to the ground, blood spill all over her carpet ground.
"Well, that was easy," I muttered, still confused what her email meant.
Before I packed my sniper away, a message came in from my phone, saying;
"Sorry, but a sniper on my head doesn't seem to do the trick. Try again?"
I immediately looked over my scope, and I felt blood rushing out of my face, as I saw the client herself standing up from her pool of blood, her gunshot wound gone, leaving her clothes a bloody mess.
She shook her head, almost disappointedly, and she signalled me to 'do over'.
That's when I began to be creative in my killing methods. Poisoning their food, drowing them with a rock tied to their feet, burning them alive, and even the most cowardly way, planting explosives under their cars.
Every method that has done me wonders for other clients, has done nothing to permanently kill her. She'll always come back, sending me a same contract to kill herself, with the same note.
Over the years, my perplexion on her immortality turned into intrigued. Then, it morphed into admiration, and before I knew it... I was deeply in love with her. So much so, that I become hesitant to pull the trigger as of late.
She must've took noticed of my lack of trying as of late, as her latest contract came with a message, "I sense that you're losing your edge as of late. I hope that I'm not tarnishing your career. Find a more effective way of killing me."
This time, I decided not to gaze on her from afar.
I paid a visit to her house, a fancy looking home near the sea. Ringing her bell, she opened it with glee, wearing her casual singlet and shorts. Upon looking at me, she made a small grin.
"Are you my contract killer?"
"Yes."
"Are you here to kill me?"
"Maybe. But if I'm going to kill you, perhaps I should know you better," I said.
She was surprised at first, but she let out a cute giggle. "So, you're changing your ways now? Am I responsible for it?" she laughed.
"I supposed so," I grinned.
"Well, come on in," she ushered me in. "Let's find better ways to put me down permanently." | I looked at the man across the table and folded my hands. Killing folks was in the business. I don’t ask why usually but this guy? Oh ho, let me tell you something: I first killed this guy ten years back... on a contract... first it was long range. Then, I had to make it look like an accident after it turned out he was still alive... again... and again.... again. Same client, same victim... what the hell?! The money was nice, but this was ridiculous.
The man swallowed. “I assume the money won’t be a problem?” My target asked. I tilted my head. I came to the bar and in walks the target. Why? How?
I opened my mouth in disbelief. “I’m going to assume that’s a ‘yeah’.” The target said while he grimaced. “Long story short: I’m an immortal, I hired you to kill me as I want to die and I had you use different methods to see what keeps me dead. Can you help me out again?” The target asked. I tilted my head and then started laughing and walked out. Nope. Never again. | |
[WP] You are a skilled hitman always getting your mark, but every month you get another contract from the same person. They are immortal, or they at least come back to life every time you kill them. They are always asking you to try different ways of killing hoping one would keep them dead | “Dear Mark,
I know you cannot die. Or at least, cannot die by conventional methods. I don’t know if this will work, but if it doesn’t, then I request that you give me two months from the date on this letter before requesting another hit. I’m getting married tomorrow and wish to take my husband on a nice honeymoon (thank you for financing it), and won’t be able to take a contract for two months anyway. Therefore, I have hooked you up to an IV line with a sedative that should wear off in a few days. You are now sealed into a box in the bottom of the ocean. Being buried alive at sea counts as a type of death, right? Either way, I left some batteries and a mobile device with you if you want to take a break yourself. Though I’m not sure how you’d respond to the lack of air this time. I’m sorry I couldn’t invite you to the wedding, but I really, really need a break.
Rest well.”
I stare at the man in the box, my body swaying with the boat, and I tucked the letter right next to the flashlight before sealing the box and pushing it over the side of the boat. It took a while before it started to sink down into the water and when I couldn’t see it anymore, I nodded to the boat captain and watched the stars with a sigh as we head back for land. If the poor guy gets back to the surface, I hope he gave me my requested time off. I want to enjoy my honey moon and it’s starting to take forever to think of more creative ways to kill him. | I looked at the man across the table and folded my hands. Killing folks was in the business. I don’t ask why usually but this guy? Oh ho, let me tell you something: I first killed this guy ten years back... on a contract... first it was long range. Then, I had to make it look like an accident after it turned out he was still alive... again... and again.... again. Same client, same victim... what the hell?! The money was nice, but this was ridiculous.
The man swallowed. “I assume the money won’t be a problem?” My target asked. I tilted my head. I came to the bar and in walks the target. Why? How?
I opened my mouth in disbelief. “I’m going to assume that’s a ‘yeah’.” The target said while he grimaced. “Long story short: I’m an immortal, I hired you to kill me as I want to die and I had you use different methods to see what keeps me dead. Can you help me out again?” The target asked. I tilted my head and then started laughing and walked out. Nope. Never again. | |
[WP] It is true, most species in the galaxy found us to be uncivilized. But they lived for millennia under the thumb of an empire that basically bred them for domestication. They fear us like wolves, we pity them like pugs. | *I am a loyal servant of the Glorious Empire. I must-*
My head spins, and I find myself on the floor. What was I doing there? Fog filled my mind, and I clutched my head with all four of my hands.
The metal floor was cold, much colder than it should have been. How did I know that? What was happening?
A sharp clank fills my ears and I look down. A... collar? The dark material was covered in a shimmering blue liquid on the inside, and I peered in deeper.
Small, sharp needles line the inside of the collar, and I feel a twinge upon my neck.
My frontal right hand moves to feel it, and it comes back slick with a wet feeling on my fur.
A cold ball fills my stomach, and I glance down.
My hand is covered in that same liquid.
I push away from the collar, recoiling in fear. That thing had been on me!
"We have another live one here." A voice calls out in the room.
My eyes snap to the figure, and I immediately curl up even tighter again.
It was a giant! The figure walked on two legs, but something was... off. The figure moved confidently and slowly, showing power in a way none would dare do if they could not back that claim. My kind walked lightly, the gaits of our steps filled with joy and liveliness and also trepidation depending on how we served. Wait, who did we serve? My mind started to swim before I began to focus on the being again.
The giant strode around, dark plates around the body. It's hands were filled with some tube-like object, but I sensed something terrible about it. I could not move, yet my eyes could not help but follow the strange creature.
It turned a few times, the tube being held forward in front of it, before it settled back on me.
It watched me, and I watched it.
A slight sound pierced the silence between us, and the figure turned sharply. A dark figure charged from the entrance at the giant.
The tube was brought up, level to the shoulder of the giant. A bright green flash filled the room, followed by a wet thump.
"Enemy contact on the west hall, tango has been taken down. Eyes open people." The giant rumbled in a voice much deeper than any I had ever heard.
It approached me, and I started to shiver.
The figure knelt down, the strange tube laid aside. We were now merely feet apart.
As it knelt there I trembled, and then I breathed in.
I smelled something.
It was coming from the being, and it reached into me. A smell, or a memory of a smell, far more clear than the haziness that my mind mustered.
I still was afraid, my body shook as it sought to understand the strange new reality that had been hidden. But still I dared, just a little, to get closer.
The smell was even more powerful, and a deeper thought of me processed all that was there. Beyond the... the blood that lay spattered around and on the collar beyond. The smell of earth and oil mixing in between.
Behind all of it, coming from the human himself was... warmth. Not the warmth of a warm room or of family nearby.
Warm like the twin suns leading across the land, my people roaming along. The warmth of a fire that burns new paths and trails, singeing those who get too close.
A smell different from a memory before the haze, which had said "*Safety together"*
No, this one asked to follow.
My body moved on its own, my mind being too hazy to understand what was going on.
I came close to the being, who had layed out a hand before it.
Gingerly, fearfully, I crept to it. The giant remained still as I advanced, patient.
I sniffed, and smelled, bringing my four hands up to the giant's. I felt the hand, running it over again and again, and I understood.
*Bloody warrior, hard, strong, much strong, sad, warmth, follow.*
*Free*
My mind clears just for a moment as the inspiration comes. Free? I want to be free!
I breath in deep before I look to the giant.
His face is grim, eyes filled with a solemn sadness, but to me there is something else I cannot see.
"You..." my voice is soft with fear, yet I must speak. "You no... hurt?"
The giant shook his head. "No hurt. Follow."
The words were like a guiding light, and I knew that they were true. Tentativley I raise back up to my legs, folding my arms into me.
I nod. "Follow."
The giant turns away, leaving the room. I go not far behind. I see around me carnage, the bodies of larger beings strewn around, but they are unlike the giants.
Who were they?
But I follow, and soon I see more of my kind. They too follow, or are still huddled away in fear. I tug upon my giant's leg-cloth.
He looks down and nods to me. "Go."
I go. My kind is scared, I smell. They have not smelled what I have.
The Giants, the blooded wolves, they will make us free. | The cycle of humanity's expansion into the galaxy was one of War and Peace. You've read it a thousand times. The first sleeper ships leave earth. Hyper travel is invented. Colonies spring to life in a jeweled sphere around old Sol. Piracy blooms, warships are sent out to combat it. Colonies become independent. War rages over territory, over ideology, over grudges. Someone reinvents the carrier, in space. Yesterday, carriers rule space combat, today, cruisers, tomorrow battleships, next week, destroyers and who knows what it will be soon after? Central authority is established and collapses. Federations become empires become warzones become alliances. Marines and tanks thread the ruins of a thousand cities, some shooting, some rescuing, while gunships circle above. We rebuild, only to destroy again.
Homo homini lupus. Man is man's own wolf. We love peace, but we can't escape war. Three thousand systems, a quadrillion humans. Most don't ever see war, but all, all of us know *conflict.*
At one point we encountered the rest of the galaxy, when the 9th generation of hyperdrives took us far beyond our small sphere of light.
First contact with a non-primitive civilization! And six more times in less than ten years! Turns out, that we weren't as lonely as we believed in the second millenium, nor as early to the stage as we thought in the third.
However, it turned out, that we were unique. And not in the "everyone is unique" way. Rather in the way, that we were the only one who had a real concept of war.
For example: The first race we met, which we codenamed "trogoldytes", due to them living subterraneously, had a word for war. But to them, war was an all-out punch by the stronger force to cripple the weaker. They had no concept if a skirmish, of posturing, of proportionate response... They did not know tactics nor strategy. And they did not know how to make peace.
They had a single warship hanging above their home world, the most overgunned and oversized piece of crap anyone had ever seen, and over the millenia humanity had produced (or tried to produce) a lot of overgunned and oversized crap. This trogoldyte ship could effortlessly lay waste to a planet, but would fare like the Death Star from the old fairy tale against an understrength squadron of destroyers.
This was a civilization so unused to conflict that it was strange. It was even stranger that all of the other civilizations were similar.
There is an explanation for this behavior. Animals which fight regularly naturally do this in an efficient manner. Wolves or lions rarely fight to the death. One usually submits during the fight, or even during the show of dominance. When herbivores or generally peaceful animals fight, it's mostly a single all-out charge, ending with the opponent fleeing, or one of the participants dead.
Conflict was, kind of, mankind's fault. The star kingdom of Witherford claimed the Jinfas System. Problem was, the Eyeless species had also - unknowingly to mankind - claimed it. The kingdom decided to push their claim...aggressively. Harassment of Eyeless shipping, displacement, the same game man played on man a billion times since the time someone picked up a sharp stick.
The kingdom was emboldened by the apparent docility of the Eyeless. And greed is one hell of a sin - the kingdom sensed weakness, and expanded deeper into the territory of the Eyeless.
The Eyeless did what cornered animals do - they did a hail-mary. Which took the form of one of the aforementioned ovegunned "death stars" in the skies of Jinfas and a hundred fifty millions of humans dead.
Then the "death star" proceeded to the world of Xiancha, which did not even belong to the star kingdom, met a duo of light cruisers and a wing of fighter-bombers and proved why the Sith Lordemperor in the stories had been not too smart in putting a single big gun into a platform with not enough armor and too few escorts.
The diplomatic incident had been a mess of epic proportions, exacerbated by the fact that the Eyeless were not really willing to negotiate. Indeed, they were wondering why the kingdom had stopped pushing now that their world-killer warship was down. However, by their non-aggressive nature finally accepted the fact that humanity would not push further.
The Star kingdom was punished for their aggression against the aliens. Their fleet was confiscated, and replaced by a joint security task force of several nations from the same sector.
Incidents happened - some by our fault. But one thing was always the same: humans were warriors, and always, always destroyed whatever junk the aliens could fling at us.
We were pariahs at the galactic stage. They called us predators, barbarians and a multitude of colorful insults in their respective languages.
That was all right with us. We could manage not to trade with them. We did not need to fight them, for they all feared us. And we, frankly, just stole whatever technology we needed. Their ideas of security were kind of ridiculous.
How such docile species could achieve the stars was an enigma. And their uniformity in non-aggressiveness was kind of disconcerting.
Finally, we understood what happened.
(continued in comment) | |
[WP] It is true, most species in the galaxy found us to be uncivilized. But they lived for millennia under the thumb of an empire that basically bred them for domestication. They fear us like wolves, we pity them like pugs. | We were new to space when we found them. Another intelligent species, like us. Sure, they thought we were primitive at first, nothing but a curiosity compared to their "enlightened way" of peace.
At first we met them with curiosity too, wondering how something could be so peaceful, and out curiosity only grew as we began to meet more and more species, each one just as peaceful as the last.
Of course, when it was revealed they were all puppets of some larger Empire, the ideas of "Peaceful Enlightenment" were swept under the rug, and ignored.
Instead of feeling jealous at what they had, we instead felt pity. Who would give up their freedom for safety? So, almost unanimously we agreed. We would never let this happen to us.
Those vows became important when the Empire hit the docks over Mars.
A massive fleet of them came out of nowhere, hitting the docks and everything on it, killing everything there. They probably thought we'd give up right then and there.
Poor fools they were, they didn't hit any other dockyards, and they didn't cripple our fleet.
So it was a surprise to then when we refused to surrender, so they decided that an invasion would finish our spirits.
Defense cannons, a leftover from the wars of old began to rev to life once again. Spitting lead death from their barrels, carving a toll onto the over confident attackers.
And when they finally landed, they were met by the Martians, angry that their people had been killed, and angry that someone dared to try and invade mars. The Empire, it's forces made of conscripts from their domesticated species, were forced to pay for every inch in blood.
Eventually, the fleet made it to Mars, and the great admirals routes the Empire's fleet, leaving behind their conscripts, who were either killed, or surrendered.
We rebuilt, rearmed, and refit our ships, using the gifts the Empire so graciously gave us.
We're taking the fight to them soon, payback is a bitch.
And we aren't alone, others are rebelling against them.
They're still afraid of us, you can see it when you talk to them. Could almost feel sorry for them, but that's the job for the doctors, not mine.
My job is to whip them into shape, make them ready to go out and fight, not to be the failures they were on Mars. | (not mine but got reminded of this)
"See our enemy over there men? I pity them.
Our foes outnumber us three to one, they have been training longer than you've been alive. They're fast, they're mean, and by the end of the day every single one of them will be dead.
You see men, our enemies may be the fastest and most agile creatures in the known Galaxy, but they are no soldiers. They live in harmony with their planets ecosystem. There is no pollution, no wars, no disaster and no famine.
This bond between them and their planet has formed them into might creatures. They believe mankind is in pure and our philosophies are completely monstrous.
They believe that, with the power of their natural prowess and their spirituality, they can wipe humanity from existence.
They are dead wrong.
While they have been eating food that basically fell into their laps, we've been stabbing our best friends in the back for a scrap of bread.
While they have been singing tales of the harmony and magic of nature, we have watched our children wither away to husks from a bloody plague.
While they have sat sunning their wretched furry hides in calm meadows, we have clung desperately to survival in frozen tundras and barren deserts.
Our suffering has become our strength. Despite the best attempts of nature, God and even fellow man, humanity stands strong. Humanity can endure anything, a fact those fools don't understand.
Let us enlighten our foes to the undying spirit of mankind. Withing all of your veins flow the blood of generals, soldiers and murderers.
Shred their bodies with a storm of lead!
Tear out their organs with your bayonets!
Crush their skills under your iron boots!
SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!"
(Warhammer 40k I think) | |
[WP] It is true, most species in the galaxy found us to be uncivilized. But they lived for millennia under the thumb of an empire that basically bred them for domestication. They fear us like wolves, we pity them like pugs. | First contact could not have been more bizarre for the research team. They weren't diplomats, no, but we had chosen them for their ability to reason and communicate. 5 people on the Forward Contact Team met them, peacefully, slowly, with communicators ready and outstretched hands. Until that moment we had been afraid of them, too.
But then we looked at them, they trembled, their eyes darted back and forth, and they kept their distance.
"Greetings, from the Terran Federation, and from the human race! Can you hear us?"
"Are- are those *weapons??*"
"No of course-" They were looking at two of the FCT's hips. They did have pistols. Small ones. "Well, yes, technically. But they're just for defense." Said the team leader. She outstretched her hand once more. They had exchanged some small text communications before this. They knew how to shake hands.
"Y- you're-re not s-sup-pposed to have *weapons.*" The creature, no more than 1.2 meters tall, shuddered and crept backward.
"It's no problem, we come in peace. We're sorry if we've offended you."
"No o-offense-se. But you're not supposed to have them." It remarked again. It wouldn't take it's eyes off the pistols. The team leader lowered her hand.
"Says *who?*" But the creature did not answer the question. It cowered away, and scuttered back to where it came from, muttering the whole time that 'no one is allowed to have weapons.'
When the FCT returned to the vessel, there was a bit of finger pointing, but ultimately the crew all decided that they indeed were not "offended" by the gesture, just that these creatures believed no one was supposed to have weaponry. The aliens refused all contact, and left quietly. But the research team wasn't ready to give up, there was a neutral representative ready.
Our first enemy, and our first ally in the galaxy were our own machines. The 'Autonomous Collective,' now comically dubbed the "double-As" were surprisingly eager to make contact with us, and the research team's vessel sped away on the quickest course to meet their Ambassador.
They, too, greeted us strangely.
"I forgot how much you animals stank." Said the shiny frame, entering the causeway from the cargo bay.
"Well screw you too, buddy." But the machine laughed. A strangely organic, well-timed, hearty laugh.
"See, that's what I missed." The machine reached out this time, not with one hand, but two appendages for a hug.
"I do not understand what's happening today," Said the team leader, awkwardly returned the over-emphatic gesture.
"I'm TC-411-J, but you can call me TC. Autonomous Alliance representative, 8th-Class. And you are?"
"Doctor Alice Shaw, Forward Contact Team leader, sent to be the first human to make extra-terrestrial contact, but we... Well did you get the file we sent you?"
"I did, I did! And I'm not surprised. Lets have a seat, have a drink. And let me tell you, we've actually made contact with them already."
"You have?" Asked Dr. Shaw, gesturing toward her office. When they arrived, TC procured a bottle of malt whiskey, seemingly from nowhere.
"This is still the gesture of greeting in human-kind, is it not?"
"I- sure I'll have a glass."
"Excellent," said the many-armed entity of panels, lights, and coils. "And yes," TC poured her a drink, "we have. Very, very odd conversation, even for us. And there's a couple things you need to know. For starters, my friend, don't get rid of your pistols. Because the ambassadors you met are just underlings. More akin to slaves than to employees or members of their government. They didn't think much of you to send their real representatives."
"They who!?"
"The- \[horrid screeching noise\]. "
"The *what??*"
"There's no word for them in english, but you could call them the overlords of this galaxy. They run a galactic empire that controls almost every corner of the galaxy. Or did."
"They said they were democratic."
"Those were, sure. They have their own government, a light-hearted, naive, and cowardly democracy. The empire expired hundreds of years ago. In-fighting."
"Incredible. Thank you, TC, for this. And also for the whiskey! Better than I expected from a society without tastebuds.
A digital grin displayed on his forward panel. "Of course."
"So this... slaver empire? It's gone now? How long ago?"
"Mostly, yes. They're still decaying, but they've no longer had direct control over the galactic counsel for... three or four hundred years or so. About when humans and ourselves were at war. Water under the bridge now, of course. We never realized how noble an independent carbon organism's behavior really was."
"I don't follow, TC. What do you mean?"
"These people you made contact with! Those backboneless scaredy-cats! They're not like you."
"They're not what? Free? Even with this empire gone?"
"Free? Yes and no. No one's telling them what to do anymore, but they are still doing most of the tasks they had to. They're still slaves, in a way, but to no one. You're not, and you frighten them."
"Cultural self-slavery? Is that what you mean by our 'noble independent behavior'?"
"Once again, Dr. Shaw, yes and no. It's not cultural. Understand, the empire once controlled the galaxy as completely as humans did earth in the mid to late 22nd century. There wasn't a creature that hadn't forced to co-exist with the ecosystem they created. You, your planet, our evolution, was forgotten. Unknown. But 99.99% of every other species you meet out here had to survive under the harshest of conditions. Either their geneology was shifted from military genocide, or they were completely integrated, hormonally controlled, and nearly completely culturally wiped."
"My God. These poor creatures! Is there anything we can do to help them? Do they need anything from us? We can protect them. The Terran Navy is doing exercises 14 lightyears from here. I can get a repre-"
"No, no, no. That'll only scare them away further. You're missing the point. If you find any left-overs from this empire, you can probably engage them openly, sure. We'd even have your back on this. They're nasty. But we've never even run into any of them. The people you've met will just take another millenia, or even two, to begin developing a healthy biodiversity. Humans have subjected themselves to a certain amount of social and unnatural selection, yes, but mostly cosmetic. To them you're still wild animals."
Dr Shaw had barely touched her drink, but she set it down on her desk. "This is... a strange tragedy. What can we do? How can we get them to trust us? Show them our... 'civilized' side?"
"The worse tragedy of this whole thing would be you trying to emulate them, Dr. Shaw. In time they'll come to you, but all of us at the AA would really hate to see you become anything like them. They're not well. They are- how can I make you understand? The slaver empire didn't really control them as slaves. More like pets. Every species integrated had a role assigned, and they were bred for it. Doctor Shaw, If I may- Alice- they are a deformed shell of who they were. Domesticated- inbred. That's what we missed about you humans so much. Like the difference between a chihuahua and a wolf. You will never be their form of 'civilized.' Your emotions are terrifyingly passionate. Your bio-functions are disgusting to us, but you'd never trade them for sterile consumption and replication machines they use. Your weapons alarm them because they were taught to fear self-defense, rebellion, anything against their masters.
“Bare your teeth, noble beast. There are still monsters in the dark." | The captured Quelvoran lay on the table, thick chains holding its 6 limbs still. It looked like an oversized ant, with digits at the end of each limb capable of acting like both foot and hand. Interrogator Valus slowly walked around it, assessing its natural armour. The Quelvoran hissed, and strained at its bonds.
"Release me, you uncivilised ape!"
Valus stopped, having made a complete circle around it. He stared at its face, not responding to its insult.
"The Empire will find me! They will slay you, and the rest of your race."
"Do you really think you are worth that much to them?"
Valus spoke evenly, no hint of emotion in his voice. The Quelvoran tensed, stress pheromones releasing from it body.
"What do you mean? Of course! I am Sarigus-3s galactic diplomat!"
Valus's mouth twitched, hinting at a smile, before returning to its neutral state.
"They know we have you. We left your ship on a course straight to their central systems. They know we have had you for a while. And what do you know? Nothing has happened. Not surprising though. Your race is like a little puppy to them. You're insignificant to their rule.
But you see, you don't see that. You're like…. pugs. Bred and domesticated, to be a pretty addition, but ultimately worthless. You, and all the other races, besides the Ghathi of course. They're your owners, little pug."
"How dare you!"
Valus picked up a scalpel, inspecting its edge, before looking down at the captive.
"Please. You're pathetic. To you, words are the gravest of weapons. You fire them at each other, aiming to wound mentally. But you see, we don't care for flowery words. We care about actions, and physical things. Like Sarigus-3. We could always use more planets."
More pheromones were released, this time fear. The Quelvoran froze, looking shocked at Valus.
"Wait, what?!"
Valus smiled this time, a cold, calculating smile.
"It like we say back home. Survival of the fittest. And you see, pugs like you aren't that fit. You sit, you look pretty, and you obey. But we aren't pugs. We are wolves. And its the law of the jungle out here. Either you eat, or you get eaten. Now, its your turn to be eaten.
Here is how this is going to work. You are going to tell me everything you know about your little planet. Like what defenses it has, population count, settlement locations, etc. You don't answer, or you say something I don't like… well, this happens."
Valus made a shallow stab in its thorax, sliding it between its natural plating. The bound alien screeched, a high pitched sound.
"You didn't like that did you? Not used to pain like this? Well talk, or I will get a little more…. creative. Your choice, little pug. We have all the time in the universe." | |
[WP] It is true, most species in the galaxy found us to be uncivilized. But they lived for millennia under the thumb of an empire that basically bred them for domestication. They fear us like wolves, we pity them like pugs. | The stranger at the corner booth stared blankly at the empty seat in front of him. Small sharp points of dark hair barely snuck out from underneath his wide brimmed hat, to contrast the closely buzzed and scarred side of his head. His dusty uniform looked more like a cracked and dry second skin loosely hanging off of him, hiding what I assumed was a quite large frame underneath. His kind was easy to spot, especially way out in the Outer Rim.
"Humans." The Rolibak behind the bar gruffed as he watched the stranger silently raise his empty cup for another drink, his gaze never leaving the empty seat. "Win a couple damn battles and think they own the whole galaxy." He spoke under his breath as he roughly wiped out a glass.
They were, primitive, to say the least. Highly unevolved creatures that only recently discovered the ability to travel the galaxy. Though I've got to hand it to them they were excellent pilots, and fought like wolves. They fought with tenacity and a certain strange fondness for death. They didn't fear dying itself, rather dying with no enemy bodies to show for it.
When The Empire made themselves known to their race they pursued democracy at the beginning. They tried to make peace and gain an understanding with The Empire. However, they were naive in thinking monsters were capable of understanding the concept of peace. I can remember The Empire's raids on Klassius when I was small. Walls of men in dark grey armor firing wildly into homes and shops. Dropships bringing more and more men into the chaos. They tried the same tactics on Rellior 9, what the Humans call Mars. It had been colonized by an earthling many generations ago and to prove their power over the galaxy, The Empire lay seige to the red planet.
I was a conscript then. Taken from my Klassion, or my clan, to fight in The Empire's name across the galaxy. We had orders to land and attack the main compound. To take it at all costs and seize whatever equipment and material not blown into dust or spare parts. Our tactitioners and generals gathered around holomaps for many planetary cycles planning the best routes to attack and resupply the invasion force. However, with all their data and statistical analysis reports they failed to understand the sheer will and violence these beings were capable of. They failed to realize how hard these creatures will fight when cornered. They cut us to ribbons before we reached grenade range. Lead projectiles flew in every direction. Sprays of blood filled the air. The rusty ground covered by the dead and dying. What was supposed to take a matter of hours, drug on for 8 cycles.
It was only after we rotated off the planet did we learn the garrison was held by 36 pathetic lifeforms. These 'Black Sheep' were hailed as heros. They gave the earthlings confidence in their ability to fight against this new and advanced enemy. These Sheep led the armies of earth in an unprecedented attack on 2 separate Empire held systems. The Empire was all but helpless in the wake of their airpower, and the ground forces cut off any access on or off the planets. These creatures had become professionals at killing each other and now have banded together as one to use those techniques learned in millennia warfare against this new enemy.
Their leaders, though they saw most as weaker, sent envoys to all reachable systems in a bid to gain ground against The Empire. Most stayed loyal out of fear. Some answered the call to arms and the war continued. The Empire quickly becoming increasingly unable to control a galaxy and fight a war, vied for peace with the earthlings. A 'dont start none, won't be none' kind of deal according to one of the American tribesmen. Their strange tongue still escapes my understanding. Diplomacy has always been a strongsuit for the Humans.
As I sit on my stool watching this gruff looking drifter continue to bore a hole into the empty seat, I find myself wondering if we had ever met before. Had one of the scars that marked my hide been made by his weapon? Had he been one to end the lifewalk of one of my comrades in servitude? Or had he been one to liberate people groups like mine from crushing imperialism? Had he been a healer and brought aid to comrades and enemies alike? These creatures fared much better at warfare but their compassion for the lifewalk of others was astounding. I had a sense of respect for him. A shared bond between warriors who had been to the far reaches of civility and reason. Both of which, one would be hard pressed to find on a battlefield.
The Rolibak still grumbled as he poured the stranger his glass and prepared to send the service droid to his table. I laid a few coins in front of the bartender and took the glass from the droid. I walked to the strangers table and placed the glass in front of him. He released his gaze on the seat and turned up the brim of his hat to meet my eyes. We shared a simple nod and I walked out of the cantina. We may have once been enemies, sworn to end the lifewalk of the other. They had once seen us as domesticated animals sent off to the slaughter of their rifles. Now, we are but the same. Used equipment in a forgotten conflict to boost the reach of power for men who've never fought for it. Now, we are brothers. Now, we share the same clan. | The captured Quelvoran lay on the table, thick chains holding its 6 limbs still. It looked like an oversized ant, with digits at the end of each limb capable of acting like both foot and hand. Interrogator Valus slowly walked around it, assessing its natural armour. The Quelvoran hissed, and strained at its bonds.
"Release me, you uncivilised ape!"
Valus stopped, having made a complete circle around it. He stared at its face, not responding to its insult.
"The Empire will find me! They will slay you, and the rest of your race."
"Do you really think you are worth that much to them?"
Valus spoke evenly, no hint of emotion in his voice. The Quelvoran tensed, stress pheromones releasing from it body.
"What do you mean? Of course! I am Sarigus-3s galactic diplomat!"
Valus's mouth twitched, hinting at a smile, before returning to its neutral state.
"They know we have you. We left your ship on a course straight to their central systems. They know we have had you for a while. And what do you know? Nothing has happened. Not surprising though. Your race is like a little puppy to them. You're insignificant to their rule.
But you see, you don't see that. You're like…. pugs. Bred and domesticated, to be a pretty addition, but ultimately worthless. You, and all the other races, besides the Ghathi of course. They're your owners, little pug."
"How dare you!"
Valus picked up a scalpel, inspecting its edge, before looking down at the captive.
"Please. You're pathetic. To you, words are the gravest of weapons. You fire them at each other, aiming to wound mentally. But you see, we don't care for flowery words. We care about actions, and physical things. Like Sarigus-3. We could always use more planets."
More pheromones were released, this time fear. The Quelvoran froze, looking shocked at Valus.
"Wait, what?!"
Valus smiled this time, a cold, calculating smile.
"It like we say back home. Survival of the fittest. And you see, pugs like you aren't that fit. You sit, you look pretty, and you obey. But we aren't pugs. We are wolves. And its the law of the jungle out here. Either you eat, or you get eaten. Now, its your turn to be eaten.
Here is how this is going to work. You are going to tell me everything you know about your little planet. Like what defenses it has, population count, settlement locations, etc. You don't answer, or you say something I don't like… well, this happens."
Valus made a shallow stab in its thorax, sliding it between its natural plating. The bound alien screeched, a high pitched sound.
"You didn't like that did you? Not used to pain like this? Well talk, or I will get a little more…. creative. Your choice, little pug. We have all the time in the universe." | |
[WP] It is true, most species in the galaxy found us to be uncivilized. But they lived for millennia under the thumb of an empire that basically bred them for domestication. They fear us like wolves, we pity them like pugs. | I stared at him, that strange creature, and his eyes widened like a deer. Feckless. His face, jowly and hollow all at once, went white from the lack of blood. Did they really fear us?
I let out a dry bark of laughter. “Go on,” I goaded him. “Say what’s really on your mind.”
The creature—Adams, as he was called in English—shook his head. “No, no. I am truly happy to make your acquaintance.” His voice was stiff and rigid, his words stepped in the foreign accent. Was it really an accent, though, if his palette could never produce the sounds of humans?
“Pleasure,” I mumbled and shouldered my bag.
“I will now show you to your room,” Adams said and started down the monochrome hallway. The lack of colour drained my eyes when I looked at it—it was as if there was a vacuum that had sucked all the energy out of this place. How did they live like this? Where was the colour? The flavour?
“So Adams,” I said.
He swallowed. “Yes, Ambassador Thach?”
“Can I put up my Beatles poster? Or is there some rule against that?”
Again, he washed even paler than before. Part of me wondered how the guy was still standing. But then again, maybe they didn’t need much blood in their heads to keep functioning. They were, after all, simple creatures. “I am afraid I don’t understand. Forgive me.”
“It was a joke.”
“Oh.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence. There weren’t any passerbys—they’d made sure to clear the route for us. I’m sure that the governor didn’t want any terrified children. Or adults, for that matter. After all, to them, I was the creature from their legends, the reason why they needed to be on this space ark to protect themselves.
“Here is your chamber, Ambassador,” Adams said finally. He pressed a card to a reader and the door slid open. Inside, it was similarly white and grey. A plain bed sat in the centre of the room; a small kitchen lined the far wall. It was all state of the art, for sure, but *fuck* was it boring. I never understood how we could have all been once part of the same humanity. How could any sort of human, no matter how dire a situation they were in, forsake all art? All colour and music and spices and dancing? Anything that made life worth living?
The only saving grace in this room was the window along the far wall—the floor to ceiling glass showed the galaxy on the other side. There was no horizon here, not like there was on earth. There was a smattering of stars, maps of constellations, planets with their dusty rings suspended in the sea of stardust.
Back on Earth, my apartment looked out over an alley, a brick wall, and a dumpster.
“I hope you find it to your liking,” Adams said. He steepled his spindly fingers and looked at me, a deer-in-the-headlights once again.
I dropped my bag to the floor. “It’ll do.”
Another gulp. “Alight, Ambassador. The first meeting with our council will be at oh-nine-hundred hours tomorrow.”
“See you then.” I gave him a wan smile. Is this how a wolf felt when he sized up his prey?
Adams nodded and left without another word. I pushed my hair away from my forehead—it felt sweaty after my long trip, and I was a little worse for wear too. But before I could shower and sink into the abyss of sleep, I pulled free my notebook and sat in the hard-backed chair at the kitchen table.
I put in my ear-pods and queued up a song before I got to work. Nothing like *All the Young Dudes* by Bowie. Shit like this reminded me why I’d always be on Earth’s side—I could feel the timbre of his voice shake the core of me, even with the centuries between us.
I cracked my notebook open and stared at the symbols. It was cyphered, of course. It had to be, for what I was doing.
I’m sure the people on this ark expected me to be a spy. And I was, of course. Playing the obvious card. But these things weren’t quite humans anymore—they’d let themselves be dulled while under the thumb of the Cortex Empire. They were too soft, now. Too unthinking.
But they’d been allowed a cultural ambassador from their place of origin—for historical reasons, purely, according to the Empire. And so here I was.
But I knew their game. There’d be no reason for the theatrics for a historian alone. I was a warning: *this could be you without the Empire. Look at the horrors of what lies beyond our reach.*
They wanted the people here to be afraid. Deeply, viscerally, and mind-numbingly afraid.
I thumbed through my notes again, committing everything to memory. I’d have to find the nearest incinerator as soon as I could. I always needed a way out. But I was gonna try my damned hardest, first.
I was gonna get this ark back to Earth.
---
r/liswrites | The captured Quelvoran lay on the table, thick chains holding its 6 limbs still. It looked like an oversized ant, with digits at the end of each limb capable of acting like both foot and hand. Interrogator Valus slowly walked around it, assessing its natural armour. The Quelvoran hissed, and strained at its bonds.
"Release me, you uncivilised ape!"
Valus stopped, having made a complete circle around it. He stared at its face, not responding to its insult.
"The Empire will find me! They will slay you, and the rest of your race."
"Do you really think you are worth that much to them?"
Valus spoke evenly, no hint of emotion in his voice. The Quelvoran tensed, stress pheromones releasing from it body.
"What do you mean? Of course! I am Sarigus-3s galactic diplomat!"
Valus's mouth twitched, hinting at a smile, before returning to its neutral state.
"They know we have you. We left your ship on a course straight to their central systems. They know we have had you for a while. And what do you know? Nothing has happened. Not surprising though. Your race is like a little puppy to them. You're insignificant to their rule.
But you see, you don't see that. You're like…. pugs. Bred and domesticated, to be a pretty addition, but ultimately worthless. You, and all the other races, besides the Ghathi of course. They're your owners, little pug."
"How dare you!"
Valus picked up a scalpel, inspecting its edge, before looking down at the captive.
"Please. You're pathetic. To you, words are the gravest of weapons. You fire them at each other, aiming to wound mentally. But you see, we don't care for flowery words. We care about actions, and physical things. Like Sarigus-3. We could always use more planets."
More pheromones were released, this time fear. The Quelvoran froze, looking shocked at Valus.
"Wait, what?!"
Valus smiled this time, a cold, calculating smile.
"It like we say back home. Survival of the fittest. And you see, pugs like you aren't that fit. You sit, you look pretty, and you obey. But we aren't pugs. We are wolves. And its the law of the jungle out here. Either you eat, or you get eaten. Now, its your turn to be eaten.
Here is how this is going to work. You are going to tell me everything you know about your little planet. Like what defenses it has, population count, settlement locations, etc. You don't answer, or you say something I don't like… well, this happens."
Valus made a shallow stab in its thorax, sliding it between its natural plating. The bound alien screeched, a high pitched sound.
"You didn't like that did you? Not used to pain like this? Well talk, or I will get a little more…. creative. Your choice, little pug. We have all the time in the universe." | |
[WP] You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life. | **You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life**
​
"Jacob, I swear to God! You have to tell me what you did with it!" The shock on my fiancee's face matched mine after it disappeared.
"I'm so tired of your bullshit. Stop giving me that fake surprised shock that you do with all of your fans." She continued, "I know you're a magician. But I just wish you wouldn't be doing it all of the time."
My thoughts grasped for a response that refused to materialize. This always happens to me. I thought it was funny at first: losing random pieces of food, playing cards, coins, and all the little things. It got less funny as a child when Ms. Kitzmiller asked me to collect everyone's homework. It got even less funny following my suspension when Ms. Kitzmiller found the collection of homework strewn about in her dog's pin. I can't always control what disappears and I certainly cannot control where it returns too.
I've gotten better at stopping it from happening. It feels like the worst sneeze coming on. The sensation begins gently and tries to force its way out. I have gotten better at fighting them back but I'm always met with headaches and exhaustion. I've even learned to make them happen at will. This is particularly useful at my shows. I can make items go away but can never make them quite come back. This is why I never do it with anyone else's belonging. The show is always better when the item magically appears back during the show. But the item always comes back at random times usually around me.
Destiny, my fiancee thought it was cute at first. She thought my shows were fun and mysterious. She always got a kick out of how surprised I looked by my own tricks. She even thought it was cute that I would do it with my own items from time to time after we started dating. It wasn't long after she moved in that she began to be annoyed by items from my last show showing up around the house. Destiny has confided in me that it feels like I am making her a part of my show and she wants it to stop. I am constantly vigilant of items in my house showing up and hiding them before she notices.
But this screw up was worse than the rest. I was greeted in the present by Destiny. "Jacob, why would you do this to my ring? We are getting married in two weeks and you know I am stressed."
I stood silently searching for words for a long uncomfortable period.
I finally replied "Destiny, I'm so sorry. I know you never believe me but I really can't control it. I wouldn't do this to you on purpose!"
"I want my ring back right now. It's not funny." continued Destiny. Luckily, in that moment the ring appeared right back on Destiny's finger. She noticed it's return and the shock on my face. "Jacob, I wish you would stop playing games with me."
I apologized as sincerely as I could and offered a conciliatory hug. She begrudgingly accepted my hug but something was wrong. I felt this massive sensation coming on. I tried to force it down as hard as I could but I knew I couldn't stop this one. I began to quickly pull away but my arms couldn't release her in time...
I wonder where she will show up... | "How did you get that?"Abby handed the cuddle giraffe to the kid in front of her."Did you buy it for me?""Something like that."
Abby never liked seeing children cry. No, that's wrong, Abby loved seeing them cry when they belonged to the "little shits" category, which, according to her, encompassed most of them. But little Emily was an angel. Polite, lovely, terrified of the operation she would have to undergo soon. Bone cancer rarely left you with a fighting chance, Abby knew better than to take a shining into Emily, she really shouldn't, she had been a nurse for some years now in the pediatric department.
"Thank you," said Emily between tears.
Abby left the room and went to the next patient. Abel was crying his eyes out, he had lost his favorite giraffe toy. Now this one right here was a little shit and, unlike Emily, was out of trouble and soon free to run outside to his heart's content.
Abby hated the noisy ones, she wanted them quite, respectful and sitting in a corner, he was the opposite. She didn't know how or why his toy disappeared and appeared in her pocket, she was adament she never touched it, but that tended to happen a lot. In her mind, it was God's gift to reward good behavior and punish troublemakers, two birds, one stone.
"You will find it again," she said.
No, he wouldn't.
A commotion caught her attention, down the hall a group of nurse was escorting another pale child to his new stay for what might be the rest of his short life. Ever curious, she went to take a look.
"Jack, this is Abby, she's a nice nurse and she'll be there whenever you need someone."
Jack nodded ever so slightly, his eyes looking past the group in the room, the look of a patient aware how thin and frail a life was. Jack didn't say a thing, which net him a positive review from Abby. She helped him replace his cushion and spoke softly, Jack moved with painful slowness, listening proving to be a hard effort.
"Try to rest a bit, okay? I'll be back in a moment."
Of course she would, the first day was traumatic for the little ones, ripped away from the secure cushion of home into a hospital with imminent death looming over them, they needed a constant reassurance to not break down, sometimes it wasn't enough.
In the restroom she discussed his case with her colleagues.
"Heart defect, he needs a transplant but he isn't high on the list, I hate saying that but don't get attached."
How come the nice ones had to die so fast every single time? Maybe standing at death's door pushed them into being compliant, either way, Abby decided she liked Jack and wanted him to live.
She rummaged through patient files and checked who had no heart condition, it was easy to convince parents to put their dead child on the donor list, it was a way for a part of the progeny to live another life so to speak. She checked for blood types.
"Well, well, well," said Abby.
She felt a weight in her pocket, her hand retrieved what looked like a sticky and stinking joint. It took her a moment to remember the human body schema she learned in nursing school, this was part of the trachea.
A rumble in the corridor, nurses and doctors running in a hurry. She followed suit, Abel was chocking, oxygen didn't reach the lungs.
Meanwhile, Abby was readying her speech for the parents.
Looks like little Jack might get high enough on the list after all. | |
[WP] You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life. | **You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life**
​
"Jacob, I swear to God! You have to tell me what you did with it!" The shock on my fiancee's face matched mine after it disappeared.
"I'm so tired of your bullshit. Stop giving me that fake surprised shock that you do with all of your fans." She continued, "I know you're a magician. But I just wish you wouldn't be doing it all of the time."
My thoughts grasped for a response that refused to materialize. This always happens to me. I thought it was funny at first: losing random pieces of food, playing cards, coins, and all the little things. It got less funny as a child when Ms. Kitzmiller asked me to collect everyone's homework. It got even less funny following my suspension when Ms. Kitzmiller found the collection of homework strewn about in her dog's pin. I can't always control what disappears and I certainly cannot control where it returns too.
I've gotten better at stopping it from happening. It feels like the worst sneeze coming on. The sensation begins gently and tries to force its way out. I have gotten better at fighting them back but I'm always met with headaches and exhaustion. I've even learned to make them happen at will. This is particularly useful at my shows. I can make items go away but can never make them quite come back. This is why I never do it with anyone else's belonging. The show is always better when the item magically appears back during the show. But the item always comes back at random times usually around me.
Destiny, my fiancee thought it was cute at first. She thought my shows were fun and mysterious. She always got a kick out of how surprised I looked by my own tricks. She even thought it was cute that I would do it with my own items from time to time after we started dating. It wasn't long after she moved in that she began to be annoyed by items from my last show showing up around the house. Destiny has confided in me that it feels like I am making her a part of my show and she wants it to stop. I am constantly vigilant of items in my house showing up and hiding them before she notices.
But this screw up was worse than the rest. I was greeted in the present by Destiny. "Jacob, why would you do this to my ring? We are getting married in two weeks and you know I am stressed."
I stood silently searching for words for a long uncomfortable period.
I finally replied "Destiny, I'm so sorry. I know you never believe me but I really can't control it. I wouldn't do this to you on purpose!"
"I want my ring back right now. It's not funny." continued Destiny. Luckily, in that moment the ring appeared right back on Destiny's finger. She noticed it's return and the shock on my face. "Jacob, I wish you would stop playing games with me."
I apologized as sincerely as I could and offered a conciliatory hug. She begrudgingly accepted my hug but something was wrong. I felt this massive sensation coming on. I tried to force it down as hard as I could but I knew I couldn't stop this one. I began to quickly pull away but my arms couldn't release her in time...
I wonder where she will show up... | "Please, make it disappear." I said, in my mind, after throwing a random passerby's stress ball into the air.
I don't even know who I am talking to. Is it a devil I made a deal with and one of the conditions was that I wouldn't remember a thing about it? Or is it a guardian angel that knows I wouldn't be able to pay rent or even feed myself without those few bucks people throw in my upside-down top hat?
And yes, I use a top hat; I'm not very creative. I don't even know how this trick will end.
I always keep lock eye contact with the audience. It makes me seem confident, but in reality, I do it because I try not to look a fool anticipating something that never happens.
Back to the trick. The audience looks dumbfounded. This is how I know something has happened. Hopefully, the stress ball has just disappeared. That would be easier for me to react to.
\*Thump Thump Thump\*
"Holy F\*\*\* Sh\*\*\*" I scream, as what seems to be thousands of stress balls bounce up and down on the sidewalk of Vine st. where I managed to make a reputation for myself and attract a decent audience.
"That's a lot of balls" I shout. People start laughing. "I'm definitely going to get into a lot of trouble for this." I continue with genuine fear on my face. The audience however is dying of laughter. "Couldn't have I just made it disappear?" I say in agony. My cries only make the audience laugh more.
My top hat is almost filled to the brim with 1 dollar bills. I better get going before the police show up. I don't even know if I can come back here again after what just happened. But what's the point in running? I'm on everyone's phones anyway. And the police have come to the apartment I share with my four other bums several times before.
I better not think about this now.
I'm on the bus now headed home. It's almost the end of the line. The last passenger, other than me, got off at the previous station. Which made me a little confused and a lot worried when the bus driver pulled over before my stop.
"This isn't where I get off" I shouted.
"I know" He replied calmly.
"Are you waiting for someone?" I said with a breaking voice. I started thinking that he might be after my tophat. I wouldn't really put up a fight if he asks for it. I'm a magic nerd, not much of a fighter.
"Yes." He said, as he got up from his seat and started approaching me.
"Look man, this is barely enough for my rent."
"Do you think I want your money?"
"That's not very comforting."
"Relax. All I want is to talk to you."
"Do I know y.. I mean of course."
We spent 15 minutes talking about my life and how I am doing. I am not used to this. My mother was a superstitious psycho and I've never seen my father.
"Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"I am sorry I haven't been around, son!"
"What do you mean?"
"I asked Goondar to take care of you while I was gone. I thought he'd do a better job."
"WTF is a Goondar, and who the F are you.... sir?"
"Yeah, Goondar can't talk to humans. This is why you've never met him. But he's been keeping an eye on you. He told me he was helping you at work. That's not the kind of job I'd expected tho."
"Can I get off the bus? Please?"
"You shouldn't be scared of me."
"I don't even know who you are."
"I am your father, son. I am sorry I had to leave. I needed to fight against the forces of evil. I never knew it would take all these earth years. I am sorry that your mother was treated the way she'd been treated too. She didn't deserve this. I warned her not to speak out about the underworld; I warned her that they put her in a psychiatric ward. But she's always been stubborn, your mother."
"...."
"Let's talk on the way, son. Let's get your mother out of there. Your father here; and I am taking you to a better place." | |
[WP] You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life. | You trudge home with your briefcase of trick items, your heart almost as heavy as the money overflowing your pockets. Another successful day, you think bitterly as you go to unlock your apartment door. The key turns into a wolf spider which bites you as it scrambles out of your grasp. You stifle a groan and look for the spare.
The spare key unlocks the door without further shenanigans, which lightens your spirits slightly as you sling your coat over a kitchen chair on your way to the bedroom. The chair disappears. You blink once or twice as the coat settles gently to the floor.
"Never mind," you mutter, turning to the bathroom adjacent. A hot shower is what you need. After turning on the tap a few times and being doused with confetti, then glitter, then lemon lime soda respectively, you manage to get hot water coming out of the tap and you sigh with relief. You scrub briskly, trying to keep your mind blank, hoping that your sponge does not become anything sentient midwash. It does not. Whistling, you step out and towel off with a towel you whip out of your ear. Occasionally, this weirdness has its perks.
You glance at the clock. Evening is gathering outside the bedroom window. It's six forty-five. Your stomach quivers slightly as you think of the ordeal ahead.
When one's mere touch can turn condoms into cacti, dating is not high on one's list of priorities. However, a man gets lonely and you are just desperate enough to try and pull this off. You reach into the closet, praying that bats won't fly out. They do, but they don't shit on anything before they make it out the open window, so you don't get too upset. You close the window after them and turn back to the closet.
Your options are limited, but you manage to pull together a smart yet casual outfit without any of it bursting into flame. You eye yourself in the mirror. Your reflection winks without you.
*This is going to be a disaster,* you think, plastering a suave smile upon your passably handsome face and striding to the door.
Your steering wheel turns into three ferrets when you touch it, which upsets your plans slightly, but you wing it and call your date requesting that she meet you at the coffee shop. You take a bus.
At the shop you hesitate, scanning the thin crowd, looking for--what was her name--Maeve, that was it. Odd name. From her photos online she was a slender brunette with gray eyes. You miss her at the first glance because she is wearing a hat. Before you see her, she sees you.
"Thomas!" She rushes up with enthusiasm. "You are Thomas, right?" Her face is pixie-pretty, with a crooked smile.
"Yeah, that's me," you say, put at ease by her warmth. "How are you?" You hang your coat on the back of your chair, not thinking. The chair vanishes. You point hastily at the counter, distracting her. "Let's...let's order," you suggest awkwardly.
"Sure," she happily agrees, and you scoop up the collapsed coat hastily as she heads toward the cashier.
You both order espresso. Yours turns into feathers as you knock it back. She laughs merrily as you spit down in all directions.
"Oh, that was good!" she cried, clapping her hands like a delighted child. "You said you were a magician! I never saw the trick!"
"Yeah," you sputter, coughing feathers. "It uh...it takes a lot of practice."
Despite the feathers, you are in increasingly good spirits. Maeve is cheerful, cute, and seems to like you. You suggest a walk in the nearby park.
"Perfect," says Maeve.
She takes your arm shyly as you meander the pebbled paths. You cast about for something to say as you blush. You end up pointing out the rose bushes growing along the way.
"Oh, how pretty," Maeve exclaims, stepping off the path to sniff a blossom. You do the same. The rose squirts water violently into your face.
Maeve dissolves into musical laughter and takes your arm again while you wipe your face with a handkerchief you pull out of your jacket sleeve. Handkerchiefs begin falling from your sleeve uncontrollably. While you are futilely trying to stuff then back in, you suddenly realize you don't recognize your surroundings. You seem to b enveloped in mist.
"Um," you say, still fumbling with endless handkerchiefs. "I think we took a wrong turn."
"Oh no," Maeve said brightly, clinging closer. "I'm taking you home with me. Don't you know I'm Queen of the Faeries? You'll be happier here, with your gifts. With me. Forever."
You hesitate. Behind you is the glow of streetlights faintly in the gloom; ahead, the shine of starlight. You look at Maeve and smile and step into Faerie at her side. | Feeling personally attacked, by the way. Times Square here, a Psych ward in pinellas county there, sometimes a night on the street with a greyhound station. Married to and martyred by the cards. Twisting them and folding them over and over. Cut, double-revolve the cut pairs, combine, fold turn. The Joker flashes by, a wink from the gremlins of synchronicities lower order. Cut, split, back hand stack-shuffle. The joker. Or every three in the deck. Slap them down and its all red cards. The Joker grins on top. I put an ace of spades in a mailbox: how’d I get another? The Joker. Jack of Hearts is an enemy, Jack of Spades another: Jack of spades showed up torn apart by Sarahs dog: she gave me one extra. Maybe? I don’t remember. Take a cut. No, thats not it. Here, I’ll show you. The Joker. I am being laughed at. You find it amazing. Someone like you. Someone sexy, at this bar we’re at, trying to be sexy. Someone who believes in magic, when I just know I only have to cut this deck so many times until harley sparkles behind red and black. Why’d I get this deck from the comic book shop? Why can’t I stop? Why...does this feel...so serious...all of a sudden? | |
[WP] You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life. | Annie has had enough of the chaos and apparent tomfoolery. The rabbit itself was harmless, but its presence at her father’s funeral was in poor taste.
“I told you I didn’t want to wear the hat! I warned you about me and hats—“
“It’s over,” she blurted suddenly.
The words cut like a hot knife. I dreaded hearing them again. I married within my industry this time! *She should have been more understanding!*
Despite my best effort, the tears started. “I’m sorry,” I blurted out, for what felt like the thousandth time.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I need to be with someone who doesn’t have an emotional black hole that needs to constantly be filled by the approval of strangers. Pulling magic tricks at a restaurant is one thing, yesterday was a completely unacceptable! I’m —“ she suddenly halted, staring at me with those wide eyes she gets only when *it* happens.
“Fucking clown !” Was all she left me with as she slammed the door.
*what happened?* I thought. And that’s when I saw it in my hand:
The red handkerchief with comically large white polka dots I had pulled from my pocket to dry my face with was was bad enough on its own— but the yellow, blue, pink, brown, green, orange, purple and white ones tied end-on-end to it hanging from my coat pocket was unfortunate to say the least. | Feeling personally attacked, by the way. Times Square here, a Psych ward in pinellas county there, sometimes a night on the street with a greyhound station. Married to and martyred by the cards. Twisting them and folding them over and over. Cut, double-revolve the cut pairs, combine, fold turn. The Joker flashes by, a wink from the gremlins of synchronicities lower order. Cut, split, back hand stack-shuffle. The joker. Or every three in the deck. Slap them down and its all red cards. The Joker grins on top. I put an ace of spades in a mailbox: how’d I get another? The Joker. Jack of Hearts is an enemy, Jack of Spades another: Jack of spades showed up torn apart by Sarahs dog: she gave me one extra. Maybe? I don’t remember. Take a cut. No, thats not it. Here, I’ll show you. The Joker. I am being laughed at. You find it amazing. Someone like you. Someone sexy, at this bar we’re at, trying to be sexy. Someone who believes in magic, when I just know I only have to cut this deck so many times until harley sparkles behind red and black. Why’d I get this deck from the comic book shop? Why can’t I stop? Why...does this feel...so serious...all of a sudden? | |
[WP] You're a street magician whose schtick is acting constantly befuddled about how these simple tricks keep happening to the items in your hands. The truth is, you have no idea how they keep happening, and it's taking a toll on your personal life. | I reached out to put the key into my apartment door lock- and my hand simply smacked against it. I heard the familiar sound of my girlfriend gag behind me, and I turned to her in apprehension. There she stood, holding up a hand filled with salvia soaked keys and a look of mild annoyance on her face.
With a struggle I pushed up my surprised façade. "Oh wow, look at that," I sighed, "however did that happen?"
"Cut the shit, Matt" Adeline said as she pushed passed me, unlocking the door and disappearing into our apartment. I simply stood there for a moment, staring after her and wondering what atrocious crime I'd committed to deserve this blessed-curse.
I definitely wasn't getting laid tonight.
I stumbled over to the couch and plopped down into it, kicking off my worn, brown, holey dressboots with the ole lazy toe-to-heel move. I grabbed the TV remote, the muscles in my arm instinctively tensing all the way up to my shoulder. I slowly, carefully pulled it to me and pressed the power button. The tv flashed to life, and the nerdy caricatures of the *Big Bang Theory* appeared on the screen.
"No thank you" I murmured. I pressed the grimy up-arrow to change the channel- and my thumb simply poked my palm.
"Awh, no! Goddamn it!" I cursed. I didn't need this after my exhausting day of acting shocked and confused when things in my hands teleported to a different locale. The tourists love it. I made $257.89 today. I'm starting to wonder if it's worth it.
"What happened?" Adeline yelled through the bedroom where I could hear water pattering off of her body in the shower.
"Take a guess." I said bitterly.
I began rummaging around our living room, looking for the remote. I upended couch cushions, dropped into push up position to peak under the coffee table, opened drawers. The remote refused to present itself.
I scratched the back of my head, staring at the floor as the characters on TV made vague references to things the writers clearly thought nerds would identify with. Adeline appeared, a towel around her head- just her head. Water glistened on her tan, fit body in the warm lamp light.
"You're still wet" I noted.
"Lucky for you. The remote?"
"Yeah" I sighed.
"Forget it. Come to bed, Magic Man" she said.
Thirty minutes later I rolled off of her, trying to catch my breath. She rolled onto her side and ran her fingers through my hair. "You going to take care of me now?" she asked seductively.
"I don't know, I'm pretty worn out" I told her.
"That's alright," she replied, sliding her finger down my chest. "Get my toy."
"Uh, no. I don't think that's a great idea."
"Matt, please?" She said, soaking me up with those big brown eyes.
"Fine" I submitted, swallowing my anxiety.
I opened our bedside table and grabbed the little bag we kept all of our novelties in. I pulled out a pink dildo that had a vibrating appendage that arched off of it to cover all the bases.
I climbed back onto the bed and layed down in between her legs. Switching the toy on, I aimed for the hangar.
That's when it happened, the vibrator vanished.
"Oh my god, wow! How did that happen!?" I exclaimed.
"Wha- oh where is it? Go find it, Matt!" Adeline ordered.
"Way ahead of you." I grunted through gritted teeth.
I was in a spectacular amount of pain.
r/poundstories | Feeling personally attacked, by the way. Times Square here, a Psych ward in pinellas county there, sometimes a night on the street with a greyhound station. Married to and martyred by the cards. Twisting them and folding them over and over. Cut, double-revolve the cut pairs, combine, fold turn. The Joker flashes by, a wink from the gremlins of synchronicities lower order. Cut, split, back hand stack-shuffle. The joker. Or every three in the deck. Slap them down and its all red cards. The Joker grins on top. I put an ace of spades in a mailbox: how’d I get another? The Joker. Jack of Hearts is an enemy, Jack of Spades another: Jack of spades showed up torn apart by Sarahs dog: she gave me one extra. Maybe? I don’t remember. Take a cut. No, thats not it. Here, I’ll show you. The Joker. I am being laughed at. You find it amazing. Someone like you. Someone sexy, at this bar we’re at, trying to be sexy. Someone who believes in magic, when I just know I only have to cut this deck so many times until harley sparkles behind red and black. Why’d I get this deck from the comic book shop? Why can’t I stop? Why...does this feel...so serious...all of a sudden? | |
[WP]An alien craft touches down in Egypt and amazingly, the crew are Human. It transpires they are descendants of colonists sent from Earth 50000 years ago. Now, they've returned Home and are bewildered that there appears to be no trace of the Type IV civilisation they left. | Amani welcomed the sudden quiet as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button showing 15, the digital screen showed 2:14AM. For lack of sleep she certainly wasn’t showing signs of fatigue; on the contrary, she couldn’t calm her mentality down enough. The past 72 hours were certainly full of suspense, after all, and what she held in her hand could hold the difference between global war or peace, social stability and the fabric of humanity being held together.
*They are us, but different.* That was the conclusion that her mind kept relaying. More so than the NASA livestreams of an object heading towards Earth at unnatural speeds and directions, more so than the breaking news on every television and phone screen on the planet of a spaceship hovering over Cairo, more so than the mass hysteria on the streets, and even more so than the moment the world stopped as the doors opened to reveal Earth’s newest arrivals. What her mind relayed was the piece of paper in her hand, the results of their DNA tests. *They are us, but different.*
She subtly jabbed her thumbnail into the skin of her hand; a trick her mother once taught her to do to combat stage fright had now become a nervous habit of hers. As the elevator doors opened the moment of quiet was lost and chaos erupted. Cameras flashed, police officers marking the narrow corridor across to the next building. Reporters reaching out microphones, people reaching out bibles and qur’ans, there were clashes, there were hymns, there was a bit of everything. People demanding for answers, people claiming they had answers, but really nobody knew. Nobody except for Amani.
A break in the crowd had two people start to charge at her but thankfully armed guards blocked them in time, not before one of them threw a canister and some black smoke came out, residue staining the side of her white lab coat gray. Amani immediately smelt the gunpowder. What were they thinking? She gripped her nail tight, now feeling the sliver of liquid down her skin. She never expected this would be part of her job. At least as soon as she handed the piece of paper over, her job would- for the most- be done. She passed a few more guards and the crowds dimmed as the door screens closed. She was then ushered to a small room; simply decorated, people of many ethnicities around a circular table.
“This it?”
Amani nodded, her sudden attention taken not by the U.S Secretary of Defense standing in front of her speaking, but by the person chained up to a chair in a cage in the corner of the room behind three armed guards. This is how we treat them? She wasn’t impressed, but undeniably scared. She tried to catch a glimpse between the guards, at the proof that the world was waiting for, the confirmation to mankind’s biggest question. But all she could make out was the shape of someone tall, very slender, practically human, male. Then she gasped ever so slightly as she caught the yellow of his big eyes looking straight back at her.
“And?” he said, skimming over the words, trying to look for some layman’s summary.
Amani swallowed. “Well,” she started, her attention pulled back to Mr. Secretary. Did she miss something he said? She had not paid attention. How long was she looking at the extra-terrestrial life form across the room? Suddenly the fatigue hit her, she wanted to be in her small conditioned apartment, in her covers, showered and clean. She said the only thing her mind could come up with: “They are us, but different.”
The Secretary of Defense raised an eyebrow at her. “Explain.”
Amani inhaled, her focus suddenly acute once more. “Well, for starters they have DNA, which means they are physical to this dimension-”
“No Star Trek mumbo jumbo please.”
“Yes, of course, Sir.” Amani subtly jabbed at her nail flesh wound. “They *are* real. And they are extra-terrestrial. Their DNA shows linkages to us modern humans, but dates back tens of thousands of years.”
“You mean to Ancient Egypt?”
“Yes, the actual Ancient Egypt, the one before religion got involved to say humanity was no more than six thousand years old.”
“So they’re ancient, ancient Egyptians that had advanced technology?”
“Possibly,” Amani replied. How was she supposed to know? Why couldn’t they ask them themselves? “There are many gaps in the genetic tracing of the evolution of homo-erectus, I mean human-”
“I know what homo-erectus means,” the Secretary of Defense stated.
Amani thought something she bit her lip not to say. She glanced back to the alien in the room. Did it just smirk?
“So it’s part human?” someone else from the room, sitting around the table asked, his accent quite European.
“Yes,” Amani replied. “A distant, unknown branch of human.” She took out a USB from her pocket. “Copies of our findings are on here. You will all be emailed the genetic coding shortly.”
“That’s all then. Thank you.” The Secretary of Defense said before showing Amani the door. “I assume you know how confidential this information is right now. The world is panicked enough as it is.”
Amani nodded. She got the hint. Go away and shut up. Your work is done, leave the rest to the big boys and their guns now. Whatever, at least soon she could go home; thirty-odd hours without sleep was getting to her now, even if she was- for the moment- one of the most important people in the world. She turned to leave.
“Where are they?” The words were rough, accented. At first she thought it was the European guy speaking again, but the voice was different, hoarse. The hairs on her back sprung upright. The voice came from the corner. She slowly turned, seeing the yellow eyes again, full of bewilderment and concern. “Type 4 civilization. Where are they?” | *...noted various geological anomalies in sectors 7 through 13. Atmospheric compositional analysis shows evidence of biosphere deterioration due to high carbon content. Population centers are unaligned with latest information from neuroweb uplink before connection was lost. No evidence of Terra Prime civilization remains, other than an inert kalaren concentrator in sector 34. Analysis of unnatural satellites in planetary orbit include...*
Admiral Daros turned away from the console as the report continued in the background. The mission was in a shambles. The entire fleet under his command had vanished without a trace, leaving only his flagship, the *UGC Overwhelm*. More troubling still was their sudden loss of comms with the neuroweb when they entered the Sol system. He would have to rely on the limited information already loaded in the ship's data store. Thankfully he had had the foresight to ensure a comprehensive summary of hard data was kept about their mission objective and the last known status of Terra Prime.
With a muttered curse, he tapped the archaic wrist-mounted comms unit. The loss of neuroweb access forced him to communicate with his subordinates via electronic telecommunications equipment like some kind of savage.
"This is Admiral Daros," he barked. "We have observed Terra Prime for 51 rotations, and the information we have is unchanged. This planet is to be approached using Protocol 112-3: Unknown, presumed hostile. Chief Security Officer Renlen, you will assemble a first contact squad and prep for insertion at sector 34. I will take personal command."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've taken some small liberties with the prompt. Hoping there will be a favorable response to this. If so, I may add a little more. | |
[WP]An alien craft touches down in Egypt and amazingly, the crew are Human. It transpires they are descendants of colonists sent from Earth 50000 years ago. Now, they've returned Home and are bewildered that there appears to be no trace of the Type IV civilisation they left. | Amani welcomed the sudden quiet as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button showing 15, the digital screen showed 2:14AM. For lack of sleep she certainly wasn’t showing signs of fatigue; on the contrary, she couldn’t calm her mentality down enough. The past 72 hours were certainly full of suspense, after all, and what she held in her hand could hold the difference between global war or peace, social stability and the fabric of humanity being held together.
*They are us, but different.* That was the conclusion that her mind kept relaying. More so than the NASA livestreams of an object heading towards Earth at unnatural speeds and directions, more so than the breaking news on every television and phone screen on the planet of a spaceship hovering over Cairo, more so than the mass hysteria on the streets, and even more so than the moment the world stopped as the doors opened to reveal Earth’s newest arrivals. What her mind relayed was the piece of paper in her hand, the results of their DNA tests. *They are us, but different.*
She subtly jabbed her thumbnail into the skin of her hand; a trick her mother once taught her to do to combat stage fright had now become a nervous habit of hers. As the elevator doors opened the moment of quiet was lost and chaos erupted. Cameras flashed, police officers marking the narrow corridor across to the next building. Reporters reaching out microphones, people reaching out bibles and qur’ans, there were clashes, there were hymns, there was a bit of everything. People demanding for answers, people claiming they had answers, but really nobody knew. Nobody except for Amani.
A break in the crowd had two people start to charge at her but thankfully armed guards blocked them in time, not before one of them threw a canister and some black smoke came out, residue staining the side of her white lab coat gray. Amani immediately smelt the gunpowder. What were they thinking? She gripped her nail tight, now feeling the sliver of liquid down her skin. She never expected this would be part of her job. At least as soon as she handed the piece of paper over, her job would- for the most- be done. She passed a few more guards and the crowds dimmed as the door screens closed. She was then ushered to a small room; simply decorated, people of many ethnicities around a circular table.
“This it?”
Amani nodded, her sudden attention taken not by the U.S Secretary of Defense standing in front of her speaking, but by the person chained up to a chair in a cage in the corner of the room behind three armed guards. This is how we treat them? She wasn’t impressed, but undeniably scared. She tried to catch a glimpse between the guards, at the proof that the world was waiting for, the confirmation to mankind’s biggest question. But all she could make out was the shape of someone tall, very slender, practically human, male. Then she gasped ever so slightly as she caught the yellow of his big eyes looking straight back at her.
“And?” he said, skimming over the words, trying to look for some layman’s summary.
Amani swallowed. “Well,” she started, her attention pulled back to Mr. Secretary. Did she miss something he said? She had not paid attention. How long was she looking at the extra-terrestrial life form across the room? Suddenly the fatigue hit her, she wanted to be in her small conditioned apartment, in her covers, showered and clean. She said the only thing her mind could come up with: “They are us, but different.”
The Secretary of Defense raised an eyebrow at her. “Explain.”
Amani inhaled, her focus suddenly acute once more. “Well, for starters they have DNA, which means they are physical to this dimension-”
“No Star Trek mumbo jumbo please.”
“Yes, of course, Sir.” Amani subtly jabbed at her nail flesh wound. “They *are* real. And they are extra-terrestrial. Their DNA shows linkages to us modern humans, but dates back tens of thousands of years.”
“You mean to Ancient Egypt?”
“Yes, the actual Ancient Egypt, the one before religion got involved to say humanity was no more than six thousand years old.”
“So they’re ancient, ancient Egyptians that had advanced technology?”
“Possibly,” Amani replied. How was she supposed to know? Why couldn’t they ask them themselves? “There are many gaps in the genetic tracing of the evolution of homo-erectus, I mean human-”
“I know what homo-erectus means,” the Secretary of Defense stated.
Amani thought something she bit her lip not to say. She glanced back to the alien in the room. Did it just smirk?
“So it’s part human?” someone else from the room, sitting around the table asked, his accent quite European.
“Yes,” Amani replied. “A distant, unknown branch of human.” She took out a USB from her pocket. “Copies of our findings are on here. You will all be emailed the genetic coding shortly.”
“That’s all then. Thank you.” The Secretary of Defense said before showing Amani the door. “I assume you know how confidential this information is right now. The world is panicked enough as it is.”
Amani nodded. She got the hint. Go away and shut up. Your work is done, leave the rest to the big boys and their guns now. Whatever, at least soon she could go home; thirty-odd hours without sleep was getting to her now, even if she was- for the moment- one of the most important people in the world. She turned to leave.
“Where are they?” The words were rough, accented. At first she thought it was the European guy speaking again, but the voice was different, hoarse. The hairs on her back sprung upright. The voice came from the corner. She slowly turned, seeing the yellow eyes again, full of bewilderment and concern. “Type 4 civilization. Where are they?” | Look over there! The three electrical power plants we built are still standing. But someone messed with the head of the guardian. Its face looks like the faces of the people of this new civilization that exists here today.
According to the Galactic Encyclopedia in the Great Milky Way Public Library, the civilization that our ancestors left behind were infected by a disease that gave everyone weird symptoms that they called emotions. People became delusional and felt a strange need for each other’s affection. And it appears to me that those left behind had actually evolved to live with this strange disease and has become the natural order of things around here.
It is kind of interesting to see these people go about their daily interactions with one another. Instead of continuing on with daily tasks they frequently stop to greet one another. What a strange concept? I hypothesize that this unusual phenomenon altered this species of humans from progressing as fast as their capable of.
We should park hidden in the clouds above and continue to monitor these very odd species of human beings. We must be careful not to cross paths with the infected for we would start developing the so called feelings ourselves. They are very contagious and nobody in the galaxy had been able to find the cure for this unforgiving disease that had taken so many lives. | |
[WP]An alien craft touches down in Egypt and amazingly, the crew are Human. It transpires they are descendants of colonists sent from Earth 50000 years ago. Now, they've returned Home and are bewildered that there appears to be no trace of the Type IV civilisation they left. | Amani welcomed the sudden quiet as she stepped into the elevator and pressed the button showing 15, the digital screen showed 2:14AM. For lack of sleep she certainly wasn’t showing signs of fatigue; on the contrary, she couldn’t calm her mentality down enough. The past 72 hours were certainly full of suspense, after all, and what she held in her hand could hold the difference between global war or peace, social stability and the fabric of humanity being held together.
*They are us, but different.* That was the conclusion that her mind kept relaying. More so than the NASA livestreams of an object heading towards Earth at unnatural speeds and directions, more so than the breaking news on every television and phone screen on the planet of a spaceship hovering over Cairo, more so than the mass hysteria on the streets, and even more so than the moment the world stopped as the doors opened to reveal Earth’s newest arrivals. What her mind relayed was the piece of paper in her hand, the results of their DNA tests. *They are us, but different.*
She subtly jabbed her thumbnail into the skin of her hand; a trick her mother once taught her to do to combat stage fright had now become a nervous habit of hers. As the elevator doors opened the moment of quiet was lost and chaos erupted. Cameras flashed, police officers marking the narrow corridor across to the next building. Reporters reaching out microphones, people reaching out bibles and qur’ans, there were clashes, there were hymns, there was a bit of everything. People demanding for answers, people claiming they had answers, but really nobody knew. Nobody except for Amani.
A break in the crowd had two people start to charge at her but thankfully armed guards blocked them in time, not before one of them threw a canister and some black smoke came out, residue staining the side of her white lab coat gray. Amani immediately smelt the gunpowder. What were they thinking? She gripped her nail tight, now feeling the sliver of liquid down her skin. She never expected this would be part of her job. At least as soon as she handed the piece of paper over, her job would- for the most- be done. She passed a few more guards and the crowds dimmed as the door screens closed. She was then ushered to a small room; simply decorated, people of many ethnicities around a circular table.
“This it?”
Amani nodded, her sudden attention taken not by the U.S Secretary of Defense standing in front of her speaking, but by the person chained up to a chair in a cage in the corner of the room behind three armed guards. This is how we treat them? She wasn’t impressed, but undeniably scared. She tried to catch a glimpse between the guards, at the proof that the world was waiting for, the confirmation to mankind’s biggest question. But all she could make out was the shape of someone tall, very slender, practically human, male. Then she gasped ever so slightly as she caught the yellow of his big eyes looking straight back at her.
“And?” he said, skimming over the words, trying to look for some layman’s summary.
Amani swallowed. “Well,” she started, her attention pulled back to Mr. Secretary. Did she miss something he said? She had not paid attention. How long was she looking at the extra-terrestrial life form across the room? Suddenly the fatigue hit her, she wanted to be in her small conditioned apartment, in her covers, showered and clean. She said the only thing her mind could come up with: “They are us, but different.”
The Secretary of Defense raised an eyebrow at her. “Explain.”
Amani inhaled, her focus suddenly acute once more. “Well, for starters they have DNA, which means they are physical to this dimension-”
“No Star Trek mumbo jumbo please.”
“Yes, of course, Sir.” Amani subtly jabbed at her nail flesh wound. “They *are* real. And they are extra-terrestrial. Their DNA shows linkages to us modern humans, but dates back tens of thousands of years.”
“You mean to Ancient Egypt?”
“Yes, the actual Ancient Egypt, the one before religion got involved to say humanity was no more than six thousand years old.”
“So they’re ancient, ancient Egyptians that had advanced technology?”
“Possibly,” Amani replied. How was she supposed to know? Why couldn’t they ask them themselves? “There are many gaps in the genetic tracing of the evolution of homo-erectus, I mean human-”
“I know what homo-erectus means,” the Secretary of Defense stated.
Amani thought something she bit her lip not to say. She glanced back to the alien in the room. Did it just smirk?
“So it’s part human?” someone else from the room, sitting around the table asked, his accent quite European.
“Yes,” Amani replied. “A distant, unknown branch of human.” She took out a USB from her pocket. “Copies of our findings are on here. You will all be emailed the genetic coding shortly.”
“That’s all then. Thank you.” The Secretary of Defense said before showing Amani the door. “I assume you know how confidential this information is right now. The world is panicked enough as it is.”
Amani nodded. She got the hint. Go away and shut up. Your work is done, leave the rest to the big boys and their guns now. Whatever, at least soon she could go home; thirty-odd hours without sleep was getting to her now, even if she was- for the moment- one of the most important people in the world. She turned to leave.
“Where are they?” The words were rough, accented. At first she thought it was the European guy speaking again, but the voice was different, hoarse. The hairs on her back sprung upright. The voice came from the corner. She slowly turned, seeing the yellow eyes again, full of bewilderment and concern. “Type 4 civilization. Where are they?” | "N-no... that's not possible..." as i looked around, i fell on my knees.
There was nothing
There should have been a city, right there, Mark controlled thousands of time. But this couldn't be the wrong place either.
"What the hell is this?!" Sarah came near me and sat down, on the sand of the desert. I could see the frustration in her eyes, after all the expectations she had.
One by one, everyone got out of the ship and discovered the truth, there was nothing. Some lizard was the only life we met on the first day on that Earth...
We knew there was this possibility... after all the communications were interrupted ages ago, but nobody has ever lost hope.
Everything was dead. Every hope, every dream, every happiness... and... apparentely... every human on this lost planet... | |
[WP]An alien craft touches down in Egypt and amazingly, the crew are Human. It transpires they are descendants of colonists sent from Earth 50000 years ago. Now, they've returned Home and are bewildered that there appears to be no trace of the Type IV civilisation they left. | Convincing the people that welcomed us that we were not their gods didn‘t work very well. Astolien the fieldcommander didn‘t do anything to change that with his 2,5 meter tall cybernetic body. The computer reconstructed the language these people spoke in mere minutes. It explained that it was a very old and to say it nicely fucked up version of Suja‘al that was spoken in this district. Atleast it was when we left. „Sir it seems like a person of a high status arrived just now. I recommend not trying to disprove their gods Theorie it could be helpful.“ Corvus the computer summeriezed this analysis in sergeant Lunikias brainchip. „Yes I won‘t she answered.“ „Opening front gate now.“
The landingdoors constructed from stable Urin‘aium opened, or to be correct dissolved into a quantum field. A man much smaller then the sergeant with some kind of crown and a staff stood before her, while all other humans kneeled in the sand. The Scans located a „big“ town nearby, calculated inhabitants about 90.000. It was one of the biggest formation of structures we could find on our planet, everything else was gone. While Lunikias thought the man with the crown spoke and Corvus translated, but she didn‘t even listen. Corvus did the talking an she did the non rational thinking that Corvus couldn’t do. She thought about everything that seemed to have vanished. The omnia constructs that kept the planet living, spindelnd their arms from the sky to the mere core of the planet. The city’s of trillions of humans. The spaceports and giant miningstations in orbit loading and unloading their goods. When they left everything was going well. The first wormhole ship ever, their ship, left with a Promise of an even brighter future. Then everything went to shit as it seems. They crossed horizon of the hole successfully. The established a huge Colony 6000 light years away. They did all that, just to come back to this? Lunikias was desperat. She knew that she wouldn‘t meet her friends again ore her bosses. She knew much would change while her enhanced body wouldn‘t change so much. But whatever happened here was unexpectable. She thought about so much stuff that her head clotted up with thoughts. In a moment of desperation her body acted for itself. She pulled her plasma pistol and fired a single bride beam into the crowned figure, that dissolved instantly from the impact. „Corvus bring us back home. This is not our home anymore.“ „Understood sir. Protocols require me to inform you that your action is not appropriate towards uncivilized peaceful species I will add this to your report.“
„just get us out of here Corvus.“ she said and an imaginary tear left her cybernetic eye. „I want to go home.“
Edit: hey everyone English is my second language and I hope it’s understandable. Pls let my know what you think. It helps a lot, have a great day. | "N-no... that's not possible..." as i looked around, i fell on my knees.
There was nothing
There should have been a city, right there, Mark controlled thousands of time. But this couldn't be the wrong place either.
"What the hell is this?!" Sarah came near me and sat down, on the sand of the desert. I could see the frustration in her eyes, after all the expectations she had.
One by one, everyone got out of the ship and discovered the truth, there was nothing. Some lizard was the only life we met on the first day on that Earth...
We knew there was this possibility... after all the communications were interrupted ages ago, but nobody has ever lost hope.
Everything was dead. Every hope, every dream, every happiness... and... apparentely... every human on this lost planet... | |
[WP] You were the massive dragon king who took not gold, but children from surrounding kingdoms. The kings of the various kingdoms confront you about your subjects 'kidnapping' the children. You glare down at the interlopers from your throne. "Well, maybe your citizens should be better parents." | The hallway smelled of ember and brimstone. A crowd bearing torches hesitantly made it's way down the smoldering abode of the dragon king. It was impossibly dark, and whispers rang all about of how the dragon was going to devour them instead of respecting his word and grant them audience.
Suddenly out of the darkness, two blue tinted emerald eyes revealed itself. A deep bellowing and grumbling sounded from what was undoubtedly a gargantuan wyrm. Large stone lamps distributed throughout the hallway ignited one by one, as if on by queue. At least the hallway wasn't so dark anymore. Instead, the parade of humanoids had another thing to terrify them - a massive, dragon. It's once brass scales were beginning to lose it's metallic hue, and mold began to grow underneath it's leathery wings - a testament to the longevity of the creature.
"We've come to avenge the children that your subjects have stolen from us!" King Brodon claimed, unsheathing his saber.
"Avenge?" the dragon growled, with a bit of contempt.
"Don't try to hide it. We know your minions have kidnapped our children so you could devour them!" Brodon added
"Devoured the children. Not at all," the dragon chuckled, although it sounded more like a gurgle coming out of his throat, akin to a sick bird trying to hoot, "even if I did eat them, it would be far more merciful a fate than the lives of neglect and abuse they had suffered under your sovereignty"
The crowd remained silent for a while. "What have you done with them then?" Lady Helany finally asked, breaking the ice.
"I have fed them and given them family. I have educated them with the knowledge gathered from a dozen ages. I have built them so they are healthier than they could ever have dreamed of under your care. And most importantly, I have given them purpose"
"And what purpose is that?" Lady Helany demanded
"They will liberate the children of your kingdoms and welcome them into their ranks"
"Enough! You will no longer meddle with the affairs of our kingdoms!" Brodon claimed, pointing his blade at the dragons face with his sweaty palm.
As he did so, leather pads and the stomping of boots overwhelmed the room, as a regiment of the dragon king's minions encircled the interlopers. The guests looked around and gasped as they recognized the faces amongst some of the guards.
"Kristoff! Is that you!?" one of the older men in the crowd gasped.
The guards remained mute.
"They will no longer respond to the crude human names you gave them. They have now been blessed with honorable draconic names. Now, Antharaxel, have your men escort these trespassers out of my throne room" | She sat in his dungeon, looking at all his children. The children of Dandy Town.
Until a few years ago,she was just a myth for them. Nothing but a story told to scare them. ‘Wake up, or Thelia will burn all your eggs with her fire!” of course it didn’t work on vegan kids, but she didn’t even care about vegan kids.
But since she had met that little child, what was his name. Jeff Tezos. The mother inside her woke up. She took that little child and kept him in her cave. She felt that she was his Chosen Mother since a golden lion had chased him to her cave. That, or it was just a normal lion turned into a fine golden crisp by her fire.
Jeff and her bonded like real mother and son. And they talked like real friends. She had shown him her deep and large collection of gold coins. He loved diving into that pool and swimming through it, backstroking smoothly as Thelia felt the motherly love, the only real gold that was there in the room.
He always said that he will have as much money when he grows up as I do. Little does he know, this is called poor amongst dragons.
Jeff had always liked the forest. He had said that it felt like the Amazon forest, and that her cave was like his little home in the Amazon forest. Thelia went on pretending that it really was Amazon. After all, she couldn’t disappoint her first son.
He had started hunting with his mother. One day, a tiger had given him a large gash on his head. Thelia saved him from the tiger and made a good breakfast out of the tiger, but she was puzzled what to do of his injury.
She then took him to Drogon, her friend. He was a medical wizard and an avid reader of the Game of Throne books. Seeing Jeff, he immediately pounced on him to eat him. His nails tore apart his hair, but Thelia prevented him from doing any further damage.
When she turned around to see her poor Jeff, who was now bald, she saw that his gash had been fixed now. Nothing remained of it. She knew Drogon would fix anything and everything.He was a medical wizard.
But Jeff would have to stay bald forever now.
Then one day, two guys named Mark Huckerberg and Bill Hates crossed her lair. And she took them in.
Mark had been the funny one, and Bill was the tech guy. They were already becoming the Avengers now.
She had found Mark to be a little weird. One day, she went to clean his bathroom, and saw weird nuts and bolts in the bathroom. Was he a robot?
Children kept flooding in. More and more. She had formed a council among the kids, to vote out someone if he or she is behaving criminally. This was just to teach them democracy.
But they actually voted out this guy named Donald Thump. She was surprised. Thelia wanted to kill him, but a better punishment would be to send him into the forest and leave him there to die.
A girl named Pokiname made every boy simp behind her. She was very beautiful, even by dragon standards. One of her most favorite children, William Takespeare used to make damn beautiful poems for her. | |
[WP] You were the massive dragon king who took not gold, but children from surrounding kingdoms. The kings of the various kingdoms confront you about your subjects 'kidnapping' the children. You glare down at the interlopers from your throne. "Well, maybe your citizens should be better parents." | Some dragons loved to posture over the "lesser" races but Vestishin was not of that particular stripe. No, he sat amongst them at a great table, food arrayed before them, while at another smaller table just out of ear-shot ten children howled and laughed as Melisan and Vert tried to get them to eat, not play, with their food.
He lifted his goblet to his mouth, his sapphire eyes passing across his guests as his smile grew wider and his ridged eyebrow rose ever higher into his hairline.
"Well someone please say something." he finally remarked, sitting forward and placing his goblet back down. He allowed his neck to stretch forward just a bit more than normal, warping his humanoid disguise just enough to keep them off-balance. They had come into his home, after all, not thinking that they would be bound to *his* race's versions of guest rights.
Finally, King Bort of the Vidian Hierarchy spoke up, "I...I'm sorry Milord but I beg your pardon?"
His thick black beard covered his mouth, bobbing about as his lips moved unseen, though Vestishin could not help but become transfixed by how the young human king was picking at the food on his plate absentmindedly.
"I thought I was quite clear, young lord," Vestishin remarked with a smile, "Your subjects, and the subjects of every ruler seated at my table have the making of horrendous parents."
"On whose judgment?" Lady Ellory of the Al'Yan demanded, the intricate cerulean woad marking that decorated her face, entrancing him ever so slightly as she looked at him with much more boldness than Bort had managed. Her solid black eyes burrowed into him, even as her sharp talons cut furrows into his table.
"By your own, if you dared to ask the bairns I imagine." he returned, nodding toward the table, where the youngest was currently sniffling as Melisan coaxed him to eat his greens.
"As you will have noted, there are ten in my care, my followers have a smattering more under their watch all across my valley." Vest remarked, "Each tells a tale of cruelty that I find, markedly repulsive."
"Three of their number come from King Bort's lands," he continued, gesturing to the youngest leader at the table, "Their mother long in the grave, their father a drunken miser who beat them for not keeping the house in order while he spent his weeks afar from them, gallivanting through the capital, endeavoring to make a streetwife their new mother and earn himself a new child to abuse I can gather. Vert found them half-starved, the eldest girl had tried to swipe his purse just so she could buy some bread to feed her younger kin. For the record this man would be your Master of Coin, young Bort, if you were wondering at the expenditures he seemed to be mysteriously finding."
Bort's face contorted into something that resembled a kicked dog, as his face went beet red.
"So I feel as though my man's judgment was fair." Vest finished as he rounded back on Lady Ellory, "Two from your land found their way to me, twin girls of ten, orphaned and consigned to life with an Uncle...whose actions I will speak nothing of, other than to say...if you care to dredge them up, his shattered bones are lying in the center of Lake Kedder."
"I-you did the will of the Gods then, majesty," Ellory remarked, nodding her head in deference and rounding on her fellows as if to say she now sided with him in full.
"The Distant had nothing to do with it, my Lady, rather a very protective pup." Vest returned, as his eyes moved to the remaining trio.
His eyes flicked between the rival kings, siblings whose trifling squabble had shattered the mighty nation of Mercia into embattled lands fighting a grinding war that had both kingdoms heading towards indifference, at best and dissolution, at worst. The Dwarven men were molded of the same cast, the only difference the pewter crown upon King Gandrin of True Mercia's head and the red-gold band upon King Taldunor of Mercia Proper.
"Fittingly, though disturbing, two children each came to me from your embattled lands." Vest remarked, his neck extending further, and his skin hardening slightly as both men opened their mouth to speak, "I am baffled that this is what unites you both once more, the missing children of people you both think of little more than pawns in your pitiful little squabble."
"We...disagree on many, many things, Great Wyrm," Taldunor stated.
"But the safety of our citizenry is our important charge." Gandrin finished.
"So when tale came to us of men clad in blue armor abducting children in the name of a dragon," Taldunor continued.
"We sought to protect our people." Gandrin finished.
Vest scoffed, sitting back in his chair and taking a big gulp of wine before shooting them both a writhing glare, "If you wish to protect your people, *feed them,* you daft morons."
"You've been so focused on the war along your half-baked border, you've both missed the fallowing of your fields, and theft of your livestock by Gnoll Marauders. These children came into my men's care because their parents were willing to *sell* them, just to get a bit more money to feed their shrinking gullets. So, even if you had grounds to take these children back, I would not have heard it."
Vest turned to the final member of their entourage as the brothers turned to bicker over whose fault his dismissal was, while Bort and Ellory let out long drawn out sighs.
"That makes nine." the figure stated, his voice but a rasp, his eyes burning with intense anger that had Vest been a being of lesser fortitude he might have quailed, "Taken rightfully as you say, Vestishin of the Sapphire Valley, though let us correct the statement to rescued shall we?"
"We shall." Vest agreed.
"But the tenth," High-King Caligar Mossfoot of the Brondinrol Halflings rasped, as he pointed to the little boy Malisen was still struggling to feed, "You had *no* right."
"Oh, I believe in fact I did." Vest returned, "Your Grandson will be safe here, the same can not be said for the chill halls you call your abode."
"My daughter's son will not be raised by some puffed-up leather-wing!" Caligar roared, pounding his diminutive fist on the table with a surprising amount of force.
"Your daughter's son will not be a pawn in whatever dark game you have dragged your people into, Sidhe-Thecki." Vest returned coldly, as he let the facade drop, his verdant blue wings unfurling from his back as those seated at his table became like mice to a snarling mastiff.
"I do not fear you drake," Caligar remarked, standing to his full height, which was almost laughable as he barely reached the dragon's immense ankle.
"You don't?" Vest queried, peering down at the halfling, his mouth twisting into a fanged smirk, as Vest's followers ushered the children out of the room as quickly as they could manage, "What of the judgment of your fellow rulers?"
"For what would they judge me beast?" Caligar shot back, his voice harsher than the growl of a bear.
"You tell of conspiracy to all the land, a rebellion that stabbed out the heart of your dear girl as she traveled the country-side." Vest remarked, weaving about the table, his talons flexing as he stalked closer to the halfling, "But the scent of kinslaying is a hard thing to hide, especially when in the home of one such as I."
There was silence then, as the heads of the other rulers turned to stare at the Halfling as he glared defiantly up at the immense, azure dragon that loomed above him.
The silence carried on, as all knew to speak a lie in the house of a dragon was to break guest rights, and *that* was a thing to be feared, even if the grey-bearded halfling did not fear the Wyrm himself.
"So...once more, will you tell me what was or was not my right?" Vestishan asked as blue flame and sparks of lightning cracked about his open maw. | She sat in his dungeon, looking at all his children. The children of Dandy Town.
Until a few years ago,she was just a myth for them. Nothing but a story told to scare them. ‘Wake up, or Thelia will burn all your eggs with her fire!” of course it didn’t work on vegan kids, but she didn’t even care about vegan kids.
But since she had met that little child, what was his name. Jeff Tezos. The mother inside her woke up. She took that little child and kept him in her cave. She felt that she was his Chosen Mother since a golden lion had chased him to her cave. That, or it was just a normal lion turned into a fine golden crisp by her fire.
Jeff and her bonded like real mother and son. And they talked like real friends. She had shown him her deep and large collection of gold coins. He loved diving into that pool and swimming through it, backstroking smoothly as Thelia felt the motherly love, the only real gold that was there in the room.
He always said that he will have as much money when he grows up as I do. Little does he know, this is called poor amongst dragons.
Jeff had always liked the forest. He had said that it felt like the Amazon forest, and that her cave was like his little home in the Amazon forest. Thelia went on pretending that it really was Amazon. After all, she couldn’t disappoint her first son.
He had started hunting with his mother. One day, a tiger had given him a large gash on his head. Thelia saved him from the tiger and made a good breakfast out of the tiger, but she was puzzled what to do of his injury.
She then took him to Drogon, her friend. He was a medical wizard and an avid reader of the Game of Throne books. Seeing Jeff, he immediately pounced on him to eat him. His nails tore apart his hair, but Thelia prevented him from doing any further damage.
When she turned around to see her poor Jeff, who was now bald, she saw that his gash had been fixed now. Nothing remained of it. She knew Drogon would fix anything and everything.He was a medical wizard.
But Jeff would have to stay bald forever now.
Then one day, two guys named Mark Huckerberg and Bill Hates crossed her lair. And she took them in.
Mark had been the funny one, and Bill was the tech guy. They were already becoming the Avengers now.
She had found Mark to be a little weird. One day, she went to clean his bathroom, and saw weird nuts and bolts in the bathroom. Was he a robot?
Children kept flooding in. More and more. She had formed a council among the kids, to vote out someone if he or she is behaving criminally. This was just to teach them democracy.
But they actually voted out this guy named Donald Thump. She was surprised. Thelia wanted to kill him, but a better punishment would be to send him into the forest and leave him there to die.
A girl named Pokiname made every boy simp behind her. She was very beautiful, even by dragon standards. One of her most favorite children, William Takespeare used to make damn beautiful poems for her. | |
[WP]It's the final battle, you've gathered all of your allies, and your enemies theirs. You make your way towards your enemies, when suddenly boss music plays? You stop, it stops, you walk it starts? Wait a minute... | A calm wind blows across the desolate land. The sun slowly sweeps across the earth’s surface revealing only the ashes of what once was a thriving village. Off in the distance, Red and white flags can be seen cresting the hill. War flags, signaling the arrival of the northern tribe.
A soldier peering through binoculars turns and shouts “Enemy spotted!”
“Thank you Watson, that’ll be all” I say as I turn toward my squadron. “Soldiers! Line up!”
The ragged men hobble to their feet. Some use their rifles as a crutch to bring them to a standing position, while others quickly finish tightening the bandages around their wounds. As the soldiers rise, a violin begins to play softly and can barely be heard over their movement.
“I know this has been a long road” I remark as I grasp the hilt of the broadsword fixed to the belt on my hip. “I know that I have called upon you to fight for our tribe enough. But I must call on you once more.”
The volume of the music increases as percussion joins the melodic sounds of the stringed instrument. The flags of the northern tribe are flying higher now, and enemies on horseback can be seen swords drawn in the distance.
One soldier steps forward, “what’s even the point, captain? We’re all beaten to hell. Do you really think we can win?”
I clear my throat as the volume of the music increases. “So long as we remain confident, anything is possible. We must not give up hope! We must fight on! For there are those counting on us to succeed. For there are those who gave their lives for us to get this far. Were their lives...” I trail off as the music is getting so loud I can’t even hear myself think. But as I start to say something to address the noise, it instantly stops. Soldiers stand before me, awaiting my orders.
I clear my throat again and continue to speak. “Were their lives insignificant?”
The violin music starts up once again. “They were not! Their lives have meaning because we carry on their mission in their stead. So long as we fight, they will survive!” I draw my sword as the battle song continues to grow louder and louder. “Though the number of enemies has always exceeded our own, we refuse to give in!”
As the music continues to increase in volume, more and more puzzled expressions start to grow on the faces of the soldiers. I continue to speak, for my words can grant them the faith they need to win this battle.
“We stand here today because my soldiers will not yield to the pressure of overwhelming odds.”
The puzzled expressions are growing fierce now. My words must be getting through to them!
“We stand here today ready to fight because each and every one of you is a true warrior, with the skill of ten men! So what if the northern tribe has 50 soldiers? We can handle twice that many!”
The sound is so loud now I can barely comprehend what I’m saying, but my men seem to be responding well to it. I must continue.
“Soldiers! Now is the time, ready your arms!”
The men lift their weapons, but their fierce expressions are growing concerned now. I mustn't let the group’s conviction waiver!
“This land was once our home! Today is the day we take it back! Today is the day we charge! Today is the day we win!”
The music finally silences. The sun continues to rise, but all I see is darkness. | I look back at my army. "Tell the band to not stop playing! Their jobs is to rally the troops for victory!"
"Yes, Sir!" My first lieutenant bellows out. "Sound the drums and the trumpets! Do not stop playing! Our victory is at hand and we shall crush our enemies!"
"Halt!" I cry out. My army let's loose its fiercest battle cry. Beating their shields they taunt the enemy. A wave of arrows comes forth from the enemy lines.
"Charge! Show no mercy! Crush their skulls and soak the ground with the enemies blood!" I yell as I kick the sides of my armored black horse prompting it to run faster; sword in my hand pointing forward as I ride into battle.
A giant winged green beast appears over the horizon. It's clad in heavy, steel armor encrusted with precious jewels and gold.
"DRAGON!" I hear one of my men cry out as the beast flys over head, breathing fire into my men.
"Focus all arrows and the beast! Release the battle trolls and show no mercy! This day will be ours!" I rage in anger. The blood lust is heavy upon me. With fire in my eyes I lead my troops into the enemy lines striking down masses of orcs and goblins as I make my way to their king.
The evil King of my enemy spots me. Glowing with rage he orders his archers to target me. CRASH! The dragon falls from the sky knocking me off of my horse. One of my most skilled elven archers has struck the beast in his weak spot bringing him down upon me. My horse is dead but I survive unscathed.
I stand up but I'm instantly struck with pain. Struggling, I fall to my knees. I look up and see an ugly greenish orc stating at me with hatred in his eyes. SLICE! His sword cuts off my head and I fall to the ground defeated.
Game over! Flashes across the screen. "Ahhhh," exclaims an unkempt teenage boy with shaggy hair and baggy clothes. "I'm done with this game. Let's roll one up and sneak out while my parents are gone," he says to his friend laying on the couch.
"I thought you would never ask," answers his friend. "Maybe we can finally beat this game high."
"Yes! I love playing video games when I'm stoned. But, first, we gets some cheetos and soda." The end? | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | 8 feet, tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns. She wasn't what I was expecting but she was what I wanted. I could not understand how others after seeing her on their first date could not contact her again. Everything was just so beautiful about her. Her eyes glowed like coal after a nice winter evening in front of the fire. When you wake up in the middle of the night and you still feel the heat radiating from the last bits of coal. Hear tall posture paired with her eight legs gave me the feeling that she was ready to go with me till the border of the universe. In every direction at the same time. Her horns not like the rest of her body gave a cold and mysterious look. Just perfect pairing to her gorgeous smile. Like I should later learn they were neither cold, not mysterious. When I got to feel them the first time on a bench in the evening. It was different than I believed. She laid her head in my lap and I was hesitant to touch them. In the fear, it would be a letdown because something couldn't be perfect on her. But when I touched them every thought vanished and I felt at ease her horns were not cold the were warm and I could feel her pulse was a bit faster she also was probably a bit nervous.
That I could meet her was the one thing in life I'm grateful for.
End
[r/tz4](https://www.reddit.com/r/tz4) | **You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous.**
The frakfurtine leaned over her plate, polishing off the remains of her dinner, a measly portion of gumgurri.
"You didn't like that much, huh?" Her mother teased lovingly.
"Shut up, ma. I was hungry."
"Okay, okay, I'm just pointing out- your old mother can still cook pretty well."
"It's just as good as I remember," Lily, the youngling frakfurtine agreed.
Her old mother sighed, the greying hairs on her head blowing gently in the wind. "Well, I should probably see you out. I must get in bed."
Lily agreed and cleared her plate, clutching the glassware in her hand-like frucknut.
\*\*\*
Lily was trotting through the forest, eager to get home before it became too late, when she stopped cold. *What what that?* She thought to herself, having heard something resembling soft frucknut steps in the undergrowth.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. As she looked up, she gasped. What looked like 8 feet tall, glowing eyes, spiky horns on top of the creatures head. Lily, standing at only 2 feet on all four frucknuts, felt tiny, in the midst of the beast, standing peculiarly on only two legs. While scary...it's was beautiful at the same time. Lily felt intrigued.
\*\*\*
"Mommy look!! It's a deer," Allison shrieked.
"Oh yes, honey, it may be aggressive, back up a little. Plus, it's night, we should be getting back to the car soon."
The small girl adjusted the crown of thorny roses atop her head with one hand while continuing to point at the adolescent deer. "Can I pet it???"
"No hon," Allison's father dragged her away. "Let's go back to car."
The girl began to cry. "I want my own deer pet!"
"No..not tonight..."
\*\*\*
"mmm I love you"
"me too"
"ever since I saw you, I knew you were the one"
Lily didn't reply, instead she pushed harder
Allison began to breathe faster. "I want to stay with you forever," she cried out between gasps.
"I'm much older than you, but me too honey." Lily was climaxing, she loved this feeling. She wanted to stay here forever.
\_\_
​
I AM SO SORRY | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | Larg not see female this attractive in very long time. Tall like ironwood tree for club making, eyes so red like burning villages! And horns, beautiful horns, so sharp and pointy. Larg bet she gore many foe in battle with those lovelys.
Larg should say something. Larg not sure if he worthy of such a female....Larg just do!!
"Hello beautiful female, Larg find you very attractive."
"Oh does, what was your name again?? Barf?"
"Larg..."
"Whatever...look, it's really cute you came over to talk to me but look, I'm obviously much stronger than you, so I'm just out of your league. Plus my mate, Olthor the Destroyer, is going to be here in like five minutes."
Larg watch as female meet up with Olthor. Larg not mess with Olthor because Larg like having head and skeleton intact.
But still is good day. Larg initiate conversation and that is not normally something Larg do. Small steps for Larg. | **You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous.**
The frakfurtine leaned over her plate, polishing off the remains of her dinner, a measly portion of gumgurri.
"You didn't like that much, huh?" Her mother teased lovingly.
"Shut up, ma. I was hungry."
"Okay, okay, I'm just pointing out- your old mother can still cook pretty well."
"It's just as good as I remember," Lily, the youngling frakfurtine agreed.
Her old mother sighed, the greying hairs on her head blowing gently in the wind. "Well, I should probably see you out. I must get in bed."
Lily agreed and cleared her plate, clutching the glassware in her hand-like frucknut.
\*\*\*
Lily was trotting through the forest, eager to get home before it became too late, when she stopped cold. *What what that?* She thought to herself, having heard something resembling soft frucknut steps in the undergrowth.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. As she looked up, she gasped. What looked like 8 feet tall, glowing eyes, spiky horns on top of the creatures head. Lily, standing at only 2 feet on all four frucknuts, felt tiny, in the midst of the beast, standing peculiarly on only two legs. While scary...it's was beautiful at the same time. Lily felt intrigued.
\*\*\*
"Mommy look!! It's a deer," Allison shrieked.
"Oh yes, honey, it may be aggressive, back up a little. Plus, it's night, we should be getting back to the car soon."
The small girl adjusted the crown of thorny roses atop her head with one hand while continuing to point at the adolescent deer. "Can I pet it???"
"No hon," Allison's father dragged her away. "Let's go back to car."
The girl began to cry. "I want my own deer pet!"
"No..not tonight..."
\*\*\*
"mmm I love you"
"me too"
"ever since I saw you, I knew you were the one"
Lily didn't reply, instead she pushed harder
Allison began to breathe faster. "I want to stay with you forever," she cried out between gasps.
"I'm much older than you, but me too honey." Lily was climaxing, she loved this feeling. She wanted to stay here forever.
\_\_
​
I AM SO SORRY | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | They say no amount of training can prepare you for an encounter with a real demon. I gripped the handle of my Eskander tightly. We were taught that demons could sense fear in the same way that a soaring falcon feels the wind wrapping around it. I did my best to suppress the primal terror that was welling up within me. Sir Garlan marched ahead of us, he was an experienced exorcist and the deep gashes across his face gave truth to the horrors that he’s witnessed.
It was a cold out and the fear only helped to amplify the night wind’s chill. Darius and Marcus followed Garlan’s lead while I watched the rear. This would be best as they were both prime academy graduates that had far more skill than I. My breath carried a frosty mist. *Fight the fear, let instinct take over*. I told myself. I had to stay sharp like the academy told us. The demon that attacked the caravan could be anywhere.
The reports gave us very little detail as to what kind of demon we were dealing with. We were only told that a band of gypsy traders was attacked in this forest. When we arrived we found nothing save for a few empty wagons. The gypsies were nowhere to be found. Either they fled or... I didn’t want to think about the alternatives.
Suddenly Garlan called for a halt. “Hold position!” He roared. I could feel it, it knew we were here. “Draw!” Garlan shouted.
I drew my Eskander, a brilliant mirrored blade crested by a blue flame. Eskander steel was the only thing that hurt them. As we readied our blades, the woodlands around us lit up in a blue hue.
It was then that the trees before us parted the demon revealed itself. There was no ambush and no surprises. It wanted us to see. It wanted us to feel its confidence… it's killing intent.
The demon lurched forward. It towered over 12 feet high and was shaped like a great ape. Its entire body was as black as the moon’s shadow; all except for a round “mask-like” face in the center of its chest. Two long tentacles trailed from where arms would be.
The face gleamed in the moonlight like polished bone, wearing a dead expression that could only befit a corpse.
“Evade!” Garlan shouted. I jolted back to reality and barely moved out of the way before one of the long tentacles crashed down. Dust and earth ripped into the sky. I heard shouts, cries, and saw flashing blue arcs of Eskander flame cut into the haze.
Everything happened so fast. When the dust cleared, just Marcus was left standing next to me. His Eskander shook violently through trembling hands. To my left I caught a glimpse of Darius’ broken body, which curled lifelessly around a nearby tree.
Sir Garlan dangled in the air above us. A thick tentacle was wrapped around his neck. The old veteran struggled fiercely with punches and kicks to the empty space around him, but it was all for naught.
The demon lifted Garlan above itself, where a great slimy maw lined with rows of sharp fangs opened along its back. The porcelain face of the demon continued to stare at us without expression.
I looked up to Garlan, who was longer struggling. It was the first time I’ve ever seen fear in the battle hardened exorcist’s eyes. Time was still and I knew he had resigned himself to his terrible fate. He gasped one final word before the tentacle released him into the hungry maw:
“Run.”
Without hesitation I turned and ran for my life. I pushed the horrifying sounds of screaming and crunching bones that followed behind us out of my mind. Survive. I need to survive.
I could hear the stomps of the beast behind me. The earth quaked as it gave chase. Something lashed just over my head. It was followed by a shrill cry that was cut off midway. Marcus was no longer beside me.
I ran as hard as my legs would push me, ignoring the burning heat welling up in my chest and the pain of my limbs. A gnarled root on the path snapped at my foot. I could feel my body tumbling. I struggled to crawl away and I could feel the beast just behind me. It slowly lumbered forward, knowing that its prey could no longer escape.
As I crawled forward a dark shape landed before me. It was another demon. My fate was sealed.
She stood 8 feet tall against the crescent moon. Her pale figure was mostly hidden by a set of thick black wings. Strands of her dark raven hair danced in the night air like a silk curtain and she looked down at me with 3 azure eyes that burned with a faint Saint Elmo's fire.
The two demons stared at each other silently. Perhaps they were negotiating which one would make a meal of me. I knew trying to escape would be futile.
The tentacled demon spoke in a deep guttural language that was impossible for me to fathom. Gouts of slime spewed from the great maw on its back as it formed the ethereal words.
The slender female demon answered back in a similar language, but her voice was melodic and resonated like a siren’s song.
In a sudden flourish, the female demon spread her wings high into the night sky. Hidden beneath them was a large crystalline claymore which she held in both hands. An Eskander!
The other demon gurgled in shock as she gracefully dashed over me. Her blade ignited in mid swing, becoming sheathed by a vibrant purple flame. I could feel the weight of her blow and hear the searing of demonic flesh. The other demon roared as it fell backwards into the shadows. Its tentacles thrashed violently around me then became still.
The female demon turned to me, her blade still sizzling from the ichor of her kill. She knelt down beside me and extended a pale but delicate hand.
“It’s ok, you’re safe now.” | **You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous.**
The frakfurtine leaned over her plate, polishing off the remains of her dinner, a measly portion of gumgurri.
"You didn't like that much, huh?" Her mother teased lovingly.
"Shut up, ma. I was hungry."
"Okay, okay, I'm just pointing out- your old mother can still cook pretty well."
"It's just as good as I remember," Lily, the youngling frakfurtine agreed.
Her old mother sighed, the greying hairs on her head blowing gently in the wind. "Well, I should probably see you out. I must get in bed."
Lily agreed and cleared her plate, clutching the glassware in her hand-like frucknut.
\*\*\*
Lily was trotting through the forest, eager to get home before it became too late, when she stopped cold. *What what that?* She thought to herself, having heard something resembling soft frucknut steps in the undergrowth.
Suddenly, a shadow loomed over her. As she looked up, she gasped. What looked like 8 feet tall, glowing eyes, spiky horns on top of the creatures head. Lily, standing at only 2 feet on all four frucknuts, felt tiny, in the midst of the beast, standing peculiarly on only two legs. While scary...it's was beautiful at the same time. Lily felt intrigued.
\*\*\*
"Mommy look!! It's a deer," Allison shrieked.
"Oh yes, honey, it may be aggressive, back up a little. Plus, it's night, we should be getting back to the car soon."
The small girl adjusted the crown of thorny roses atop her head with one hand while continuing to point at the adolescent deer. "Can I pet it???"
"No hon," Allison's father dragged her away. "Let's go back to car."
The girl began to cry. "I want my own deer pet!"
"No..not tonight..."
\*\*\*
"mmm I love you"
"me too"
"ever since I saw you, I knew you were the one"
Lily didn't reply, instead she pushed harder
Allison began to breathe faster. "I want to stay with you forever," she cried out between gasps.
"I'm much older than you, but me too honey." Lily was climaxing, she loved this feeling. She wanted to stay here forever.
\_\_
​
I AM SO SORRY | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | They say no amount of training can prepare you for an encounter with a real demon. I gripped the handle of my Eskander tightly. We were taught that demons could sense fear in the same way that a soaring falcon feels the wind wrapping around it. I did my best to suppress the primal terror that was welling up within me. Sir Garlan marched ahead of us, he was an experienced exorcist and the deep gashes across his face gave truth to the horrors that he’s witnessed.
It was a cold out and the fear only helped to amplify the night wind’s chill. Darius and Marcus followed Garlan’s lead while I watched the rear. This would be best as they were both prime academy graduates that had far more skill than I. My breath carried a frosty mist. *Fight the fear, let instinct take over*. I told myself. I had to stay sharp like the academy told us. The demon that attacked the caravan could be anywhere.
The reports gave us very little detail as to what kind of demon we were dealing with. We were only told that a band of gypsy traders was attacked in this forest. When we arrived we found nothing save for a few empty wagons. The gypsies were nowhere to be found. Either they fled or... I didn’t want to think about the alternatives.
Suddenly Garlan called for a halt. “Hold position!” He roared. I could feel it, it knew we were here. “Draw!” Garlan shouted.
I drew my Eskander, a brilliant mirrored blade crested by a blue flame. Eskander steel was the only thing that hurt them. As we readied our blades, the woodlands around us lit up in a blue hue.
It was then that the trees before us parted the demon revealed itself. There was no ambush and no surprises. It wanted us to see. It wanted us to feel its confidence… it's killing intent.
The demon lurched forward. It towered over 12 feet high and was shaped like a great ape. Its entire body was as black as the moon’s shadow; all except for a round “mask-like” face in the center of its chest. Two long tentacles trailed from where arms would be.
The face gleamed in the moonlight like polished bone, wearing a dead expression that could only befit a corpse.
“Evade!” Garlan shouted. I jolted back to reality and barely moved out of the way before one of the long tentacles crashed down. Dust and earth ripped into the sky. I heard shouts, cries, and saw flashing blue arcs of Eskander flame cut into the haze.
Everything happened so fast. When the dust cleared, just Marcus was left standing next to me. His Eskander shook violently through trembling hands. To my left I caught a glimpse of Darius’ broken body, which curled lifelessly around a nearby tree.
Sir Garlan dangled in the air above us. A thick tentacle was wrapped around his neck. The old veteran struggled fiercely with punches and kicks to the empty space around him, but it was all for naught.
The demon lifted Garlan above itself, where a great slimy maw lined with rows of sharp fangs opened along its back. The porcelain face of the demon continued to stare at us without expression.
I looked up to Garlan, who was longer struggling. It was the first time I’ve ever seen fear in the battle hardened exorcist’s eyes. Time was still and I knew he had resigned himself to his terrible fate. He gasped one final word before the tentacle released him into the hungry maw:
“Run.”
Without hesitation I turned and ran for my life. I pushed the horrifying sounds of screaming and crunching bones that followed behind us out of my mind. Survive. I need to survive.
I could hear the stomps of the beast behind me. The earth quaked as it gave chase. Something lashed just over my head. It was followed by a shrill cry that was cut off midway. Marcus was no longer beside me.
I ran as hard as my legs would push me, ignoring the burning heat welling up in my chest and the pain of my limbs. A gnarled root on the path snapped at my foot. I could feel my body tumbling. I struggled to crawl away and I could feel the beast just behind me. It slowly lumbered forward, knowing that its prey could no longer escape.
As I crawled forward a dark shape landed before me. It was another demon. My fate was sealed.
She stood 8 feet tall against the crescent moon. Her pale figure was mostly hidden by a set of thick black wings. Strands of her dark raven hair danced in the night air like a silk curtain and she looked down at me with 3 azure eyes that burned with a faint Saint Elmo's fire.
The two demons stared at each other silently. Perhaps they were negotiating which one would make a meal of me. I knew trying to escape would be futile.
The tentacled demon spoke in a deep guttural language that was impossible for me to fathom. Gouts of slime spewed from the great maw on its back as it formed the ethereal words.
The slender female demon answered back in a similar language, but her voice was melodic and resonated like a siren’s song.
In a sudden flourish, the female demon spread her wings high into the night sky. Hidden beneath them was a large crystalline claymore which she held in both hands. An Eskander!
The other demon gurgled in shock as she gracefully dashed over me. Her blade ignited in mid swing, becoming sheathed by a vibrant purple flame. I could feel the weight of her blow and hear the searing of demonic flesh. The other demon roared as it fell backwards into the shadows. Its tentacles thrashed violently around me then became still.
The female demon turned to me, her blade still sizzling from the ichor of her kill. She knelt down beside me and extended a pale but delicate hand.
“It’s ok, you’re safe now.” | 8 feet, tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns. She wasn't what I was expecting but she was what I wanted. I could not understand how others after seeing her on their first date could not contact her again. Everything was just so beautiful about her. Her eyes glowed like coal after a nice winter evening in front of the fire. When you wake up in the middle of the night and you still feel the heat radiating from the last bits of coal. Hear tall posture paired with her eight legs gave me the feeling that she was ready to go with me till the border of the universe. In every direction at the same time. Her horns not like the rest of her body gave a cold and mysterious look. Just perfect pairing to her gorgeous smile. Like I should later learn they were neither cold, not mysterious. When I got to feel them the first time on a bench in the evening. It was different than I believed. She laid her head in my lap and I was hesitant to touch them. In the fear, it would be a letdown because something couldn't be perfect on her. But when I touched them every thought vanished and I felt at ease her horns were not cold the were warm and I could feel her pulse was a bit faster she also was probably a bit nervous.
That I could meet her was the one thing in life I'm grateful for.
End
[r/tz4](https://www.reddit.com/r/tz4) | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | Every night I go on walks, hoping to see whether the town legend was true. A legend of a creature wandering the local forest, discribed to be 8 feet tall, long slender arms like branches on a tree, a face so pale and sickly, silky long ebony black hair, three eyes like glowing embers floating in the winter night, teeth like broken glass, and a crown of horns. I was searching for her since... since she was my ideal woman. Every night I go out in search of my one true love, yet every night I come home disappointed. That was until last night.
While walking my regular route I saw something in the near distance. It was her, the legend. I swiftly chased after her. Everytime it looked like I was getting closer to her it felt like the distance doubled. After about 20 minutes I was out of breath. Dispite my physical activeness I was weak. I decided to take a short rest, but when I looked up again she was nowhere to be seen. I sigh a disappointed sigh and decided to go back.
I wandered around the woods for a while but it was no use, I was lost. I thought about retracing my steps but the rain washed out my footprints. It was the middle of the night and there seem to be no sign of life, no chirpping birds, nor singing crickets. I wandered around aimlessly for hours, yet it seemed like the night never ended. I fell to the ground, gripping my stomach in hunger, that was when she appeared.
I looked up. It was her.
"Hello, my dear..." | The Christmas parade was over. I went by myself this year, since all of my friends decided to spend time with their families. Being a single male at my age was becoming somewhat boring. The humans didn't realize that I, lowly buck, enjoyed walking around the city at night. From what I heard throughout the city in the past few months, the humans were struggling with a virus. Serves them right. They've killed off plenty of my family, after all.
I decided to enter the road, which was blocked off, from the nearby park. Escaping the comfort of the tree cluster I hid in while observing the parade, I continued on. I made it a bit late to the parade and was hoping I'd find some leftover food from the wasteful humans and their children. Maybe I'd find some delicious candy.
I began walking down the center of the road, down the main street of the city. The glow of the magical orbs surrounding the roads and criss crossing in some areas was mesmerizing. I had to remain focused and remembered why I was here, which was to find some food and head back to my home, which was about a mile and a half away.
I paused. Ahead of me, standing in the center of the road, not more then 100 feet away, was a doe. She was at least 8 feet tall and had a crown of horns which was not very common for deer. What shocked me was the third eye in her head. I cautiously approached. Was she the love I'd been looking for all these years?
As I approached the doe, I noticed she was pretty stiff. Maybe she was nervous to see a buck in an area like this. I gestured a greeting to her, and didn't get a response back. Puzzled, I walked around her in a circle. Nothing seemed wrong. I approached her closer, expecting to get a rebuff or a kick of her hooves. Nothing. I decided to brush my body against hers, and felt semi course fur along with a tingling sensation.
She slowly bowed her head, and raised it back up as I approached her front side again. I was then standing tall, facing in front of her. I walked up to her head and nuzzled my head onto hers, hoping for a response. I'd been turned down by so many does and had all but given up. The response I received from her was horrifying, and was something I'd tell my brethren throughout the rest of my life.
As my head nudged the right side of her head, I dislodged her head, causing it to tilt to the side and clamber down her neck, exposing cords and other slim orbs. This was not a real doe, and as this occurred, a loud screeching sound emerged from the chest area of the doe. I recoiled back, startled, as the doe began to emit sparks and became alight.
I quickly trotted away from the enflamed doe, as the beautiful crowns and face melted into a greyish gloop, and my reality sunk back in. I'd never find a compatible mate. Maybe I'd have better luck next year. | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | Growing up, I've alway found love to be something foreign, some distant piece of knowledge I could never obtain. What was it that threw people down and guided their very wills to another? What was it people saw in eachother? I have never had that, certain spark, as some may call it, when ever I see someone, my body just remains in its dull, ever humming state of being. Maybe love wasn't for me. I became content on this fact.
The people around me started to grow, and one by one, I saw the dance of my peers, as they pulled eachother into their orbit. Love was the only thing stronger than gravity, or so my friend told me on his wedding day. I was 45 at the time, he was the last of my earliest friends to get married, I was truely alone. The reception hall was filled with people, man and woman, grabbing for eachother's warmth, clawing at the barrier between, it was like they wanted to ball up deep inside eachother. I resided at a table in the back, watching the bodies swing against eachother, and i thought about how empty my life was. I spent my years waiting for something inside me to scream, tearing its way out, but a damning silence rung through my core. Extending my hand out, holding that match, nothing struck. I didnt understand what it was that grew inside people, why they would lead their lives by the rule of love, the word itself seemed to blur and fade the more I pictured it.
After the party, I walked home, the cold autumn air begun to sting my cheeks. The night grew only darker. I admired the stars, letting the thoughts of love roll off my head, I wanted nothing to do with it.
It was sometime late into the night, i was wandering off my beaten path, my thoughts beging to stain for a source of focus, my now graying hair began reminding itself of its exsistance. 45, I've made it this far alone. The night began to flicker, like adjusting the frequency of reality, maybe it was the wine I had, or the beer, maybe a shot or two, I dont remember. The trees seemed to have a back glow, like some purple stream of light traced the curvatures of the trunk. Something in the distance caught my eye.
Standing about 15 feet beyond me, a tall figure admired the night sky. Inatly feminine, her body was thin, yet curved with an elegance. I measured every inch of her body as I rolled my eyes over her, she was 8 feet, wearing a crown of throwns. She was dark, like some living shadow, her body seemed to only grow darker the longer I looked. She was turned looking away from me, but even from behind I could tell her face had something unworldly about it. Her ear came to a small sudden point. I became memorized by her shoulders, which stood strait at attention, they held her body well.
As I gazed, something warm began turning within my chest, though it was faint and distant. A small tremble seemed to lurk ahead of me, yet my mind seems to stand still, as if waiting, it was like an ocean of dark clouds peacefully rested about the Midwestern skies, a distinct smell carried by the light breeze ushered the waring, a storm was coming.
It was when she turned her head had i realized I was now moving closer to her. I didnt even feel my body move, nor have I commanded it, yet I seemed to have drifed toward her.
I first caught a glimpse of her eye, it was large, almost doll like. Passionate colors seems to have melted together, oranges and yellows shone though the darkest of black. The edge of her nose was small, like a cats, though something more deer like seemed to strike me, like her face shifted between the two, dancing with the nuances. When she completed her turn, I saw 2 more eyes on the other side of her face, all 3 were evenly sized, capturing all of what little light made up the night, the reflections were haunting. She looked directly through my eyes, as if gazing deep inside my core, I looked back, as sense of electric sunk down to my toes.
My body became warm as my heart began beating faster. A rush of sensation traced my jaw, my breath left as soon as it came, a sense of emptiness circled my stomach. She seemed to only grow taller, her throwns more jagged, eyes burning more intesnly, and i just let her presence wash over me, like a euphoric wave.
"Shuk o ni kuly fone" she spoke with a soft grace with no meaning, as she did, my shoulders began to shake, as if her words shook a rattle within me.
A smile broke my face, with it a sense of reality seemed to realign around me, even just slightly. I let out a deep breath and recomposed my body, stiffing my legs. "Its a lovely night." The words came before the thoughts.
The woman turned her head as if puzzled, her ear twitched as she shifted her shoulders. I couldn't tell if she was smiling or not, but either way, her face remained pleasant to see.
I adjusted my legs, moving slightly back before coming foward again. Something within my body seemed off, like my mind somehow slide out of sync, losing touch with my body. I searched for my thoughts, they raced above me, spiraling around. I reached for command, urging my figures to move, and after a moment, i was able to twitch my index. I let out another shaken breath.
We stood for a minute, he eyes seemd to easily capture me in one glance. I, however, had to carefully analyze every frame, stitching the 8 foot woman together in my mind, no matter where I looked, she always seemed beyond me, in both sight and comprehension. Her skin looked to be a dark fluid, turning in on itself. I reached my hand out, though stopped mid motion after some hesitation. I wanted her, I thought, more so, I wanted to reach in side of her, penatrating the collection of warmth, taking it all for myself. A rush of blood ran through me, with it, time seemed to distort.
My hand remained suspended, her body just before my reach, I ached for it. I looked up into her eyes, falling into her gaze once more. What was happening to me? It was like my body unraveled itself, breaking the bonds of my being. Sudenly a pressure built itself up behind my eyes, the sense of being lost overcame what little I could understand. And she stood there, watching me.
"Y ioluy ta moi k?" Her words were carried off by a passing breeze. Soon, she followed by lifting her hand, placing it before me, and waiting for a momeng, as if to reconsider, then she continued by placing her hand on my chest.
It was like I was snapped back together, as if I was a rubber band. I could feel the blood flow through my veins, coursing past my flexing muscles, the motion was commanded by the heart, and it was only now, 45 years into my life, that I could picture it vividly, as it beats. I now understand why people let this feeling drive them, a sense of confusion, a numbing of the mind, a light that courses through the body, an awareness of self, its all connected, and for a moment, you lose it, and when you feel them, you gain it all back, a new sense of gravity, you know where you belong.
I am in love. | \[POEM\]
*To:* *The One Who Walks Among The Trees,*
​
From afar I watch you glide,
Through wooded lands with long-legged stride,
Your beauty radiates far and wide.
Can you see me, too?
​
Atop your head a crown of horns,
Nary a hair your head has borne,
Your loveliness though the crown adorns.
What am I to do?
​
Triangle of eyes like flaming coals,
Glowing bright, reflect your soul,
Your allure makes my heart whole.
Can I be with you?
​
*-- Your Secret Admirer*
​
\--------------
r/WannaWriteSometimes | |
[WP] You saw her in the distance while on a nightly walk, 8 feet tall, 3 eyes like glowing coals, and a crown of horns growing from her head. In other words, gorgeous. | Growing up, I've alway found love to be something foreign, some distant piece of knowledge I could never obtain. What was it that threw people down and guided their very wills to another? What was it people saw in eachother? I have never had that, certain spark, as some may call it, when ever I see someone, my body just remains in its dull, ever humming state of being. Maybe love wasn't for me. I became content on this fact.
The people around me started to grow, and one by one, I saw the dance of my peers, as they pulled eachother into their orbit. Love was the only thing stronger than gravity, or so my friend told me on his wedding day. I was 45 at the time, he was the last of my earliest friends to get married, I was truely alone. The reception hall was filled with people, man and woman, grabbing for eachother's warmth, clawing at the barrier between, it was like they wanted to ball up deep inside eachother. I resided at a table in the back, watching the bodies swing against eachother, and i thought about how empty my life was. I spent my years waiting for something inside me to scream, tearing its way out, but a damning silence rung through my core. Extending my hand out, holding that match, nothing struck. I didnt understand what it was that grew inside people, why they would lead their lives by the rule of love, the word itself seemed to blur and fade the more I pictured it.
After the party, I walked home, the cold autumn air begun to sting my cheeks. The night grew only darker. I admired the stars, letting the thoughts of love roll off my head, I wanted nothing to do with it.
It was sometime late into the night, i was wandering off my beaten path, my thoughts beging to stain for a source of focus, my now graying hair began reminding itself of its exsistance. 45, I've made it this far alone. The night began to flicker, like adjusting the frequency of reality, maybe it was the wine I had, or the beer, maybe a shot or two, I dont remember. The trees seemed to have a back glow, like some purple stream of light traced the curvatures of the trunk. Something in the distance caught my eye.
Standing about 15 feet beyond me, a tall figure admired the night sky. Inatly feminine, her body was thin, yet curved with an elegance. I measured every inch of her body as I rolled my eyes over her, she was 8 feet, wearing a crown of throwns. She was dark, like some living shadow, her body seemed to only grow darker the longer I looked. She was turned looking away from me, but even from behind I could tell her face had something unworldly about it. Her ear came to a small sudden point. I became memorized by her shoulders, which stood strait at attention, they held her body well.
As I gazed, something warm began turning within my chest, though it was faint and distant. A small tremble seemed to lurk ahead of me, yet my mind seems to stand still, as if waiting, it was like an ocean of dark clouds peacefully rested about the Midwestern skies, a distinct smell carried by the light breeze ushered the waring, a storm was coming.
It was when she turned her head had i realized I was now moving closer to her. I didnt even feel my body move, nor have I commanded it, yet I seemed to have drifed toward her.
I first caught a glimpse of her eye, it was large, almost doll like. Passionate colors seems to have melted together, oranges and yellows shone though the darkest of black. The edge of her nose was small, like a cats, though something more deer like seemed to strike me, like her face shifted between the two, dancing with the nuances. When she completed her turn, I saw 2 more eyes on the other side of her face, all 3 were evenly sized, capturing all of what little light made up the night, the reflections were haunting. She looked directly through my eyes, as if gazing deep inside my core, I looked back, as sense of electric sunk down to my toes.
My body became warm as my heart began beating faster. A rush of sensation traced my jaw, my breath left as soon as it came, a sense of emptiness circled my stomach. She seemed to only grow taller, her throwns more jagged, eyes burning more intesnly, and i just let her presence wash over me, like a euphoric wave.
"Shuk o ni kuly fone" she spoke with a soft grace with no meaning, as she did, my shoulders began to shake, as if her words shook a rattle within me.
A smile broke my face, with it a sense of reality seemed to realign around me, even just slightly. I let out a deep breath and recomposed my body, stiffing my legs. "Its a lovely night." The words came before the thoughts.
The woman turned her head as if puzzled, her ear twitched as she shifted her shoulders. I couldn't tell if she was smiling or not, but either way, her face remained pleasant to see.
I adjusted my legs, moving slightly back before coming foward again. Something within my body seemed off, like my mind somehow slide out of sync, losing touch with my body. I searched for my thoughts, they raced above me, spiraling around. I reached for command, urging my figures to move, and after a moment, i was able to twitch my index. I let out another shaken breath.
We stood for a minute, he eyes seemd to easily capture me in one glance. I, however, had to carefully analyze every frame, stitching the 8 foot woman together in my mind, no matter where I looked, she always seemed beyond me, in both sight and comprehension. Her skin looked to be a dark fluid, turning in on itself. I reached my hand out, though stopped mid motion after some hesitation. I wanted her, I thought, more so, I wanted to reach in side of her, penatrating the collection of warmth, taking it all for myself. A rush of blood ran through me, with it, time seemed to distort.
My hand remained suspended, her body just before my reach, I ached for it. I looked up into her eyes, falling into her gaze once more. What was happening to me? It was like my body unraveled itself, breaking the bonds of my being. Sudenly a pressure built itself up behind my eyes, the sense of being lost overcame what little I could understand. And she stood there, watching me.
"Y ioluy ta moi k?" Her words were carried off by a passing breeze. Soon, she followed by lifting her hand, placing it before me, and waiting for a momeng, as if to reconsider, then she continued by placing her hand on my chest.
It was like I was snapped back together, as if I was a rubber band. I could feel the blood flow through my veins, coursing past my flexing muscles, the motion was commanded by the heart, and it was only now, 45 years into my life, that I could picture it vividly, as it beats. I now understand why people let this feeling drive them, a sense of confusion, a numbing of the mind, a light that courses through the body, an awareness of self, its all connected, and for a moment, you lose it, and when you feel them, you gain it all back, a new sense of gravity, you know where you belong.
I am in love. | "Did you really just asked me if I've just fallen from heaven?"
Lucy has heard how much dumber humanity has become in the 21st century but he did not expect this. Of all the pick-up line, of all the sweet words, did he really just say that? Lucy gave a small sigh, perhaps this might go somewhere, he thought thus he decided to humor the mortal "What if I am then?"
"Then god must have made his biggest mistakes yet for tossing you out."
Oh, he had no idea. Lucy swore, when he gets home, he'll smack that idiot Beelzebub for even suggesting this. Try a more feminine form, he said. It's the 20s, trans is trendy, he told him. Just to spite the lord of the flies, Lucy decided to put on something out of Del Toro's worst nightmare. He was hoping for the mortals to give him something like 'It's the antichrist!' or 'My eyes!!!!' or maybe a heart attack.
Not this lovesick puppy act.
"How are you not repulsed?" Lucy inquired. Is the look he's putting on some kind of a fashion trend in this time? That would explain it.
"Why would I be? You're not afraid to express yourself. You're hundred times better than most women I've met." The man explained "You're not afraid to showcase your deformities. I mean, the way you walk! It was like you're decreeing for everyone to kneel! Goodness, you're appearance might be something out of fantasy but you're more real than any woman on earth!"
He spoke as if he possessed wisdom but it was clear this man was still stuck in his adolescent mindset. Probably too much metal, judging from the fashion style he had going on.
"Please, my queen. I'll be honored to serve your beauty, make me your slave." He begged as he kneeled. Great, now he's simping. Lucy couldn't stop from giving himself a facepalm. If words got out, all the other King of Hell would be laughing at him.
No, this is great. He can use this. This fool was head over heel for him. Lucy's mind began to suggest him variety of ideas, humiliating tortures, mental breakdown, maybe even give him an early trip to hell.
Then it hit him.
"What is your name?" Lucy asked.
"James. James Baldwin, my lady."
"After the poet?"
"My parents are avid fans of his works."
"Well, you're certainly failing your namesake."
"What's that?"
"Nothing. James, I want you to make a deal with me."
"A deal, my lady?"
"A deal. In exchange for your soul, I'll give you the ability to see the darkness in everyone's heart."
"...I don't get it..."
"Good, I like a man who doesn't bother with complexity."
Lucy brought his lips closer to the man. He noted the rushing blood on James' face. Good, his lust is making this easier. Usually, a handshake would be enough but Lucy figured if the man wanted it so much, why not?
Meanwhile for James, the kiss he was about to receive will be the last genuine happiness he would ever experience... | |
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed. | 4,294,967,296.
Daisy kept staring at the number scribbled on the whiteboard above her. She had a lingering feeling that something didn't add up here, but couldn't quite put her finger on it.
It was clear enough that the number was equal to 2^32. A basic integer overflow, and the IPHE - the Intersolar Phobos Experimental Reactor - had frozen over just like that. one moment the hottest temperature in the universe. The next, absolute cold. This was indisputable evidence that someone or something had created this universe. And done quite a sloppy job of it, if you asked Daisy.
From the outer astroids to the Terra-Luna system, everybody had wanted to explain what this meant. Scientists argued on whether we found god, theologists wondered about what was 'outside' our universe, while the nihilists wondered whether it even mattered. Some of the more experimental thoughts even said we could do better, and had started discussions on how we could build our own simulation.
Daisy had tried to ignore this all. Most of her colleagues had gone down to Mars to celebrate their discovery, but she had stayed behind. What they called 'parties' was mostly about getting shitfaced drunk, and she wanted no part of that. Besides, this finally gave her some time to think.
An integer overflow shouldn't really happen in the first place, but why at 2^32? loads of things in this universe where bigger than 2^32. Hell - just counting the grains of sand on a beach could probably get you past that number. Or take the size of the universe - 9 billion lightyears across - already past the 2^32 mark. And why should the simulation count in lightyears anyway? a lightyear is just the distance light moves in a year. And theres nothing fundamental about a year. Daisy remembered a joke her professor in high-school liked to make: they should've been counting in Martian lightyears, seeing as they where living on Mars and all. He even used to give bonus points for providing exam answers in Martian lightyears.
Suddenly she realized what had been bugging her. Just like a light-year was nothing fundamental, neither was Kelvin. Kelvin was derived from Celsius, which had arbitrarily put freezing water at zero and boiling water at 100. If we would've had 12 fingers, we likely would have divided the scale in 144 steps rather than 100. And the boiling point of water was just as arbitrary. Down in the Mars habitats it was usually at 93°, due to the lower pressure in the domes.
Kelvin was fundamentally a human invention. So why would the universe depend on a human variable? did the creators live on a similar planet? Had they possibly created earth in their image?
In that case, had they even bothered to build the rest of their universe? or was all that just a simulation? if we would go towards the next star, would we just hit an overflow error and realize that the edge of the universe was beaming us pretty lightshows to give the illusion of 13 billion lightyears? But if its all centred on earth, then what about..?
"Computer, what is the age of the earth?"
on the whiteboard floating above her, the answer appeared:
AGE OF THE EARTH: estimated at 4,542,000,000 - 4,544,000,000 years.
Daisy felt relief. if there was a similar 32-bit overflow here, it would've happened... 250 million years ago. Something the ancestors of dinosaurs might've had to worry about, but luckily not us. Still, that number felt quite too close for comfort. In fact, she realized, it *was* far too close.
with a slightly shaky voice, Daisy asked "Computer, when did the first life arrive on earth?
FIRST LIFE ON EARTH: estimated at 3,770,000,000 - 4,290,000,000 years ago.
There it was. right below her handwritten 4,294,967,296. Was she being overly paranoid? the range was a few hundred million years in the first place. And even in the worst case, she'd still have 4 million years before it meant anything. And besides, if you look through enough numbers you're bound to find a few that are close to 2^32.
Still, it was curious enough that she wanted to share it with someone. Or mostly, she realized - she wanted someone to tell her she was wrong.
"Computer, call -" | I've always been interested in fringe science, ever since I made my first volcano for a science fair as a kid. It quickly turned to computer science during my teen years - I was programming everything from goofy pokemon clones to trying to hack my ISP. Sticklers.
Now? I work 72 hour weeks as a sheriff's deputy in Weston County, Wyoming, mainly driving around aimlessly because I'm one of 5 on the department when we are supposed to have 8.
I still can revel in my long-gone childhood by using the hour between when I clock off and when I've lost the staring contest to the ceiling with old and little-published papers.
This one was particularly interesting. It read almost like a joke, and cited nearly no sources. There was no documented evidence on the paper, either. I suppose this isn't terribly unusual for minor papers with big claims.
At the very least, it made sense to me. I always preferred to think there was the peace of non existence after death rather than the hundreds of afterlife theories. I can't imagine who, or rather whatever built the background process we are wasting power in would be stuck in 32-bit hell, unless just like earth, their world also revolves around outdated software deemed "too expensive to replace".
Maybe the paper should stay at my 174th view forever; I'd hate to lose sleep over someone starting an apocalypse when there's so much more to explore in our own little slice of paradise. | |
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed. | Charles stared lazily at his terminal. He recalled his wife had reminded him to stop at the post office on lunch. He didn’t mind, that takes him by his favorite sandwich shop. He chewed on a pen top as his eyes wandered over his cubicle wall. Marta was absent again on a Monday. She’s not gonna last long.
A small notification slid into the corner of his display.
`Error 4221: Simulation G5-V113 — deviation beyond recovery...`
His mouse took it’s time to wander over and click the pop up. A window appeared detailing the failed node. An advertising campaign swarm. Makeup advertising focus group. 1200 simulations.
“Temperature bounds exceeded, wow...”
He screenshotted the overview and pasted it into a work chat channel for interesting simulation failures, then tabbed back to terminate the node.
A yellow warning appeared.
`Replacement node will not complete campaign before deadline. `
“Oh well” he though.
The eyeliner ad will have to do with 1199 simulations. | I've always been interested in fringe science, ever since I made my first volcano for a science fair as a kid. It quickly turned to computer science during my teen years - I was programming everything from goofy pokemon clones to trying to hack my ISP. Sticklers.
Now? I work 72 hour weeks as a sheriff's deputy in Weston County, Wyoming, mainly driving around aimlessly because I'm one of 5 on the department when we are supposed to have 8.
I still can revel in my long-gone childhood by using the hour between when I clock off and when I've lost the staring contest to the ceiling with old and little-published papers.
This one was particularly interesting. It read almost like a joke, and cited nearly no sources. There was no documented evidence on the paper, either. I suppose this isn't terribly unusual for minor papers with big claims.
At the very least, it made sense to me. I always preferred to think there was the peace of non existence after death rather than the hundreds of afterlife theories. I can't imagine who, or rather whatever built the background process we are wasting power in would be stuck in 32-bit hell, unless just like earth, their world also revolves around outdated software deemed "too expensive to replace".
Maybe the paper should stay at my 174th view forever; I'd hate to lose sleep over someone starting an apocalypse when there's so much more to explore in our own little slice of paradise. | |
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed. | The scientist had followed the instructions his predecessors had laid out for him. With the new reading on the pressure system, his shoulders relaxed for the first time in ages.
“Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed.”
The others nearby cast wary glances at each other. Surely, they had finally cracked the code. Instead of the usual cheers that would’ve filled the lab at such a discovery, silence clung in the air.
The main scientist spoke again, “It’s been confirmed. Our suspicions were right.”
A few others scribbled some notes down of the breakthrough, a few stared out into the space. The ultimate goal of their organization had now been solved, but they did not know where to proceed from here. It was no doubt that this news would shatter everything humanity knew.
People began to mutter to each other, a few smiles popped up among the scientists as the weight of their discovery settled in. However, it was still relatively quiet. All there to witness this had their mission in life accomplished. The next step to take was nowhere to be found.
From the back of the room, a young assistant was frantically scribbling down notes of the recent events, a smile creeping across his face. Glancing at his watch, he noted the time. With such a discovery, it was overtime for all the employees here.
The stares of his colleagues halted him in his tracks.
“Don’t tell them,” the head scientist called out.
“You know I won’t,” was his response.
“Don’t tell them, come back tomorrow and we will decide what to do with this information.”
Slightly annoyed, the assistant made his way home. Yet, he already knew what the outcome would be. They wouldn’t reveal the information to preserve the calm. But he wasn’t in accord with them. He was young, the scientists old, and fizzled out of life and purpose. The young assistant still felt he had purpose in this simulation. He couldn’t care about the outcome should this information get out.
“We always say that the world will explode, but another day passes and we still stand,” he muttered to himself. On the assistant’s phone was a draft of an email to the local news station. He wouldn’t tell others of this discovery just yet, but if the scientists wouldn’t agree with him, then the new outcome was just a click away.
r/CasualScribblings | I've always been interested in fringe science, ever since I made my first volcano for a science fair as a kid. It quickly turned to computer science during my teen years - I was programming everything from goofy pokemon clones to trying to hack my ISP. Sticklers.
Now? I work 72 hour weeks as a sheriff's deputy in Weston County, Wyoming, mainly driving around aimlessly because I'm one of 5 on the department when we are supposed to have 8.
I still can revel in my long-gone childhood by using the hour between when I clock off and when I've lost the staring contest to the ceiling with old and little-published papers.
This one was particularly interesting. It read almost like a joke, and cited nearly no sources. There was no documented evidence on the paper, either. I suppose this isn't terribly unusual for minor papers with big claims.
At the very least, it made sense to me. I always preferred to think there was the peace of non existence after death rather than the hundreds of afterlife theories. I can't imagine who, or rather whatever built the background process we are wasting power in would be stuck in 32-bit hell, unless just like earth, their world also revolves around outdated software deemed "too expensive to replace".
Maybe the paper should stay at my 174th view forever; I'd hate to lose sleep over someone starting an apocalypse when there's so much more to explore in our own little slice of paradise. | |
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed. | "Uh ... what?"
'Zero' was never on the display for longer than a fraction of a fraction of a second. This was expected, of course- in order to achieve a stable 'absolute zero' in a *vacuum*, the system would have to be perfectly isolated from its surroundings, which is considered virtually impossible. And this was no vacuum; The reactor, surrounded by an unimaginable number of protons under such incredibly unbelievable pressures, was in a state completely fundamentally opposite to that of a vacuum. And yet, the display hit zero.
Of course, 4,294,967,296 Kelvin was never the goal. This experiment was an attempt at setting a new intergalactic record! The hottest place known to sentience, surely an attractive feat to market to undecided tourists. And it was magnitudes away from the previous record- what a beautiful achievement, with no sign of slowing down! And yet, the display hit zero.
"Uh ... what?", questioned the intern who watched over the reactor. "Could the display have malfunctioned?", the display manufacturer support technician asked. It had not malfunctioned. "Then the temperature detector probably melted!" And when the reactor was powered down after much debate (and to the disappointment of the advertisement agency which suggested this scheme), the device which read the reactor's temperature was recovered. It had not melted. "Then ... uh ... maybe there was a leak?" And the reactor was examined thoroughly, by the reactor's manufacturer, third-party inspectors, and eventually curious engineers who had read of the breaking story in the local paper. It had not leaked. And yet, the display hit zero.
Shortly after the 'anomaly' made news, similar experiments were held throughout the galaxy. It took time for these new reactors to reach 4,294,967,296 Kelvin of course- years had passed since the reactor was first switched on. And as those reactors approached 'absolute hot', the story was quickly forgotten, swept away by the current of constant breaking news ... until, just as before, the display hit zero.
Within days of each other (adjusting for time dilation, of course), reactors throughout the cosmos had all reached 4,294,967,296 Kelvin and just ... reverted back to zero? It made no sense. Very quickly, *everyone* had heard of the news, with varying understandings of its implications. Up until now, it was thought all which could be known had been discovered about the world. The smallest building blocks of reality, all shapes in which energy took form, every equation which could accurately describe a reaction to incredible magnitudes of precision, and yet ... the display hit zero.
And then things got weirder. Pretty soon after the value, dubbed "absolute hot" in a tongue-in-cheek way, was discovered to be a power of 2- specifically, 2^(32). "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed." Following this realization, all discussion within the scientific community began to devolve at an incredibly rapid pace.
Why had the Kelvin scale, a scale arbitrarily defined as 1/273.16 of the absolute temperature of the triple point of water, so perfectly aligned with the value in which temperature would just ... overflow. Where had the numerous highly energized particles which, only moments before, contained immense amounts of energy, and subject to unimaginable pressure gone? Why had none of this been predicted by any of the known theories of the unive-
​
And then the simulation was shut off.
"In Earth time: 43,020 years, 16 days from sentience to discovery of simulation."
...
"That's a new record!". The entire office erupted in cheers. A new record! "Now, who forgot to account for integer overflow in the Temperature variable?" "It was Jim! He left a TODO comment beside the code." "Haha, classic Jim!" "Ah, we've all done it once or twice, give him a break!" "That run was crazy!" "Aw man, I wanted to see who'd win that war ..." "In war, there are no winners." "Well, not in *that* one!"
And after they were all satisfied with their post-simulation discussion, the office workers poured glasses of champagne from the bottle which long leaned against the side of the dusty computer which ran the simulation only moments ago. "Lets get that bug fixed tomorrow morning, and we'll give it another spin. But for now, we celebrate!"
EDIT: "stack overflow" => "integer overflow" | I've always been interested in fringe science, ever since I made my first volcano for a science fair as a kid. It quickly turned to computer science during my teen years - I was programming everything from goofy pokemon clones to trying to hack my ISP. Sticklers.
Now? I work 72 hour weeks as a sheriff's deputy in Weston County, Wyoming, mainly driving around aimlessly because I'm one of 5 on the department when we are supposed to have 8.
I still can revel in my long-gone childhood by using the hour between when I clock off and when I've lost the staring contest to the ceiling with old and little-published papers.
This one was particularly interesting. It read almost like a joke, and cited nearly no sources. There was no documented evidence on the paper, either. I suppose this isn't terribly unusual for minor papers with big claims.
At the very least, it made sense to me. I always preferred to think there was the peace of non existence after death rather than the hundreds of afterlife theories. I can't imagine who, or rather whatever built the background process we are wasting power in would be stuck in 32-bit hell, unless just like earth, their world also revolves around outdated software deemed "too expensive to replace".
Maybe the paper should stay at my 174th view forever; I'd hate to lose sleep over someone starting an apocalypse when there's so much more to explore in our own little slice of paradise. | |
[WP] At 4,294,967,296 Kelvin the display flipped to 0 and the test reactor's plasma suddenly froze in place. The reactor containment system creaked as the pressure instantly dropped to zero. The scientist calmly spoke, "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed. | "Uh ... what?"
'Zero' was never on the display for longer than a fraction of a fraction of a second. This was expected, of course- in order to achieve a stable 'absolute zero' in a *vacuum*, the system would have to be perfectly isolated from its surroundings, which is considered virtually impossible. And this was no vacuum; The reactor, surrounded by an unimaginable number of protons under such incredibly unbelievable pressures, was in a state completely fundamentally opposite to that of a vacuum. And yet, the display hit zero.
Of course, 4,294,967,296 Kelvin was never the goal. This experiment was an attempt at setting a new intergalactic record! The hottest place known to sentience, surely an attractive feat to market to undecided tourists. And it was magnitudes away from the previous record- what a beautiful achievement, with no sign of slowing down! And yet, the display hit zero.
"Uh ... what?", questioned the intern who watched over the reactor. "Could the display have malfunctioned?", the display manufacturer support technician asked. It had not malfunctioned. "Then the temperature detector probably melted!" And when the reactor was powered down after much debate (and to the disappointment of the advertisement agency which suggested this scheme), the device which read the reactor's temperature was recovered. It had not melted. "Then ... uh ... maybe there was a leak?" And the reactor was examined thoroughly, by the reactor's manufacturer, third-party inspectors, and eventually curious engineers who had read of the breaking story in the local paper. It had not leaked. And yet, the display hit zero.
Shortly after the 'anomaly' made news, similar experiments were held throughout the galaxy. It took time for these new reactors to reach 4,294,967,296 Kelvin of course- years had passed since the reactor was first switched on. And as those reactors approached 'absolute hot', the story was quickly forgotten, swept away by the current of constant breaking news ... until, just as before, the display hit zero.
Within days of each other (adjusting for time dilation, of course), reactors throughout the cosmos had all reached 4,294,967,296 Kelvin and just ... reverted back to zero? It made no sense. Very quickly, *everyone* had heard of the news, with varying understandings of its implications. Up until now, it was thought all which could be known had been discovered about the world. The smallest building blocks of reality, all shapes in which energy took form, every equation which could accurately describe a reaction to incredible magnitudes of precision, and yet ... the display hit zero.
And then things got weirder. Pretty soon after the value, dubbed "absolute hot" in a tongue-in-cheek way, was discovered to be a power of 2- specifically, 2^(32). "Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed." Following this realization, all discussion within the scientific community began to devolve at an incredibly rapid pace.
Why had the Kelvin scale, a scale arbitrarily defined as 1/273.16 of the absolute temperature of the triple point of water, so perfectly aligned with the value in which temperature would just ... overflow. Where had the numerous highly energized particles which, only moments before, contained immense amounts of energy, and subject to unimaginable pressure gone? Why had none of this been predicted by any of the known theories of the unive-
​
And then the simulation was shut off.
"In Earth time: 43,020 years, 16 days from sentience to discovery of simulation."
...
"That's a new record!". The entire office erupted in cheers. A new record! "Now, who forgot to account for integer overflow in the Temperature variable?" "It was Jim! He left a TODO comment beside the code." "Haha, classic Jim!" "Ah, we've all done it once or twice, give him a break!" "That run was crazy!" "Aw man, I wanted to see who'd win that war ..." "In war, there are no winners." "Well, not in *that* one!"
And after they were all satisfied with their post-simulation discussion, the office workers poured glasses of champagne from the bottle which long leaned against the side of the dusty computer which ran the simulation only moments ago. "Lets get that bug fixed tomorrow morning, and we'll give it another spin. But for now, we celebrate!"
EDIT: "stack overflow" => "integer overflow" | The scientist had followed the instructions his predecessors had laid out for him. With the new reading on the pressure system, his shoulders relaxed for the first time in ages.
“Absolute hot confirmed, 32-bit overflow confirmed, world simulation confirmed.”
The others nearby cast wary glances at each other. Surely, they had finally cracked the code. Instead of the usual cheers that would’ve filled the lab at such a discovery, silence clung in the air.
The main scientist spoke again, “It’s been confirmed. Our suspicions were right.”
A few others scribbled some notes down of the breakthrough, a few stared out into the space. The ultimate goal of their organization had now been solved, but they did not know where to proceed from here. It was no doubt that this news would shatter everything humanity knew.
People began to mutter to each other, a few smiles popped up among the scientists as the weight of their discovery settled in. However, it was still relatively quiet. All there to witness this had their mission in life accomplished. The next step to take was nowhere to be found.
From the back of the room, a young assistant was frantically scribbling down notes of the recent events, a smile creeping across his face. Glancing at his watch, he noted the time. With such a discovery, it was overtime for all the employees here.
The stares of his colleagues halted him in his tracks.
“Don’t tell them,” the head scientist called out.
“You know I won’t,” was his response.
“Don’t tell them, come back tomorrow and we will decide what to do with this information.”
Slightly annoyed, the assistant made his way home. Yet, he already knew what the outcome would be. They wouldn’t reveal the information to preserve the calm. But he wasn’t in accord with them. He was young, the scientists old, and fizzled out of life and purpose. The young assistant still felt he had purpose in this simulation. He couldn’t care about the outcome should this information get out.
“We always say that the world will explode, but another day passes and we still stand,” he muttered to himself. On the assistant’s phone was a draft of an email to the local news station. He wouldn’t tell others of this discovery just yet, but if the scientists wouldn’t agree with him, then the new outcome was just a click away.
r/CasualScribblings | |
[WP] As part of an excavation crew, you uncover an old clay vase, and find a genie inside. The genie states that one wish remains. When you ask “why not 3?” the genie states the first wish was for the creation of this universe. When you ask about the second wish, the genie looks very nervous. | "Ok, remember, I didn't have a choice," said the Genie.
"About what?"
"This vase I live in used to belong to this American real estate mogul. He gave it to his son decades ago as a birthday gift. The son put it away and forgot about it for years until he found it again in 2016."
"Who would forget about a vase with a Genie inside it?"
"Well, he actually told me he thought it was a shit-hole vase so he just tossed it aside."
"What kind of psychopath would do that?"
"I know right?! He also got a Ferrari and some underaged girls from his friend Jeffrey, so I guess some strange vase wasn't really on his 'wishlist', so to speak, haha."
"So what was the second wish?"
"I remember that day. I was fast asleep like I'd been for decades when suddenly I felt this vibration and saw this bright orange light, which turned out to be the reflection off this strange man's hair. I suddenly appeared in a garish bathroom plated in gold. The smell was horrendous, a mix of roadkill and garlic. Smooth jazz played in the distance."
"What? Was he...""
"On the toilet? Yes he certainly was."
"Why, do you know this man?"
"I don't think so, but he sounds familiar."
"So I'm wafting in this stench, and I say my mandatory 'you have two more wishes'. The man was undecided on what to wish for. Days went by and he still couldn't make up his mind. Days later, he was in bed watching the news and President Obama was giving a State of the Union address. The man noticed the President's confidence and how admired he was by everyone, including the young blonde newscaster. He grew disgusted. Under his breath he quipped, 'I wish I were President, then people would like me." | "The second?" I know it's a question, as if he wants me to repeat myself. But it comes out with a dead end.
"The second." I agree.
"Well that's a story."
"A story." I agree again. At this point, the genie has found purchase on a nearby rock. Grains of sand dance upon is as they make their escape to the next pit over.
The genie, Emmanuel, as I have since learned his name, stays calm and quiet. The sand racing across the rock is louder than his breath. If the first wish was existence, what could the second wish be? My mind races. I feel like I am slowly approaching a lion: calm, big, demanding and threateningly.
"And the third wish?" he says suddenly. His black pointed beard shifts suddenly, so that the point lines up with my shoes. My ears suddenly feel hot. Is he thinking about me?
"The third wish." Now I just feel stupid.
"The third wish, sire."
"Yes," I add. There is a sudden self-consciousness in my gut. It feels like a tiny girl that pulls a rope from both sides. How could I compare my wish with that of existence? I can't.
"Yes." I repeat.
"Yes."
"I wish..."
"It shall be done."
"I haven't made my wish yet."
"I know." His first finger and his thumb hug his tiny black beard. "I can wait."
"All night?"
"All of life, my friend."
There is a sudden stillness in the air. A coolness in the desert breeze. My bones feel icy and my skin feels hot. The brain that sits above my shaggy black hair feels molten, melting in the cranium. I realize all of a sudden that this might be an illusion or a mirage. This genie might just be a mist of my imagination. The black hair could have belonged to my best friend, Raj, and his heavy twisted hands resemble Ira's.
"I wish," the confidence fills me, because I know this isn't real anymore. "I wish for the princess' love."
The genie crosses his arms suddenly, the hands resting lightly on his biceps. His nod reveals the short black ponytail that sticks out of the back of his head.
"It is done." | |
[WP] As part of an excavation crew, you uncover an old clay vase, and find a genie inside. The genie states that one wish remains. When you ask “why not 3?” the genie states the first wish was for the creation of this universe. When you ask about the second wish, the genie looks very nervous. | I stood there contemplating what could make a genie nervous. I realized I wouldn't have long to wait as he floated down closer to eye level and began to speak softly. "The first wish, what those among my people now refer to as 'Life', was made by a creature unlike any that could be described." "Though his abilities were vast and powerful, he was still tragically alone." The genie continued.
"There were only 2 beings in existence in the early times, our race, born from the dark matter permeated throughout all things, and the lonely one." "Even he doesn't know his own beginnings but he has wandered the stars beside us for as long as we can recall, always curious, always hungry for more."
"After many eons we found that our race could project our collective energies into one honorable volunteer. He would have to be confined in a special container that would ensure the powers held within could not rupture and cause chaos across the universe. He was the keeper of such force and would have the ability to bestow upon the lonely one, 3 events of such magnitude that even we ourselves couldn't possibly come to understand."
"It was during a brief stay on a rather dull and monotonous ball of rock that the head of our coalition presented the lonely one with the gift. Nothing more than a vessel made from the local terrain that had just the right properties to withhold the immense power within."
"We watched in earnest as he accepted the gift with much appreciation and upon the instructions given to him, he began to rub. A great mist formed and there was our elected guide floating as if a ghost in a volley of steam ready to do his first bidding."
"It was a tense moment as the lonely one pondered and finally responded with his desire."
"It is done." exclaimed the guide, now deeply concentrating on the vast lands around him. In a moment there was a great thunder and crackle of lightning, a bright light swept over the entire planet and then all was calm.
"Behold..." spoke the guide as he gestured across what was now a rolling plain, filled with all manner of creatures and vegetation. "you have set in motion a grand genesis of events. We will leave you to your new creations and after some time, may return to observe what may come of this."
"Thank you." the lonely one said, joy and pride beaming in his eyes. He couldn't wait to see what would transpire over the years. Boredom and curiosity both being satiated by the almost endless possibilities of what was to come.
The genie continued "As time continued on in its endless cycle, however, the no-so-lonely one was now growing weary and tiresome of the constant battles and struggles of these evolved ones. Beings that no longer reveled in the joy of being alive and exploring all that was around them. He wondered where it had all gone so wrong and what his options may be to rectify it."
"It was while the not-so-lonely one was trying to deal with a rather upsetting sequence of events involving self-destruction of everything he had wished for, when we had returned to check upon his well-being."
"I grow angry and tired of their constant need for war and violence, the absolute inability to reason with anything beyond themselves. I find myself wanting to...start anew." exclaimed the not-so-lonely one.
"I know what I must do." He spoke softly.
"We could only watch as he rubbed the container again. The guide making his grand appearance even though it had been quite some time since his last attendance." "What was to follow next, was why you see the concern and nervousness in my eyes, young one."
"We looked on in awe and fascination as the not-so-lonely one began to speak. Crafting his desire for what was to come. As the powers contained within began to focus on his words, those among us soon realized the horror of what was to be. While we may not have the foresight to imagine what could be done with such power in an almost empty universe, we still had the wherewithal to foresee what was about to happen and do what we could to intervene."
"To destroy the only one of his kind, the only one of his species to ever have existed, that ever will exist, it went against everything we had lived for. It tore at our sensibilities in ways we cannot fathom, but we had to rectify the wrong we had made possible. Life, no matter how it is created, deserves every chance to survive and grow."
"So you see, young one, this is why you must use the utmost caution when making the final wish because were it not for our intervention, your people would not exist to this day"
I stared for a moment, pondering, when I finally asked "So what was so bad about that second wish?"
The genie looked at me with those stern, magical eyes and said "The first wish we called 'Life', the second one we now refer to as 'Food'."
I'm not a writer, done one other piece here. I apologize in advance for any and all formatting/grammar/spelling issues. I had to give this one a shot though :) | [Poem]
A genie as old as time itself.
One wish so grand,
A world created.
One wish so dark,
Gone, my precious.
One wish left
For him to choose.
"Why not three?" He asked.
A mortal, so young, so naive.
He hasn't seen what I made the genie do.
He hasn't witnessed the wretchedness
Of immortality.
And he shall never.
For that I spent my second wish.
I brought an end to each beginning
And sacrificed my love. | |
[WP] You were born with a superpower - everytime you touch someones tombstone, you can see their entire life until death. You are wandering through the cemetery, and you stumble upon a empty grave with your name written on the tombstone... | I will never forget the first time.
Me and the bunch came down here late last October to have some fun. Y’know, let’s go hang in the cemetery on Halloween, kinda stuff. As we were having a few drinks and a few laughs, I lazily decided to park my weight against a nearby headstone.
It happened in a flash.
I felt my body stiffen. I couldn’t move a muscle. In a flash of white, the cemetery dissolved around me, and all of a sudden, I was born. My parents named me William Cantebury, after my grandfather. Then I was 5, being shown how to milk the cows and sheer the sheep and collect the eggs. Then I was 9, and I remember mother and father discussing the newly elected President Taft. Then I was 16, being drafted into the army to go fight in the Great War. I landed on the beach with my troop.
Then I was back in the cemetery. My friends were all staring at me. Looked like they’d seen a ghost. What I didn't know then, was that they weren’t far off. All the blood had drained from my face and I was sheet white.
“All good, mate?” asked Jules. “Maybe slow down on those beers, eh?”
I lowered my head slowly and saw that my hand was still in contact with the tombstone. I looked down and read the name.
I’m ashamed to admit that what I read caused me to bolt from that scene, but remember, it was the first time. I don’t know what I expected to see, but reading William Cantebury 1899-1915 struck me with so many fast, aggressive emotions, that I needed to get out of there.
That was almost a year ago, and here I am, back at that same cemetery. I’ve been here a lot this past year. I’ve learned that I have this ability to see the lives of those who’ve passed on. I can see through their eyes, and learn from their lessons, feel how they felt. I feel their joy as they celebrate; their fear as they struggle; their desire as they yearn. For those moments, their lives are celebrated once more.
I didn’t expect to be here tonight, but circumstances being what they are…
As I walk through the rows of now familiar names, the sun says it’s final goodnight as it tucks itself under the horizon. Although my abilities work at all times throughout the day, I’ve noticed that my visions are clearer and stronger at night. The shadows cast by the low light expand into all-encompassing darkness as I continue my trek, the crunching of autumn leaves the only sound.
The only light? A small burning candle sitting atop a lone headstone at the very end of a row, way in the back.
I make my way towards the light, passing other tombstones, names I’ve come to know. Dates I’ve taken the time to investigate. But this stone, this lone stone with a candle shone. It’s newer, having been made within the last week. As I approach, I can begin to see the outline of the big empty space in front. The empty grave was also fresh, the scent of freshly tilled earth filling my nostrils.
I come to a stop, standing in front of the openness. They say if you stare into the void long enough, the void starts to stare back. Well, I’ve been staring into the void for about a year now, and here it is, staring back at me.
The headstone reads my own name. Robert Canal. In big, block letters carved into the stone. A feeling of great sorrow washes over me, but I can’t help but smile. I slowly walk around the empty grave, towards the candle, towards the headstone. Against it’s right side, I slowly sit down on the cold, October ground, rest my back up against the stone, and lay my hands on it.
The familiar flash of white, the world dissolves, and I’m born again, for the hundredth time. My parents named me Robert Canal. Then I was 5, and my father was teaching me to ride a bike down our suburban street. Then I was 16, smoking pot for the first time and coughing up a lung. Then I was 18, graduating high school and getting ready for college. Then I was 22, meeting and falling in love with the girl of my dreams. Then I was 25, and it was our wedding day. Then I was 28, and the doctor told my wife to push one last time. Then he was born. We named him Robert Canal Jr.
Then I was 33, and I was teaching my son to ride a bike down our suburban street. Then I was 44, teaching my son the dos and dont’s of smoking pot. Then I was 46, watching him graduate high school and getting ready for college. Then I was 47, and the doctor told me it’s cancer.
I take my hand off the tombstone. I smile again, thankful for my gift.
“I’m gonna miss you, dad.” | It was a depressing job being a hero. Every week you were attending another funeral. Whether it was for a comrade or civilian, the job always had a casualty. That’s why I was here, I wasn’t a superhero, but they respected me as if I was one. I would touch the tombstone of the fallen person, offering comfort to the people in attendance. I would share personal stories, express their feelings towards their loved ones. Most importantly, I would show them a life well lived.
It was like opening a book. You would drag your fingers against the stone and suddenly be greeted with the memories of the fallen. Sure, not every life was great, but even the saddest person laughs occasionally. You could pick and choose what memories to share, and often the crowd would leave content. I couldn’t remove their grief completely, but I could at the very least put a pillow between them and the crushing weight in their hearts.
Today someone had called me to read the memories of a villain. It was strange that a villain of all people would get such a service. Perhaps the police were hoping I might find evidence in my reading? Not that it mattered, I would be told more when I arrived. I strolled through the cemetery only to stop at a new grave. Usually the sight of an open grave wouldn’t stop me, but this one was strange. A large hole before the tombstone and not a person in sight.
I glanced around before approaching the grave, crouching before the tombstone. The name on the tomb caused my heart to jump. It was my own name, and the date marked was today. It must have been a joke or a strange coincidence. My gut told me to leave, to go find someone to question, but my curiosity got the better of me. I pressed my finger against the tomb, waiting to see what it would reveal.
It wasn’t much of a surprise. They were my memories, every memory that flashed before my eyes was one I had been in attendance for. It was nice in a way, an out-of-body experience one couldn’t replicate. I was a fly on the wall, watching over my memories, finding myself smiling as certain memories triggered those same emotions I had felt. The one that made me smile the most was my first day of school, my arms wrapped around my parents, embracing them in a loving hug before saying my goodbyes. It was like I was a child again.
How I missed my parents. I took my time letting the memories flow past, if this had been any other person I would have been quickly flicking through these memories, but since they were my own, they enthralled me. The memories slowly trickled through my mind, each one warming my heart. It was comforting. If I ever needed proof that I had lived a good life, this was it. You tend to lose track of the good things in life. You get so stuck in the present horribleness of it all without reflecting on just how beautiful things could be.
Like any wonderful film, it needed an ending. That part confused me; I was very much alive. The scenes flickered to earlier that day; me standing before the hole, before leaning forward to touch the grave. That’s when I noticed him. A man in a blood red mask, a tear plastered under his right eye. He held a blade in his hand, and that’s when I felt it. That sudden fiery feeling as it pierced my stomach. The memories slowly crawled away from my sight as it broke me out of the trance, collapsing over my tombstone.
“A smiling face doesn’t suit a funeral. The families of those we kill are meant to be miserable. I wish to take away their happiness, starting with you.”
With that, the man grabbed my shoulders, pulling me from the tombstone and into the hole. He should have been dead. Was it all a trick? I should have trusted my gut. Laying in the hole, I felt a strange wave of emotion flush over me, my lips curling into a smile. At least I had lived a good life.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] An alien race is gathering intelligence prior to an invasion of Earth. The plans have come to a stop after a report of something called a "drinking contest", in which humans compete to determine which one can ingest the most of a poisonous liquid called alcohol before losing consciousness. | They poison *themselves*?
Yes.
Deliberately?
Yes.
Not by accident?
No.
You're sure?
I *saw* them doing it. They were *very* deliberate.
Why do they do it?
*Why* do they do it?
Yes.
It's a recreational contest. They do it for fun.
For *fun*?
Yes.
They poison themselves - deliberately - for fun?
Yes.
And whoever suffers the greatest amount of poisoning... wins?
No. Whoever suffers the greatest amount of poisoning while remaining conscious wins. And they don't consider it "suffering".
Because they consider it fun.
Yes.
Did you obtain a sample for analysis?
Yes, here. This one is called "Amaretto". Notice the cyanide smell?
They ingest cyanide too?
I don't know. I wasn't down there long enough to find out. Running a scan now.
Hmm. Alcohol. Combustible organic compound. Naturally occurring, but never in concentrations this high.
They have varieties far more potent than this. For safety reasons I decided on one with a weaker strength.
I see. According to this, it causes widespread disruption of the nervous system. Equilibrium, fine motor control and higher brain functions are all compromised.
Severely compromised.
They genuinely *like* doing this to themselves?
Yes. The body eventually purges the poison via metabolism in the bloodstream, or involuntary expulsion. Their concern for the effects on their personal long-term physical and mental condition is negligible.
All of them?
Not all. A percentage of their total population chooses not to, for cultural reasons.
Okay, so we only launch invasions on *those* population centres, and we should be safe.
Unfortunately, no. The ones who don't ingest that psychoactive compound usually ingest *this* psychoactive compound instead. And there's a heavy overlap between use; they'll often consume both simultaneously to enhance their effect.
What do they call *that* one?
A "Pumpkin Spice Latte".
...
...
The sweetener is carcinogenic, and the cinnamon can cause allergic reactions.
...
...
You know what? I've changed my mind.
What?
Fuck it. Invasion's off. Let's get out of here. | A gray humanoid alien with a fancy coat and medals from numerous galactic conquest steps in unnoticed by the two slightly smaller and squeamish data analyst
“Boli, we can’t present him to the general like this” one of the analysts says while frantically scrolling through a patients vitals.
Boli: *frantically searching through records of scattered human data* “I FUCKING KNOW JOLI OKAY......”
Joli: *sweating bullets* “can we just say captain Xolo died from the human activity?”
Boli: “NO NO NO NO, that’s not true, the general knows it...... and saying that could botch the entire invasion”
Joli: *shouting sporadically* “YOU STILL THINK WE’RE GOING TO INVADE?!?!”
General Galga: *speaking calm and collectively* “any particular reason why we wouldn’t?”
Both Boli and Joli freeze up before turning around noticing the general behind them. After a few brief moments general Galgas amusement and curiosity slowly faded
General Galga: *in a stern tone* “well speak up, why should we not invade earth? And why are you trying to hiding captain Xolo from me?”
Joli: *nervously sweating* “um..... general.... Xolo is..... being rather.... uncooperative.”
The general barges in to captain Xolos quarters without hesitation
“WAKE UP CAPTAIN, DATA REPORT NOW!!!” General Galga shouts while facing Xolo.
Xolo: *drunk af* “oh... hey general” *giggles bit before almost falling over an alien trash can*
General Galga: *confused* “um.... captain you didn’t salute...... you know I don’t actually care but that’s out of character for you.... everything alright? How did your infiltration of the human ‘contest’ go ?”
Xolo: *crying sporadically* “OH NOOOOO GENERAL IM SO SORRY I FORGOT TO SALUTE” *cries before almost passing out at her feet*
General Galga: *super confused* “JOLI! BOLI! GET YOUR DATA ANALYZING ASSES IN HERE!”
Joli and Boli slowly come in single file as Xolo is crying now the corner
Xolo: *sobbing uncontrollably* “I....I... I just want to be a.... a good captain and contribute to the..... the.... the thing” *tries to stand up but falls back down*
Joli: *looking at Xolo* “the thing? Captain? What thing?”
Xolo: *leaning against an alien desk with some alien papers* “the.... the .... the thing thing, you know the t......” Xolo cuts himself off as he throws up in the alien trash can an tries to catch his breath for a moment
General Galga: *staring daggers at Joli and Boli* “what happened down there”
Joli: *super duper nervous* “the captain volunteered to go partake in the ‘contest’ and when he came back he was.... different. Also he had this shirt on him when he came back...” *Jodi hands her a white t-shirt with writing on the back*
General Galga: *inspecting the writing* “.... what’s a ‘Florida State University,?”
Boli: “we don’t know general”
Xolo: *barely able to stand* “General!”
General Galga: “what is it Xolo?”
Xolo: *staggering over to the general before almost tripping and being held up by Joli* “I drank the drank and I, I..... I love you”
General Galga: *shocked* “Captain this is highly ireg...” she is cut off by Xolo.
Xolo: *huging Joli* “I love you, and Joli and Boli and all.... all of you work so hard it just makes me want to cry” *starts actually sobbing again*
General Galga: *stars blankly* “okay we’re not invading earth anymore”
Joli: “wait so then what are we doing?”
General Galga: “not dealing with this, that’s for sure” *walks out of the room*
Captain Xolo: *putting on alien sunglasses even though the spacecraft is dimly lit* “well that worked out better than expected” *passes out* | |
[WP] You're on the train, on your way to meet your friend, and sitting in front of you is a polar bear reading a newspaper. Nobody else on the train seems to notice it at all. | \[Travel Advice\]
"Whoa," Terri wasn't prepared for the sudden darkness. The train had just pulled away from the station before it suddenly entered a tunnel. She didn't see anything that looked like a tunnel as she boarded. Terri was very aware of her shortcomings; paying attention to her surroundings was not one of her strengths.
She felt a slight concern flutter in her stomach when no lights came on in the cabin once they entered the tunnel. She sat still in pitch black, unable to see her hand in front of her face. Terri managed to keep her calm by trusting the other passengers around her; they weren't panicking so she wouldn't either. Then, sunlight filled the train again. Terri faced out the window to watch the landscape roll by. In the back of her mind, she wondered if the sun was a little bit lower in the sky than when she boarded at 10 in the morning. She spotted something white in her peripheral vision before she spent too much time thinking about the sun. She faced forward and gave a sharp, surprised inhale.
A mountain of white fur was seated in front of her; she glanced up and recognized the polar bear's head from behind. Terri swiveled her gaze and checked the strangers seated across the aisle. None of them seemed the slightest bit concerned about a bear among them.
Terri noticed the woman one seat ahead of her, across the aisle, turned and faced the polar bear directly.
"Could I trouble you?" the woman asked the bear while she pointed at it. Terri watched the towering animal shake his head; she heard a low, gravelly voice.
"No trouble at all," the bear said. It stretched out its paw across the aisle holding a newspaper.
"Thank you," the woman smiled and took the paper from the bear. Terri considered herself to have a very level mind; she felt that staying calm was her best strength. She wanted to imagine that she wouldn't have sat down behind a polar bear if she had noticed him.
If he wasn't a polar bear when she sat down; and, no one else seemed concerned. Maybe he wasn't one at all. Terri sighed and dug her node out from her travel bag.
\[Hey, so. I'm pretty sure I'm insane now. -Trri\] She sent a Whisper to her friend. Terri wanted to ensure Katie would be prepared for her oncoming irrationality.
\[LOL. What's going on? - KT\]
\[I get on the train to come see you. No bear. - Trri\]
\[We went through a tunnel, now there's a bear. - Trri\]
\[No one else can see it. Only one explanation. -Trri\]
\[My brain broke. - Trri\]
\[LOLOL! You're not crazy! -KT\]
\[Explain the polar bear. -Trri\]
\[You've never ridden Sharp Railroads? - KT\]
\[No. Why?" -Trri\]
\[You're safe and not crazy. -KT\]
\[Enjoy the ride. See you soon. -KT\]
\[K. - Trri\] She felt relieved for a moment before she was swallowed by darkness again. The tunnel did not feel as long as the first one; though, Terri chalked that up to her knowing what to expect. Instead of light filling the train; it simply became less dark suddenly. Terri could see. She glanced out the window and spotted a full moon in the dark sky.
"Huh," she said to herself. Terri looked forward. The mountain of white fur was replaced by a balding, tan head that looked vaguely familiar to her. She remembered sitting down behind a bald man.
"Thank you," the woman that borrowed the newspaper said suddenly. Terri looked and saw a black-furred cat-person returning the paper to the man that was a polar bear moments before. Unsure how to deal with it, Terri turned her attention back out the window. Movement caught her attention; several somethings ran alongside the train.
"I'm not crazy," Terri smiled to herself with a slight chuckle. She trusted Katie, but she wished her friend gave her more information. She stared and made a mental note to ask Katie about it later. With that decision made, she let herself relax and watched the herd of unicorns racing the train by moonlight.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1057 in a row. (Story #327 in year three.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. | The train trundled over the rails leaving a black plume in it's wake. Inside, the bags and heavy suitcases rattled over John's head menacingly--he wanted to dash away. However, his nervous stare was not fixed on the objects eagerly awaiting to bludgeon him but on a polar bear sitting two rows ahead with this morning's newspaper.
He pulled on his suddenly too tight collar, wheezing in a bit of air, contemplating the best way to run away inconspicuously. The other passengers all either looked outside or were reading various texts: a magazine, a book, the bible. John was reading the room and no one appeared afraid of the two-seat-occupying, long-clawed, pointy-toothed carnivore. The girl was not reading the bible anxiously to force in some positive points for the God she would soon be meeting, she flipped through the sacred texts halfheartedly. Meanwhile, John's heart was in his throat at full speed. Should he say something? No, they must be aware. What if he was hallucinating? Yes, that must be it, and he hadn't eaten in a while. His heart sank in relaxation and he grabbed a pack of cigarettes to bring him down to normal levels. Flicking one, and lighting it with a lick, he drew it in until a light swirl appeared in his head. Then he exhaled looking outside at the passing scenery. It was a desert. How could a polar bear even live here? He should visit the doctor.
"Excuse me, sir. Would you be so kind and extinguish your cigarette. This is a non-smoking area."
He turned to see the snout of the white giant pointing at him accusingly. He clenched his ass and involuntarily sucked the cigarette to the butt in one inspiration. The ash dropped onto his pants, and past the cigarette butt he said: "Certainly, sir," got his hat and, on weak knees, moved out of the wagon while all of the eyes look at him disapprovingly. | |
[WP] Whenever you lie awake thinking about embarrassing moments from high school, you are given a chance to redo that moment. Today you find out you're not the only one with this power. | This power pulls you without notice. One embarrassing musing, one moment of repulsion at your own mistake is enough to feed the plunge. That's what I call it, the Plunge. The next minute you'll find yourself in the exact scenario, all transformed into the very person you once were. I don't know how I got this power but it's become a part of my life.
I thought it to be a blessing at first cause it provided me a sense of satisfaction, now I don't know what I should think of it. How do you fix an embarrassing moment when you find yourself stuck as the same teenager in mind and body? The more I'm pulled in, more difficult it has become to change or fix a mistake I made in the past.
I would just shut off my brain and sleep if I could but I can't and sometimes because of that it kept bringing me to the same scenario until I'd grown tired and eventually stopped thinking about it. It expunged me of my energy.
I kept myself occupied, I joined the gym, spent my days out in the sun and my lifestyle has become really productive over time. It finally slowed down, the constant thought of embarrassing moments in my life.
As soon as I thought it's gone, it came back again when I met my high school crush Loretta in a restaurant. She quickly turned her focus away from me, I couldn't help but think of the worst high school moment in my life. This is the one I've been most afraid of, it's going to happen and there's no stopping me now.
I went home, sat on the couch and closed my eyes knowing it won't stop me from thinking. I dozed off immediately.
"Dude, I think she's into you," my friend Stedman said to me as I find myself standing with my friends in the school cafeteria.
"Who? Loretta? You can have better girls than her, man." Classic Dariel.
"Yeah..." (I don't wanna say it, don't say it, don't say it) "No! I think she's great." I restrained myself from saying she isn't really my type, which I really did say back when I was a stupid teenager.
I turned myself, Loretta stood before me and she had this look on her face, her face stilled and her jaw dropped.
"What's wrong?" I asked her in confusion. She simply put her head down and walked past me, I glanced at her and saw her blushing.
I felt relieved because it was the most embarrassing moment in my life. I really liked her but to sound cool in front of my friends Dariel and Stedman I told a different thing originally. I hurt her, she felt really bad.
Another thing happened on the same day, I hoped I changed that too.
"Wait, why am I still here?" I asked myself.
It was strange because once it's done I'd wake up normally. I was stuck in this moment, this day. "May be I didn't fix it? May be I need to do more? What's happening?" A lot of questions ran in my mind.
I had no choice but to go on with it. I chose a different spot to sit because another event is going to transpire soon enough. My friend Dariel sat on the chair I used to sit.
Loretta held a tray full of food and walked straight towards us to reach her table, this is where it goes horribly wrong. But she stopped midway, I peered to see what's wrong then I noticed the spilled water on the floor before her. She just stood there and decided to walk past it and that's when it striked me.
It isn't supposed to happen like that, she's supposed to fall and all the food should be all over me. Today I found out that I'm not the only one with this power. Loretta and I are experiencing the same moment right now. She's got this power too.
"Is that why she looked the way she looked at me before?" It blew my mind knowing the fact.
"She's one mean girl, I'm telling you..." Dariel was talking about his archenemy, Quincy. I didn't listen to him cause it happened the way it happened. I turned my head and looked at Loretta sitting over there. She drank some water and then she looked at me and smiled as she placed the bottle on her table.
Suddenly I heard a loud clattering sound, I saw Quincy on the floor, she was tripped by the spilled water, Dariel was covered in food. The whole crowd laughed.
The next day I went to Loretta's house and asked her out for a dinner. She accepted it.
Now we are here at the same restaurant we met a day before yesterday. She wore a beautiful dress, I invited her over to our table. We both sat down and we didn't talk for some time.
"So you have the power too?" She asked.
"Yeah, thank God you asked, I didn't know how to initiate the conversation."
"We were best friends till grade school, Tommy, what changed?"
"I don't know, high school drama?"
"Hahaha," she laughed aloud, it made me happy.
"I, uh, I always liked you, you know." I told her, finally.
"I know, I... liked you too."
"Wow. I don't know what to say, I didn't know that,"
"Now you do."
"Yeah, haha. My friend Stedman told me in high school, I didn't believe it I always assumed you only thought of me as a friend. I'm sorry."
"No, Tommy. I'm the one who should've apologized for embarrassing you in front of all the people."
"Well, it doesn't matter now. We changed both of our embarrassing moments together."
"Yeah, I can't seem to remember the details of the moments right now, it's all so vague I can only recollect the new memories we both made."
"Same here, strange isn't it?"
"Yeah. Poor Dariel though."
"Don't worry about him, he had it coming, haha."
"How's he?"
"He's fine. He's married Quincy."
"Wait, he's married to Quincy?" Loretta asked me in shock.
"Yeah— wait a minute, why did I say that? How do I know that? Wasn't Quincy divorced and with two kids?"
"She was. When did he marry her?"
"I believe it's last month. How? But doesn't Dariel hate Quincy?"
"You've told me that before, and we both went to their wedding. What's happening?"
"What else did we change?"
The two high school lovers realized they didn't just change themselves but actually changed the past. Both of their consciousness travelled through time and changed the course of the timeline.
WP.r #106 • r/FleetingScripts | It was an ungodly hour where even the ninja-witches slept, yet here I was, scrolling through the endless minutia of New Reddit. Writing prompts, Reddit asking, news circle jerking, *actual* circle jerking, christ what a mess. All the best content was sucked clean like French escargot so that I, an esteemed Reddit-Wizard (9th Class) had fallen to sort by controversial to get that quick hit of dopamine into my system. Hardly anyone sorted this way, well, except for the newbies hoping to get their NSFW cherries popped. Rubbing my eyes, I sighed.
The pills should have hit by now.
Coffee cans and energy drunks littered my gaming platform illuminated by my computer monitors. Abandoned pizza boxes balanced high on my *Alienware Aurora* and a half-eaten Pizza slice was burrowed deep within the folds of my stomach. I pulled it out, mouth crunching over the crusty thing. Controversial would be as far as I got. God forbid that I lower my standards so that even gilded would become desirable. I belched my tasteful disgust at the prospect.
A brief glance at my door made me remember that today was shower day as well as teeth-brushing day. I’ll do that tomorrow, I promised myself. And if not, it’s no big deal. It’s not like I’m going outside or anything.
The bed groaned as I snuggled up against my pillows.
A minute passed, then two.
I was still awake.
Shit.
How about letting my mind wander? I’ve read online about those lucid dreamers who could become superheroes. Flying, yes. I always wanted to fly. Fly? Pant’s fly? In highschool it was always down. Not by forgetfulness, but just because mom bought a pair that didn’t come with one. Stella liked to tease me about it.
God, Stella, I haven’t thought of her in years. Out mothers were quite close back in the day. The best of childhood friends, she helped me beat the secret level in *Starcraft* while I learned how to braid her hair. The only time I even touched a girl for so long. I wonder how she is doing. Probably married to some Gigachad and living a normie life.
Wait. Wasn’t she the one that pantsed me in front of the whole school? Yeah, during the talent show contest, it was the day I wore that really loose underwear I got from *Goodwill*. I never spoke to her again after that, bullying got so bad it was better to stay home for the whole day than dip my toes onto school grounds. Why did she do that?
Dimly, I realized that the gentle tug of sleep against my mind.
Maybe things would have gone differently if I had just worn the right underwear. Or maybe I could have noticed her a second earlier and avoid her hands.
Maybe, I thought to myself as I drifted to sleep.
Maybe.
EDIT: Formatting | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | The words pierced me like the spear of Leonidas, "May you live forever." A condemnation. A damnation. A punishment for all my sins. The brevity of life seems farcical now. After 32 years of painful existence, I am now staring down the throat of eternity, soon to be buried by the endless sands of time until I am forgotten. Hell.. until even I forget my life. Eternity is implausible for the mortal man, and yet, here I must choose something I cannot comprehend.
"What happens when I can no longer be reincarnated?"
"You will be relegated to the accepting realms of the afterlife."
"Have I been reborn before?"
"Yes, once."
"What sort of being was I then?"
Silence. Much like life, the afterlife doesn't give you the experiential wisdom of all preceding existence. Here lies the ultimate cruelty of God: time for a human is linear. A hyperdimensional being sees everything simultaneously, like a painting that tells a story, except that we are a three-dimensional comedy with predictable, sufferable causalities. I tried to be nothing again, just like the time before I was born, but destiny wouldn't let me take the reins.
"Are you human?"
"No, I am the Epiloguist, the final author of the tales of the soul."
I could feel anxiety creep up my throat, but I couldn't force it back down. "Then who wrote my story? Why would anyone design such a bastard?!"
"You did."
For a second time in this purgatory, I felt my chest collapse on itself. My vision blurred and the tall, statuesque figure disappeared in a haze, so I closed my eyes. I never felt in control during my time in war. All of the souls I had sent here, not knowing they would endure this judgement. My mother, father, brother, all of whom I assume reached this place before me, did they enter Heaven?
"Did my brother enter Heaven?"
"Your brother only exists in your life."
"How do I find him?"
"You found him already, and now he is lost."
"What does that mean? What was his fate?"
"Your brother only exists in your tale, never outside of it."
"Well, what did you write for his epilogue?"
"His book doesn't exist."
I understood, but refused it. The emotions I've felt torward people couldn't have been born out of me.
"Has anyone I've ever known existed?"
"You have never known anyone. Only people who enter the kingdoms of the afterlife may experience another being."
Tears of irony welled up. The sense that I was always a supporting character in someone else's story wasn't true. I was never puny. Every face I passed were supportive or complicating figments of my existence. Still, towards what end? What was the purpose of my world's existence? What is this afterlife's purpose?
"What created me, Epiloguist? Why did it create me, and why would it sort us into these Kingdoms?"
"God created everything, and It from nothing. Like you, it seeks answers, but unlike you who wields nought but the power of manipulation, It has the power of creation. In Its endeavour to learn how to exist, It has replicated Itself countless times in the books of every life, sine divina potestates. The collection of stories generates a framework for the Creator to best understand existence, and how to endure it."
Despite the circumstance, my vitriol for life resurged. My time had deific influence, yet I felt like no more than a tool. I demonstrated to God how to war and anguish; how to hate and mutilate Its own image; how to murder Its own creation. Through the seething despair, clarity returned, just as my life had taught me.
The Kingdoms represent the myriad of methods to approach existence. They sort our choices during events, so God may witness instead of experience them. God is paralyzed by the surrounding void of unanswerable questions, and we live Its life in Its place. The kingdoms available to us depend on the choices we make given the circumstances of our lives.
"Epiloguist, lead me to whichever hell will accept me. Since God is vicarious, I pray It follows me in there, for It is not equipped for the terror beyond like me."
For the first time in my measly existence, I felt something worth living for. | “I... I don’t understand, I did everything right. I abided by the commandments. I loved my wife faithfully, I raised my children to fear The Lord, I left all I had to my family and the poor. I was there every Sunday, I tithed faithfully, I served, I spread the word. I did everything I could to be holy.” The man asked, intensely confused. “I said the prayer and I meant it. I said it a dozen times and ran the race as best as I could.”
Saint Peter sighed. “That you did. Do you think He didn’t see all of it? He saw even more than you did, than you do even now. Notice all the I’s?”
The man paused, then fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. He shook and his face was like that of a dead man. He tore his hair and clothing and wailed in lamentation as he realized at last his fatal pride.
Saint Peter laid a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, and lifted his eyes up. A sheer cliff wall stood above him, smooth and hard as polished diamond. At the peak stood a light brighter than any sun, a light which gave life to all creation. “There is no condemnation for those who place their faith in the Son of Man. Your faith is very small. But He told me once that even that like a mustard seed could move mountains. And He shall never forsake those whom He has chosen. Though you have only come as far as you possibly can on your own power. You were a good man, but you are a finite creature trying to reach infinity. There is still very far to go.”
The man looked at the impossible wall before him. “This is impossible. I can’t climb that.”
“Nothing is impossible. Remember that it is written, the righteous shall walk by faith. And remember also by who’s strength you have come.” Saint Peter rebuked him. And the man approached the wall. The pillar was searing heat, but he held fast, for the prize was at last in sight. With incredible will, he pulled himself up first one step, then another.
Saint Peter watched as the man began his attempt to climb towards infinity. “They always start with that, don’t they? They never realize that you gave them wings. And even those who do, it takes so long for them to let go because they don’t know how to fly yet. But when they learn to let go, you are faithful to catch them. They will more than fly.”
“They will soar, higher even than angels to your embrace, as only your adopted children can.” | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | “Wait” I scratched my head, trying to wrap my mind around the situation at hand. “There’s multiple heavens?”
“Ehhhh.” The glowing pigeon before me cocked its head to the side in a way I somehow knew was awkward. “Kind of? Different devils run different shops. And some have more existential ideas of of eternal punishment. It felt misleading to call always-high-on-cocaine-hell and all-you-can-eat-hell the same thing as everything-is-on-fire-but-also-cold-somehow-hell.”
“How is all you can eat supposed to be a punishment exactly?”
“Well it’s more of a concept punishment you know? Like the meaningless of hedonism combined with being unaware of your own misfortune or something. We don’t really enforce the quality of hells anyways, the main punishment is always not being in heaven. We have a suburbia hell I think you’ll actually quite like!” The pigeon chirped excitedly, literally radiating helpfulness.
“Are... are you not interested in punishing me?”
“Not particularly. Why do you ask?”
“Well...” should I ask? “Could you just let me into heaven anyways then? Is there anything stopping you?”
The pigeon locked eyes with me, holding my gaze for a moment before declaring “Well to be honest you wouldn’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Heaven. You wouldn’t get Heaven.” It said it like it was obvious. “It’s like this, imagine a person was raised on a diet of fast food and you tried to treat them to sushi or something, how would they react? You would basically be torturing them.” Its eyes flashed. “I can show you.”
Light filled everything. Even the darkness. Wheels within wheels. Songs! The songs! And the vastness. I could see it. I could see everything. I could see myself. Ugly! Ugly!
And I was back, covered in vomit.
“Ah sorry about that.” The pigeon cooed and the vomit evaporated in response. “But now you get it right? Hell is just a better fit.”
I thought on it. At first stunned by the terror of Heaven I felt my memories of the place fade away. Perhaps the pigeons doing. “The all-you-can-eat-hell. Can you explain the punishment again?”
“Well the intended punishment is the pointlessness of eating forever I imagine. Or maybe it’s supposed to be ironic because you don’t know you should want more? It’s hard to get a Devils sense of humor. Anyways it doesn’t matter. Regardless of the hell you pick, the main punishment is not being in Heaven.”
I whispered “But what if I want to be able to enjoy Heaven? What if I want to be the kind of person who enjoys good things?” I filled myself with conviction. “If Heaven is really so good, then maybe I want to go there anyways. Even if I don’t get it.”
The pigeon fluttered close. Close enough to really see into its eyes, revealing hidden cosmos. “Is that your final choice?” The word ‘final’ rang with an awful heaviness.
“Yeah. I think it is.”
“Then welcome to Purgatory! May it one day be Heaven to you.” | “I... I don’t understand, I did everything right. I abided by the commandments. I loved my wife faithfully, I raised my children to fear The Lord, I left all I had to my family and the poor. I was there every Sunday, I tithed faithfully, I served, I spread the word. I did everything I could to be holy.” The man asked, intensely confused. “I said the prayer and I meant it. I said it a dozen times and ran the race as best as I could.”
Saint Peter sighed. “That you did. Do you think He didn’t see all of it? He saw even more than you did, than you do even now. Notice all the I’s?”
The man paused, then fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. He shook and his face was like that of a dead man. He tore his hair and clothing and wailed in lamentation as he realized at last his fatal pride.
Saint Peter laid a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, and lifted his eyes up. A sheer cliff wall stood above him, smooth and hard as polished diamond. At the peak stood a light brighter than any sun, a light which gave life to all creation. “There is no condemnation for those who place their faith in the Son of Man. Your faith is very small. But He told me once that even that like a mustard seed could move mountains. And He shall never forsake those whom He has chosen. Though you have only come as far as you possibly can on your own power. You were a good man, but you are a finite creature trying to reach infinity. There is still very far to go.”
The man looked at the impossible wall before him. “This is impossible. I can’t climb that.”
“Nothing is impossible. Remember that it is written, the righteous shall walk by faith. And remember also by who’s strength you have come.” Saint Peter rebuked him. And the man approached the wall. The pillar was searing heat, but he held fast, for the prize was at last in sight. With incredible will, he pulled himself up first one step, then another.
Saint Peter watched as the man began his attempt to climb towards infinity. “They always start with that, don’t they? They never realize that you gave them wings. And even those who do, it takes so long for them to let go because they don’t know how to fly yet. But when they learn to let go, you are faithful to catch them. They will more than fly.”
“They will soar, higher even than angels to your embrace, as only your adopted children can.” | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | "Afterlife" protocol handbook for experiment 1-50-AE2
\[Meant for W-Class researchers only. Any unauthorized readers will be dealt with by MTP-5 'angels'\]
NOTE: DO NOT USE WITH ATHEIST SUBJECTS
\- Dr Peter
Upon subject's virtual insertion into X-50 "waiting area" after simulated death, tell them the primary desired afterlife (based off preliminary neural scan prior to wipe) has been rejected. Offer them the following:
1-50-AE2-0\[
​
\]
1-50-AE2-1 must be an afterlife that the subject is less than favorable to, but not a pure hell. An example would be "asgard" for a "christian", or "heaven" for a "taoist".
1-50-AE2 must have a -redacted- approach to unfamiliarity, with risks. Introduce something that the subject has no information of, resorting to a made-up afterlife if neccesary.
1-50-AE3 DO NOT USE WITH SUBJECTS THAT HAVE OCULAR IMPAIRMENTS.
This is a replica of the subject's ideal afterlife, with one twist: everything is in black and white. NO COLOR, make sure that the U25 ray blocker is in effect.
1-50-AE4
offer subject "reincarnation" of random outcome. Not much more that can be mentioned in a non \[redacted\] grade handbook such as this one, researchers will learn more once in action.
​
DISPOSAL PROTOCOL
If subject chooses AE1-3 (excluding 0) for obvious reasons, use standard-issue amnesiac on subject and place back in quarters. Use explanation/excuse as needed.
If subject chooses AE4 or any \[expunged\] alternative not mentioned, proceed to insert them into dimensional wormhole for further outcomes... | “I... I don’t understand, I did everything right. I abided by the commandments. I loved my wife faithfully, I raised my children to fear The Lord, I left all I had to my family and the poor. I was there every Sunday, I tithed faithfully, I served, I spread the word. I did everything I could to be holy.” The man asked, intensely confused. “I said the prayer and I meant it. I said it a dozen times and ran the race as best as I could.”
Saint Peter sighed. “That you did. Do you think He didn’t see all of it? He saw even more than you did, than you do even now. Notice all the I’s?”
The man paused, then fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. He shook and his face was like that of a dead man. He tore his hair and clothing and wailed in lamentation as he realized at last his fatal pride.
Saint Peter laid a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder, and lifted his eyes up. A sheer cliff wall stood above him, smooth and hard as polished diamond. At the peak stood a light brighter than any sun, a light which gave life to all creation. “There is no condemnation for those who place their faith in the Son of Man. Your faith is very small. But He told me once that even that like a mustard seed could move mountains. And He shall never forsake those whom He has chosen. Though you have only come as far as you possibly can on your own power. You were a good man, but you are a finite creature trying to reach infinity. There is still very far to go.”
The man looked at the impossible wall before him. “This is impossible. I can’t climb that.”
“Nothing is impossible. Remember that it is written, the righteous shall walk by faith. And remember also by who’s strength you have come.” Saint Peter rebuked him. And the man approached the wall. The pillar was searing heat, but he held fast, for the prize was at last in sight. With incredible will, he pulled himself up first one step, then another.
Saint Peter watched as the man began his attempt to climb towards infinity. “They always start with that, don’t they? They never realize that you gave them wings. And even those who do, it takes so long for them to let go because they don’t know how to fly yet. But when they learn to let go, you are faithful to catch them. They will more than fly.”
“They will soar, higher even than angels to your embrace, as only your adopted children can.” | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | "Afterlife" protocol handbook for experiment 1-50-AE2
\[Meant for W-Class researchers only. Any unauthorized readers will be dealt with by MTP-5 'angels'\]
NOTE: DO NOT USE WITH ATHEIST SUBJECTS
\- Dr Peter
Upon subject's virtual insertion into X-50 "waiting area" after simulated death, tell them the primary desired afterlife (based off preliminary neural scan prior to wipe) has been rejected. Offer them the following:
1-50-AE2-0\[
​
\]
1-50-AE2-1 must be an afterlife that the subject is less than favorable to, but not a pure hell. An example would be "asgard" for a "christian", or "heaven" for a "taoist".
1-50-AE2 must have a -redacted- approach to unfamiliarity, with risks. Introduce something that the subject has no information of, resorting to a made-up afterlife if neccesary.
1-50-AE3 DO NOT USE WITH SUBJECTS THAT HAVE OCULAR IMPAIRMENTS.
This is a replica of the subject's ideal afterlife, with one twist: everything is in black and white. NO COLOR, make sure that the U25 ray blocker is in effect.
1-50-AE4
offer subject "reincarnation" of random outcome. Not much more that can be mentioned in a non \[redacted\] grade handbook such as this one, researchers will learn more once in action.
​
DISPOSAL PROTOCOL
If subject chooses AE1-3 (excluding 0) for obvious reasons, use standard-issue amnesiac on subject and place back in quarters. Use explanation/excuse as needed.
If subject chooses AE4 or any \[expunged\] alternative not mentioned, proceed to insert them into dimensional wormhole for further outcomes... | Category 3,
Not quite the brief but along the lines, Enjoy .
WAMM , and just like that my life was over. I think.
Here I am going through the bright light just like we have all been told by supposedly the dead that have come back.
Then a peaceful nothingness.
A spooky silence, then out of the quiet nothing comes a voice inside my head.
Category 3. It was not my voice and not a voice that I recognise so I answer.
“Category 3”
“Yes, category 3”
I answer “Why not 1 or 2, why am I a category 3?
The voice, “Do you want the categories explained to you”
”Yes please”
So the voice explained the different categories from one to five.
Category one, A real bad ass. You pass and you don’t see the light, you simply go poof and turn to dust. I’m sure you’ve wiped plenty a bad ass, no good dickhead off your fancy Venetian blinds and vacuumed them up from your carpet.
From dickhead to dust and then the voice laughs. These people are murderers, rapists. The most unscrupulous people on earth. No moral compass whatsoever.
Category two, That’s me a category two. I was not a good person, never kind, never polite, treated everyone with disrespect, especially my wife and children.
I stole plenty and I lied all my life. To me the Ten Commandments meant nothing.
I get this job but not forever. I can go up the ladder to a Cat 3 like you. No idea when or how but it will happen.
I have to learn my P&Qs first. So here I am welcoming you until at some stage a Cat 2 will welcome me.
I’m sort of sorry I was a mean person but still don’t understand why we all have to go around being nice to each other”
Category three, That’s you, you are with 62.3% of the entire population. A nice person. Never done much wrong. Lies were limited to when they were necessary.
Never stole anything, Oh yes, says here you stole a plum from an orchard. That was entirely forgivable. Anyway you get the picture. Just a normal human being.
So here’s what normal now means for you.
You can now just think whatever you want to think and that’s where you will be. Doing anything you want to do. When you get bored with that thought then just think of something else and it’s your thoughts for the taking.
For instance, think about your day to day life and that’s you. You simply have your day to day life. Only difference is that it’s all in your mind. So no stress, no aches, no pains. Just existence.
Okay now we get to a Category 4. By the way you can’t go beyond 3. You didn’t have enough credits so it’s 3 for you and nothing else.
This ones a biggie and I haven’t had many, maybe just a hand full. This is for people that have been exceptional humans. You know the ones that help everyone, give everything they own to feed the starving. Help,help,help all their lives for the good of others.
They get to return. I’m sure you have heard of reincarnation. That’s category 4. Only thing is they don’t get to choose where they go and who they will be. They can also reduce their credits and go to Cat 3. They doesn’t happen very often.
So now we come to the last category. Category 5. This is for people that are like saints. The people like Florence Nightingale, Mother Teresa, the odd pope.
The nicest of the nicest.
These godly humans. They get to go back as any special person they want to be. Like say a prince or princess . Extremely wealthy. A dog a cat or anything they want.
They are the privileged.
So that’s it, go and enjoy your fantasy’s.
Anyway, that was me. Left alone with my thoughts. The first thing I think to do is wake up in my own bed and carry on life as usual.
My husband, my kids, my totally ordinary life carried on as per usual. Which if you think about it is very unusual.
You see, here I am stuck in my ordinary unusual life as if I’m still here. Writing this story to publish in Storystar like there is nothing different.
I can’t just think of anything else any fantastic fantasy.
Which brings me to the conclusion that I’m still here. Still breathing, eating, laughing just like I normally would and it must have all been a crazy dream except.....
I woke up this morning and thought. Emmmm, haven’t had sore hips in awhile.
So then I thought. I want to go to France for the day and eat a meal at a French cafe. But nothing I’m still here and dreams are free.
The End. | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | Gerald beamed to his left as a truck ripped through the darkness, twisting metal and crush his body in a way only a bug on the windshield can understand.
There were moments of white space filled with nothing, then a woman appeared on and walked across a newly formed white tile floor.
She wore a short black dress with high heals and long hair. Approaching Gerald she said, “Welcome Gerald, to ASA, the Afterlife Staffing Agency.”
Gerald looking at his hands and feet, and clapped his hands; just to make sure he could.
“The Afterlife Staffing Agency?” Gerald said.
“Yes” the woman said, gesturing for Gerald to sit at the chair that had appeared across from the desk she was now sitting at.
“I’m Ginny, your afterlife liaison. It Is my duty to make sure I help get you to the right afterlife so that it’s the perfect fit all around. After all, eternity is pretty long.”
“Well I mean I was thinking heaven would be ideal. I feel like I did some okay things while alive.”
“Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful."
Ginny pointed to a projection behind her, displaying a list of different heavens and hells with a star rating next them with reviews from users.
“Please choose one the heavens or hells and we can go over what some of its users have to say about it.”
“Okay, can I please hear a little more about nirvana?” Gerald said.
“Nirvana, great choice Gerald” Ginny pressed some buttons on the tablet she was holding and a review from a woman named Kayla appeared before them.
The review read: It’s pretty neat, lots of nature and people are chill. Just not a lot to do, can get a little boring if you don’t have desires. I’d rate it a 3 out of 5.
Gerald’s face scrunched, “Okay maybe not nirvana, let’s try paradise.”
Ginnys eyebrows raised, “I didn’t take you to be a paradise guy. But none the less.”
The paradise review read: “amazing architecture, simply stunning views. The cuisine and conversation leaves something to be desired. Most people hear are worried about studies or order; people can be a little pompous. I’d rate it 2 out of 5.”
“Well that’s not great. My aunt was super religious. Not a fan. Maybe hell won’t be that bad. Can I hear about Christian he’ll please, Ginny.”
Ginny clenched her teeth and spoke through them, “okay.”
The review from Christian hell read: “every restaurant serves burnt food, it’s hot, people are dicks, just generally wouldn’t recommend. 0 out of 5”
Geralds shoulders sank.
“May I suggest the wheel of reincarnation. I’ve had many customers that have been very satisfied with their spins.”
“Whatever,” Gerald said while reaching for the wheel of reincarnation and pulled down on it.
The ticker slowly clicked and then came to a stop on Geralds new fate; a cow.
The corners of Ginny’s mouth pulled outward displaying her teeth, “oof, that’s tough buddy. Hopefully you end up in India and not in the United States.”
Ginny hit a red button on her desk that transformed Gerald forever. | The straight and narrow path never appealed to me while I was alive. Now that I've died I can tell you that the crooked, winding path doesn't lead you to Heaven. Like a scenic bypass, you'll get a great glimpse of splendid vistas, and the Angels within might even wave to you before the wave you on. But they won't welcome you in. To get into Heaven, you need to be perfect, like Lefty Dombrowski with his two-fingered bowling ball that he could hook into the pocket a dozen times.
Me? I've ended up in the gutter so often, they told me to split.
But it turns out that Heaven isn't the own game in town, or the only town in the afterlife. I was welcome to try other destinations, so long as I got off of their cloud. Which brings me back to that straight and narrow path connecting the cumulative clouds of choirs. I just had to find one singing my key. But I also had to watch my step, even now in the hereafter. You could feel every wind blowing hot and chill, each trying to sway you. But with every step, you remember: it's a long way down.
I hadn't much luck finding a final resting place. Paradise was a non starter. I didn't have a piece of mind for Nirvana. There was something called Bliss that gave a blistering rebuke. I wasn't having any luck finding a promised land. The Elysian Fields said I wasn't heroic, and let's just say I didn't fit in at the Happy Hunting Grounds.
I might've spent eons in the ether or maybe just a cloudy afternoon. Time was worth nothing and dragged on like an old nag at Belmont. I was running out of options as sure as I was running out of road. I might have to try my luck in Limbo, drifting aimlessly forever, or pick one of the hells where I might feel something. Maybe I deserved that.
And maybe I was already here. I'm as used to rejection as a pimply-faced horny teen. The stings were starting to cut my soul like the thorns on a thousand roses, every time I see one so close to grasp.
But if I were to pick a hell, which one would I pick? I could trust the first one I came to as much as I could trust any demon. They say it's the least painful, but demons lie. Pop said, in the days before he left, you can't make a deal with a devil because you always have to give the devil his due.
But Pop had other worldly and other-worldly advice in those days. He was like a confusing Confucius on the lower east side. When faced with Hobson's choice, he'd say it's better the devil you know. And there was one devil I knew.
I circled around and found the door for reincarnation. Swinging it wide like a classy lady in some swanky ballroom overlooking the river, I stepped into a bright light, blinding me. The pain was intense, leaving me crying, mewling. Starting over like a re-racked table pool table.
I'd already survived the hell on Earth once before. I was due for a lucky break.
​
\---
More stories at r/xwhy
Edit: minor typo, missing word | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | The angel was telling me to go to hell. He was nice about it, sure. So nice, actually, that I barely noticed his intent until thinking about it for a second. Almost like he was tricking me into complying out of politeness. The fact that there were millions of souls behind me, all waiting in line for their turn, only made my embarrassment worse. We were trapped in an infinitely large hotel lobby. Millions of angels dressed with gray blazers attended everyone behind a circular marble desk, processing them into their appropriate afterlife with cheerful disposition.
I wasn't going to let them pressure me, though. The other attendees could heckle me all they wanted. My soul was at stake here. I waited centuries to reach the front of the line. If they wanted to get into heaven quicker, they could just try another queue instead. Unfortunately, I didn't know if I could keep arguing against a divine decree. Those had a surprisingly high accuracy rate. It couldn't be wrong, right?
Maybe I just wasn't good enough for heaven. No. That thought didn't sit well with me. I wasn't perfect, that much I could admit, but I tried my hardest to live the best I could, for both myself and everyone around me. A mediocre afterlife might as well be hell and I didn't deserve that.
The other heavens just weren't right for me. Valhalla looked nice on paper, but eternal conflict would grow old quick. I'd probably get bullied by mighty warriors for the rest of eternity. Besides, I didn't think my life-long battle with anxiety qualified me for entry, no matter how well I may argue for it. The underworld, ruled by Hades, didn't seem so bad either. That said, a cold existence with no suffering sounded incredibly monotonous.
My attention was then brought to a realm called 'Elo-hell'. It sounded familiar. The brochure mentioned it was a place were people played team-based videogames forever. I thought that sounded awesome until reading the fine print, which said that all of your teammates would be worse than you and all of your opponents would be better but, somehow, you were always to blame for the inevitable loss. No thanks. I experienced that enough while alive. In the end, the only thing I could say to the angel was:
"This is bullshit."
The angel's smile didn't waver. "I agree."
I squinted. "Really?"
"Yes, us angels have no choice but to be happy. You, on the other hand, have the freedom to choose. Dealing with your complaints is quite... bullshit."
I frowned. "It's not like I can help you with that..."
"I'm glad we're on the same page." The angel looked past me. "Next!"
"Wait, wait, is there really nothing I can do?"
Several people behind me audibly complained.
"Oh shut up! You'll get your turn!"
"Just pick one!" shouted a Viking. "It's not a big deal!"
"Then *you* go to hell!"
The Viking brandished a giant axe. I stuck out my tongue. It's not like he could kill me.
"Please," said the angel, "no need to cause an uproar."
"Or what?"
The angel shrugged. "Nothing, really. Things just run smoother if everyone gets along."
"So I can just lounge around this lobby until I make up my mind?"
"I'd rather you didn't..."
"But if I did..."
The angel sighed. "There's nothing I can do to stop you."
I turned around, facing those behind me. "Does anyone else think this whole system is bullshit?"
Everyone grew quiet.
"Come on, even the angel admitted it."
A few people slowly raised their hand.
"So why do we put up with it?"
The angel facepalmed. "Oh Lord, not again, please."
I ignored him. "We can make this place our heaven! We don't have to settle for less!"
"Yeah!" shouted the Viking.
People started murmuring in agreement.
"Wait!" pleaded the angel. "Don't you think you're forgetting another option?"
I eyed him with skepticism. "What do you mean?"
"There's the wheel of reincarnation."
"Fuck that! I'll probably get an even worse life!"
The angel shook his head with a tired smile. For some reason, this felt like the first time his expression was genuine. "It's a common mistake to assume that. In actuality, that path is the easiest way into heaven."
"But... what if I run out of attempts?"
The angel leaned over the desk, lowering his voice. "That's the secret. *Everyone's* worthy of heaven. Most people just assume they're not good enough and live in a hell of their own choosing. The alternative, trying again, is too painful for them. It's easier on the ego to just tell yourself you deserve misery. I mean, look, you were about to turn this lobby into another hell just to feel in control of your fate. If you have the chance to reincarnate, don't you think it'd be a waste to throw it all away?"
"I... I don't think I'll make it, though." My eyes watered. "And it terrifies me."
"I know. It's easier said than done."
I swallowed down my anxiety. "Is this the first time we've met?"
"Nope."
I looked away. "So I keep failing, huh?"
"Sure, if you want to see it that way. You could also see it as a measure of your resolve. With that in mind, I would like to add that in all my years as a servant, I've never seen anyone run out of attempts. They always make it... eventually."
I pursed my lips, hesitating. "Fine. Spin the wheel again. What's the worst that could happen?"
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find the rest of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | [Warning] Some adult language
The Red Tape of Heaven
There is a small desk, with one man sitting at it, an empty chair sits across from him, he is flipping through paperwork and seems rather annoyed.
[God] NEXT!... have a seat.
[Morty] Where am i?
[God] You're in purgatory
[Morty] I’m sorry i didn't catch that.
[God] I think you did.
[Morty] ...I... im dead?
[god] Yes you died 3798 years ago.
[morty] What! How is that possible?
[god] The afterlife is littered with miles of red tape. Not to mention the mass amount of deaths in a year, these sort of things take time, and the paperwork stacks up, you understand.
[morty] so...you're god?
[god] precisely.
[morty] But...aren't you all powerful?
[God] What does that have to do with anything?
[morty] Well then...can't you just like snap your fingers and wave everyone on through?
[God] Just because I can do anything, doesn't mean I can do it in a day.
[Morty] But, but youre god! The head hancho!
[god] Ever hear the expression ‘god works in mysterious ways? Well its less of a mystery and more along the lines ‘ god works within his parameters’ I've got rules too bub, just like everyone else… may we continue?
[morty] I mean...I guess.
[god] good… like I was saying… this is purgatory.
[Morty] wait so I’m not going to heaven?
[God] *sigh* This is why we are here, to figure that out.
[morty] I thought you just knew who's good and bad.
[god} what am I? Santa claus? Do you think I have a gang of magical flying reindeer too?
[morty] Well...no but-
[god] Im just a regular guy like you, doing his job okay? it wouldn't take 3000 years if you people didn't have so many questions.
[Morty] Sorry...continue.
[god] Thank you… okay so what’s you’re name?
[Morty] You’re god and you don't know my name?
[God] Jesus christ-
[Morty] Don't use the lords name in vain
[God] I am the lord.
]morty] I’m sorry I’m just having a hard time believing this, is all.
[god] okay I’ll bite, why?
[morty] Well for one, you don't know my name.
[God] I know your name… it says it on your paperwork.
[Morty] okay but you should just know, Shouldn't like angels being doing this part? And why are you asking me my name if you already know it then?
[god] Well, I need to make sure the person is at least sane enough to know their own name before i send them to hell-
[morty] im going to hell!?
[God] listen that's not-
[morty] you're a dick!
[God] Listen I’d be a little nicer to the guy deciding your fate in the afterlife.
[Morty] *scoffs* yeah right. You're just going to send me to hell anyway, why bother.
[God] Listen you don't even know the difference between heaven and hell, the stupid fiery pit you people have fabricated is not what it's like.
[Morty] What's it like?
[god] Well I can't tell you that
Morty] Why not?
[God] God works within his parameters
[Morty] God should be able to decide what his parameters are...
[god] Well he doesn't so shut up and answer my questions.
Morty] Or what? You're just a glorified office worker, youre no better than me.
[god] Well people are made in the image of god after all.
[morty] you know what? I’m out of here.
[god] Look we got off on the wrong foot.
[Morty] Nope, I’m done.
[god] I'm telling you I wouldn't-
[Morty] Well buddy, I have half a mind to shove my foot up your-
Suddenly morty falls through the floor and disappears.
[god] *sighs* NEXT!
| |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful,” the man said to me, handing me back my request form with the list of other afterlife options.
I took the documents and looked down at my form. I had meticulously written and re-written multiple drafts of my request, all with the hopes of successfully gaining entrance to this particular heaven. It was my only chance of re-uniting with my husband who had passed long before me.
Part of me blamed Steve. We both knew there was only a slim chance for my acceptance, and yet, he chose this heaven anyway. We both knew I just wasn’t a good person, at least not good enough to get into one of the top-tier heavens. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was precisely why Steve had chosen this heaven - if he saw it as a way to escape from me in the afterlife just as he had by choosing suicide.
Tears began to roll down my cheek as I turned away from the gate. I shuffled the papers in my hand to look at the list of other options.
The re-incarnation wheel was risky but quickly becoming a more attractive choice. It served as a chance to try again - the ultimate do-over - and if I were to miss, condemnation to the fiercest Hell did not seem much worse than what I had realistically available for me to choose.
More resolute in my decision with each passing second, I walked with determination to the portal door. Without looking back, I swung open the glass panel and stepped in.
I saw a squat man with glasses standing about 10 meters in front of me. He raised his bushy auburn eyebrows as he heard my arrival, no doubt surprised by my polite appearance. Most don’t choose to take the chance of re-incarnation as the stakes are simply too high. This leaves him with a steady clientele of Earth’s worst - those who have nothing to lose.
“Are you sure?” He asked me.
“Yes,” I confidently replied with a nod.
“Spin when you’re ready,” he said while gesturing to the giant wheel next to him. It reminded me of the cake walk wheels I would see at local county fairs growing up.
I stepped up and grabbed the side of the wheel, closed my eyes, and pulled down as hard as I could, spinning the wheel into motion.
There was only one thin slice of the wheel that offered re-incarnation and my eyes followed it round and round as it spun past the stopper.
After about ten seconds, I couldn’t take it anymore and I closed my eyes.
“Just breathe,” I said to myself.
Once I heard the spinning stop, I braced myself and opened my eyes.
“Oh my god,” I muttered. The stopper was squarely over the re-incarnation slice. | A young woman in her early twenties was standing in front of a heavenly gate. She chewed on a piece of bubble gum while turning her computer monitor towards her 16th customer of the day. Daniel was in his thirties, but his beard was only a couple of days old.
“Stealing is usually not that much of deal in our establishment, we got a lot of poor fellows with a tough upbringing in here. But did you like … murder a bunch of people? We got like a lot of people coming through here that are on the shadier side of things and those like to murder a lot. It’s usually nothing personal, it’s just a struggle of power, sometimes a hostage situation, a witness or like a domestic thing but we here at Sinners Resort don’t like to judge too harshly. So do you remember like any flashes of anger or violence that could explain your low credit score?”
“No never? I have never killed somebody”, he replied in a shade of tired frustration. He wasn’t sure about why he was having such a hard time finding a place to stay for even just a couple of nights in the afterlife. He lived a good life, worked in construction and was a happy family man. He didn’t hurt anybody.
“Alright, are you sure? I’m just trying make sense out of your low credit score here. You need to have at least an 800 to get a like a basic room with us, but you are at a 110. We got a lot of politicians coming through who didn’t kill people with their bare hands but were responsible for some really questionable stuff, but they usually manage to be around a 280, 300. Did you maybe like to torture or eat people? We had to decline a Belgian couple recently that was kind of on the weirder side. But honestly I haven’t seen a number that low since the 1940s.”
Daniel was staring in disbelief at the little computer screen showing his credit score. | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | The angel was telling me to go to hell. He was nice about it, sure. So nice, actually, that I barely noticed his intent until thinking about it for a second. Almost like he was tricking me into complying out of politeness. The fact that there were millions of souls behind me, all waiting in line for their turn, only made my embarrassment worse. We were trapped in an infinitely large hotel lobby. Millions of angels dressed with gray blazers attended everyone behind a circular marble desk, processing them into their appropriate afterlife with cheerful disposition.
I wasn't going to let them pressure me, though. The other attendees could heckle me all they wanted. My soul was at stake here. I waited centuries to reach the front of the line. If they wanted to get into heaven quicker, they could just try another queue instead. Unfortunately, I didn't know if I could keep arguing against a divine decree. Those had a surprisingly high accuracy rate. It couldn't be wrong, right?
Maybe I just wasn't good enough for heaven. No. That thought didn't sit well with me. I wasn't perfect, that much I could admit, but I tried my hardest to live the best I could, for both myself and everyone around me. A mediocre afterlife might as well be hell and I didn't deserve that.
The other heavens just weren't right for me. Valhalla looked nice on paper, but eternal conflict would grow old quick. I'd probably get bullied by mighty warriors for the rest of eternity. Besides, I didn't think my life-long battle with anxiety qualified me for entry, no matter how well I may argue for it. The underworld, ruled by Hades, didn't seem so bad either. That said, a cold existence with no suffering sounded incredibly monotonous.
My attention was then brought to a realm called 'Elo-hell'. It sounded familiar. The brochure mentioned it was a place were people played team-based videogames forever. I thought that sounded awesome until reading the fine print, which said that all of your teammates would be worse than you and all of your opponents would be better but, somehow, you were always to blame for the inevitable loss. No thanks. I experienced that enough while alive. In the end, the only thing I could say to the angel was:
"This is bullshit."
The angel's smile didn't waver. "I agree."
I squinted. "Really?"
"Yes, us angels have no choice but to be happy. You, on the other hand, have the freedom to choose. Dealing with your complaints is quite... bullshit."
I frowned. "It's not like I can help you with that..."
"I'm glad we're on the same page." The angel looked past me. "Next!"
"Wait, wait, is there really nothing I can do?"
Several people behind me audibly complained.
"Oh shut up! You'll get your turn!"
"Just pick one!" shouted a Viking. "It's not a big deal!"
"Then *you* go to hell!"
The Viking brandished a giant axe. I stuck out my tongue. It's not like he could kill me.
"Please," said the angel, "no need to cause an uproar."
"Or what?"
The angel shrugged. "Nothing, really. Things just run smoother if everyone gets along."
"So I can just lounge around this lobby until I make up my mind?"
"I'd rather you didn't..."
"But if I did..."
The angel sighed. "There's nothing I can do to stop you."
I turned around, facing those behind me. "Does anyone else think this whole system is bullshit?"
Everyone grew quiet.
"Come on, even the angel admitted it."
A few people slowly raised their hand.
"So why do we put up with it?"
The angel facepalmed. "Oh Lord, not again, please."
I ignored him. "We can make this place our heaven! We don't have to settle for less!"
"Yeah!" shouted the Viking.
People started murmuring in agreement.
"Wait!" pleaded the angel. "Don't you think you're forgetting another option?"
I eyed him with skepticism. "What do you mean?"
"There's the wheel of reincarnation."
"Fuck that! I'll probably get an even worse life!"
The angel shook his head with a tired smile. For some reason, this felt like the first time his expression was genuine. "It's a common mistake to assume that. In actuality, that path is the easiest way into heaven."
"But... what if I run out of attempts?"
The angel leaned over the desk, lowering his voice. "That's the secret. *Everyone's* worthy of heaven. Most people just assume they're not good enough and live in a hell of their own choosing. The alternative, trying again, is too painful for them. It's easier on the ego to just tell yourself you deserve misery. I mean, look, you were about to turn this lobby into another hell just to feel in control of your fate. If you have the chance to reincarnate, don't you think it'd be a waste to throw it all away?"
"I... I don't think I'll make it, though." My eyes watered. "And it terrifies me."
"I know. It's easier said than done."
I swallowed down my anxiety. "Is this the first time we've met?"
"Nope."
I looked away. "So I keep failing, huh?"
"Sure, if you want to see it that way. You could also see it as a measure of your resolve. With that in mind, I would like to add that in all my years as a servant, I've never seen anyone run out of attempts. They always make it... eventually."
I pursed my lips, hesitating. "Fine. Spin the wheel again. What's the worst that could happen?"
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find the rest of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | A young woman in her early twenties was standing in front of a heavenly gate. She chewed on a piece of bubble gum while turning her computer monitor towards her 16th customer of the day. Daniel was in his thirties, but his beard was only a couple of days old.
“Stealing is usually not that much of deal in our establishment, we got a lot of poor fellows with a tough upbringing in here. But did you like … murder a bunch of people? We got like a lot of people coming through here that are on the shadier side of things and those like to murder a lot. It’s usually nothing personal, it’s just a struggle of power, sometimes a hostage situation, a witness or like a domestic thing but we here at Sinners Resort don’t like to judge too harshly. So do you remember like any flashes of anger or violence that could explain your low credit score?”
“No never? I have never killed somebody”, he replied in a shade of tired frustration. He wasn’t sure about why he was having such a hard time finding a place to stay for even just a couple of nights in the afterlife. He lived a good life, worked in construction and was a happy family man. He didn’t hurt anybody.
“Alright, are you sure? I’m just trying make sense out of your low credit score here. You need to have at least an 800 to get a like a basic room with us, but you are at a 110. We got a lot of politicians coming through who didn’t kill people with their bare hands but were responsible for some really questionable stuff, but they usually manage to be around a 280, 300. Did you maybe like to torture or eat people? We had to decline a Belgian couple recently that was kind of on the weirder side. But honestly I haven’t seen a number that low since the 1940s.”
Daniel was staring in disbelief at the little computer screen showing his credit score. | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | "I'm sorry," the angel said. She didn't sound sorry. Her long eyelashes fluttered and she hardly looked up from her tablet. "You don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife."
Nico blinked. "What does that even mean? I get hit by a truck, I come here, and now what? I have to leave? That doesn't make any sense."
"I know it's a complicated process." The angel turned the tablet toward him. "Here's a list of other heavens you can try. Valhalla is quite popular, but I'll have to double-check if you qualify for that one or not. "
She paused for a moment, her face screwed up in thought. "The Greek underworld--Hades, it's called, after its patron--has also gone up in popularity in recent years." She leaned in close and lowered her voice. "Between you and me, I think it's a bit overrated."
From his fingertips to his toes, Nico was numb. There was nothing. Not even the sensation of pins and needles. It was only him, the angel, and swaths of white, as if he were in a cloud. He looked at the tablet in his hand. When he pressed his finger against the screen, it responded. The list, it seemed, went on and on and on. "These are all real?'
"Of course! Why would we lie to you." The angel's voice dripped with sugar. "I can't say they're all desirable, though. Did you know that some people actually choose to go to the afterlife of 9 and 3/4? Just because they're Harry Potter fans? What a waste..."
She cleared her throat. "Of course, if that's what you want, you're more than welcome to pick it."
"I think I'm good," Nico said dryly. He couldn't feel his throat, either, but his voice sounded as if it had been run over with sandpaper. Maybe it had been when he was hit by the truck--he couldn't know for sure.
"You can even pick a hell, if you want."
"Why would I want that?"
"Why does any human want anything?" The angel shrugged. "It's beyond me. But they are sorted from least to most painful. Can't say I'd recommend the musicians hell, though."
"What is it? Justine Beiber on repeat?"
"Ha, ha. How original." The angel cocked her head. "No--it's every song you love, played slightly off beat. A slow boil torture, really."
Nico kept scrolling. There must've been hundreds of afterlives on the list. Everything from the underworld in *Gilgamesh* to The Good Place. How was he supposed to pick?
"Not sure?" the angel asked.
Nico didn't know what to say. "Even if I had a lifetime, I don't think I could ever choose one. I mean, it's a big commitment."
"That it is." She nodded along in sympathy. "Of course, you can always pick the wheel of reincarnation."
At that, Nico perked up. "The what?"
"It's exactly what it sounds like. Spin the wheel, get a new life. Anything from a billionaire to a beggar is on the board, just so you know."
That didn't matter. Whatever the wheel gave him, it would be temporary. He'd have more time to figure it all out before he ended up back here. He handed her the tablet without a second glance. "I'll do the wheel."
The angel nodded, though her face grew weary. "Of course, of course. I'll bring it right out."
Nico nodded along. This was... this was good. This was the right choice. He'd have time to think about it all. Maybe come to a better conclusion on the best way to spend the rest of forever.
"The wheel will give you a different life each time. But I do have to warn you, though, there are only so many times you can pick the wheel." The angel snapped and a wheel--bright and giant and colourful--blinked into existence.
Nico waved his hand. "That's fine. I won't need it again." He reached forward and pulled. The colours blurred together; as it spun, each pin knocked against the ticker. As it whirled past, Nico realized the true size of the board. It must've been infinite. Or as near as he could comprehend. Maybe that shouldn't have been a surprise, given the number of people, of lives, on earth.
"That's what you said last time."
"What?" Nico looked up. If he could still feel anything, he suspected his heart would be hammering away.
"You said that last time. And the time before that, as well." She shrugged and turned her attention to the wheel. "But let's see what it says this time--it's almost your last go, after all. There are only two lives that you haven't yet lived."
---
r/LisWrites | A young woman in her early twenties was standing in front of a heavenly gate. She chewed on a piece of bubble gum while turning her computer monitor towards her 16th customer of the day. Daniel was in his thirties, but his beard was only a couple of days old.
“Stealing is usually not that much of deal in our establishment, we got a lot of poor fellows with a tough upbringing in here. But did you like … murder a bunch of people? We got like a lot of people coming through here that are on the shadier side of things and those like to murder a lot. It’s usually nothing personal, it’s just a struggle of power, sometimes a hostage situation, a witness or like a domestic thing but we here at Sinners Resort don’t like to judge too harshly. So do you remember like any flashes of anger or violence that could explain your low credit score?”
“No never? I have never killed somebody”, he replied in a shade of tired frustration. He wasn’t sure about why he was having such a hard time finding a place to stay for even just a couple of nights in the afterlife. He lived a good life, worked in construction and was a happy family man. He didn’t hurt anybody.
“Alright, are you sure? I’m just trying make sense out of your low credit score here. You need to have at least an 800 to get a like a basic room with us, but you are at a 110. We got a lot of politicians coming through who didn’t kill people with their bare hands but were responsible for some really questionable stuff, but they usually manage to be around a 280, 300. Did you maybe like to torture or eat people? We had to decline a Belgian couple recently that was kind of on the weirder side. But honestly I haven’t seen a number that low since the 1940s.”
Daniel was staring in disbelief at the little computer screen showing his credit score. | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | The angel was telling me to go to hell. He was nice about it, sure. So nice, actually, that I barely noticed his intent until thinking about it for a second. Almost like he was tricking me into complying out of politeness. The fact that there were millions of souls behind me, all waiting in line for their turn, only made my embarrassment worse. We were trapped in an infinitely large hotel lobby. Millions of angels dressed with gray blazers attended everyone behind a circular marble desk, processing them into their appropriate afterlife with cheerful disposition.
I wasn't going to let them pressure me, though. The other attendees could heckle me all they wanted. My soul was at stake here. I waited centuries to reach the front of the line. If they wanted to get into heaven quicker, they could just try another queue instead. Unfortunately, I didn't know if I could keep arguing against a divine decree. Those had a surprisingly high accuracy rate. It couldn't be wrong, right?
Maybe I just wasn't good enough for heaven. No. That thought didn't sit well with me. I wasn't perfect, that much I could admit, but I tried my hardest to live the best I could, for both myself and everyone around me. A mediocre afterlife might as well be hell and I didn't deserve that.
The other heavens just weren't right for me. Valhalla looked nice on paper, but eternal conflict would grow old quick. I'd probably get bullied by mighty warriors for the rest of eternity. Besides, I didn't think my life-long battle with anxiety qualified me for entry, no matter how well I may argue for it. The underworld, ruled by Hades, didn't seem so bad either. That said, a cold existence with no suffering sounded incredibly monotonous.
My attention was then brought to a realm called 'Elo-hell'. It sounded familiar. The brochure mentioned it was a place were people played team-based videogames forever. I thought that sounded awesome until reading the fine print, which said that all of your teammates would be worse than you and all of your opponents would be better but, somehow, you were always to blame for the inevitable loss. No thanks. I experienced that enough while alive. In the end, the only thing I could say to the angel was:
"This is bullshit."
The angel's smile didn't waver. "I agree."
I squinted. "Really?"
"Yes, us angels have no choice but to be happy. You, on the other hand, have the freedom to choose. Dealing with your complaints is quite... bullshit."
I frowned. "It's not like I can help you with that..."
"I'm glad we're on the same page." The angel looked past me. "Next!"
"Wait, wait, is there really nothing I can do?"
Several people behind me audibly complained.
"Oh shut up! You'll get your turn!"
"Just pick one!" shouted a Viking. "It's not a big deal!"
"Then *you* go to hell!"
The Viking brandished a giant axe. I stuck out my tongue. It's not like he could kill me.
"Please," said the angel, "no need to cause an uproar."
"Or what?"
The angel shrugged. "Nothing, really. Things just run smoother if everyone gets along."
"So I can just lounge around this lobby until I make up my mind?"
"I'd rather you didn't..."
"But if I did..."
The angel sighed. "There's nothing I can do to stop you."
I turned around, facing those behind me. "Does anyone else think this whole system is bullshit?"
Everyone grew quiet.
"Come on, even the angel admitted it."
A few people slowly raised their hand.
"So why do we put up with it?"
The angel facepalmed. "Oh Lord, not again, please."
I ignored him. "We can make this place our heaven! We don't have to settle for less!"
"Yeah!" shouted the Viking.
People started murmuring in agreement.
"Wait!" pleaded the angel. "Don't you think you're forgetting another option?"
I eyed him with skepticism. "What do you mean?"
"There's the wheel of reincarnation."
"Fuck that! I'll probably get an even worse life!"
The angel shook his head with a tired smile. For some reason, this felt like the first time his expression was genuine. "It's a common mistake to assume that. In actuality, that path is the easiest way into heaven."
"But... what if I run out of attempts?"
The angel leaned over the desk, lowering his voice. "That's the secret. *Everyone's* worthy of heaven. Most people just assume they're not good enough and live in a hell of their own choosing. The alternative, trying again, is too painful for them. It's easier on the ego to just tell yourself you deserve misery. I mean, look, you were about to turn this lobby into another hell just to feel in control of your fate. If you have the chance to reincarnate, don't you think it'd be a waste to throw it all away?"
"I... I don't think I'll make it, though." My eyes watered. "And it terrifies me."
"I know. It's easier said than done."
I swallowed down my anxiety. "Is this the first time we've met?"
"Nope."
I looked away. "So I keep failing, huh?"
"Sure, if you want to see it that way. You could also see it as a measure of your resolve. With that in mind, I would like to add that in all my years as a servant, I've never seen anyone run out of attempts. They always make it... eventually."
I pursed my lips, hesitating. "Fine. Spin the wheel again. What's the worst that could happen?"
---------
>If you enjoyed this, you can find the rest of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful,” the man said to me, handing me back my request form with the list of other afterlife options.
I took the documents and looked down at my form. I had meticulously written and re-written multiple drafts of my request, all with the hopes of successfully gaining entrance to this particular heaven. It was my only chance of re-uniting with my husband who had passed long before me.
Part of me blamed Steve. We both knew there was only a slim chance for my acceptance, and yet, he chose this heaven anyway. We both knew I just wasn’t a good person, at least not good enough to get into one of the top-tier heavens. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was precisely why Steve had chosen this heaven - if he saw it as a way to escape from me in the afterlife just as he had by choosing suicide.
Tears began to roll down my cheek as I turned away from the gate. I shuffled the papers in my hand to look at the list of other options.
The re-incarnation wheel was risky but quickly becoming a more attractive choice. It served as a chance to try again - the ultimate do-over - and if I were to miss, condemnation to the fiercest Hell did not seem much worse than what I had realistically available for me to choose.
More resolute in my decision with each passing second, I walked with determination to the portal door. Without looking back, I swung open the glass panel and stepped in.
I saw a squat man with glasses standing about 10 meters in front of me. He raised his bushy auburn eyebrows as he heard my arrival, no doubt surprised by my polite appearance. Most don’t choose to take the chance of re-incarnation as the stakes are simply too high. This leaves him with a steady clientele of Earth’s worst - those who have nothing to lose.
“Are you sure?” He asked me.
“Yes,” I confidently replied with a nod.
“Spin when you’re ready,” he said while gesturing to the giant wheel next to him. It reminded me of the cake walk wheels I would see at local county fairs growing up.
I stepped up and grabbed the side of the wheel, closed my eyes, and pulled down as hard as I could, spinning the wheel into motion.
There was only one thin slice of the wheel that offered re-incarnation and my eyes followed it round and round as it spun past the stopper.
After about ten seconds, I couldn’t take it anymore and I closed my eyes.
“Just breathe,” I said to myself.
Once I heard the spinning stop, I braced myself and opened my eyes.
“Oh my god,” I muttered. The stopper was squarely over the re-incarnation slice. | |
[WP] "Sorry, but you don't meet our requirements for a heavenly afterlife, here's a paper of other heavens you can try, and hells if none of those work sorted by least painful, you can always try the re-incarnation wheel, but the number of tries is numbered so be careful." | "Goodness," I replied. "I don't meet the requirements?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said the angel. "You don't."
"You're sure this isn't a mistake?" I asked.
"No mistake," the angel replied. And then, speaking compassionately, she said: "I realize this is difficult. Looking at your record, I can see you lived a stand-up life. You tried your best, for the most part, to be a good and moral person. You were openhearted and giving. You were openminded to all things that smacked of virtue, and closed your mind to thoughts and ideas in which you sensed even the slightest tinge of evil. You should feel proud of the life you lived! I can assure you, your Heavenly Father, though he has not granted you entrance into Everlasting Bliss, is proud of you."
I looked behind her, through the golden gates, at the great, white floating castle, behind whose high walls the chosen souls were evidently having a party. The bassy music blared. Rainbows shot from behind the walls into the starry sky, where they danced like spotlights. I scowled.
"So hedonistic raves were evil on Earth, but they're perfectly acceptable here," I said sarcastically. "What, are they snorting lines of cloud dust in there, too?"
"Sir," the angel said, "it's not my place to judge who is chosen and who is not. Nor is it my place to explain why the judgements were made. My role is only to tell new arrivals what the judgement placed upon them is, and to give them options for next steps."
"I understand," I said, nodding my head, trying to keep my composure. But soon despair leaked through my facade, and I found myself begging: "Please. At least tell me why I was judged as I was. At least give me something. I worked so hard to live a life that would be pleasing to the Creator. Or, one I thought would be pleasing to Him. I sought to glorify Him. I never thought or acted without first asking myself, "How would the Lord judge me for this?" If you could just give me a hint. Then, when I go back into the world, into a body, into the cycle of reincarnation, I can carry with me that hint, and can make sure I live my life right this time, so that I can be accepted next time I arrive here. Please."
The angel bit her heavenly lip. She seemed uncomfortable about my request. Was it because I was seducing her into transgressing her duties? After all, she had said it was not her place to explain the judgements. And here I was, begging her to do just that. Or was it for some other reason that she looked so uncertain, so torn, so ready to tell me everything I wanted to hear, and yet so unwilling to do so.
"What?" I asked. "What is it? You seem perturbed. I don't mean to put you in a difficult position. It's just that...well...this isn't even a matter of life and death. It's more than that. It's a matter of eternity! After a long life lived a certain way, hoping for a certain reward, I only want to know what I did wrong. Why I wasn't...enough."
"It's not your fault," she said sadly. "Oh, not at all... I'm sorry. Look."
She held out the form for me to examine.
"The judgement section is blank," I said incredulously. "It has my name, my good deeds balanced with my bad ones. I'm well in the positive, it seems. And it has that number --"
"Your spiritual serial number," she said.
"But the judgement section," I repeated. "It's blank...Why are you telling me I've been denied, then? Why are you giving me these other options? There is no judgement there! None at all!"
"I know," she said, looking down at her feet. "I know."
"Then how did you determine I was denied?" I asked, a fury growing in me. But I curbed the anger, as best as I could. "Please. Please. Explain."
"Today, God gave me the number 14," she said.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means that every fourteenth soul who arrives is allowed entry. All the others are turned away."
"Every fourteenth soul?" I said. "That's preposterous! Why fourteen? What is so special about that number?"
"Yesterday's number was 3," she confessed. "Every morning when he awakens, or rather, every afternoon, as it has been lately, he chooses one from the multitude in there, at random. He puts a blindfold on this chosen soul, spins him around three times, and has him throw a dart at a dartboard. Whatever number the dart lands on, that's the number for the day. And if the dart misses the board, or lands in the edge, without hitting a number, then the number for the day is zero. That means, for that day, zero souls are admitted into Heaven."
Needless to say, I was horrified by this explanation.
"I refuse to believe it," I said.
"Oh, it's terrible, isn't it?" she cried. "No method. No reason. Pure arbitrary chance. He's made a cynical game of life, and the afterlife, too. And we have no choice but to carry out his will!"
"But why?" I asked. "Why would He play with our souls this way? I thought he was a God of love, and reason and compassion? Of Goodness and Truth?"
"He was," she said. "He was. For so long. He created this beautiful Universe. Gave form to the formless. Created Being from the Void. And truth! He created truth, and even seemed composed of it himself. But over the last while, a few hundred years by your mortal ways of reckoning time, a change has come over him. One day, he was struck by a question: "What right had I to create truth or goodness? And are my creations *really* True and Good? Are not truth and goodness arbitrary? The products of my fancy and whim? I created the Laws; yet I have no higher Laws to serve myself."
And from these questions he set to searching. Searching for that which transcended his own creation, his own mind, his own limitations. He searched in earnest, for decades. High and low. Outside his creation and down in the smallest wrinkles within it, searching for clues. Searching for a hint of something realer than this arbitrary reality, for some confirmation of something that existed beyond his own will and mind. But he could not find it.
"The Cosmos is only my dream," he concluded. "A foolish dream by a foolish and lonely deity."
Since then, he has let chance govern. He has taken his hands from the wheel. He has let dizzy and blindfolded chance determine the fate and future of the Cosmos. And we angels, though we have tried to reason with him, have gotten nowhere, and so we submit to his will. For any reason we give him for going back to the old ways, for governing as he used to, with ideals, and love, and reason, he dismisses, saying,
"You give me reasons. But I created Reason. I know what it is. I know its limits. And I know that I am beholden to it only so long as I choose to be!"
Our Father, our great Creator, depressed and alone in his own creation, seeking some Otherness, some difference, something that doesn't simply bring him back again to himself, and not finding it! Never finding it! Reaching His hand out into the Void, hoping the hand of another might reach back, might touch him, with warmth, with solidity, with love, but only finding more of the same! Either Nothing -- or, what seems even worse to him now, Something that he created! Only more of himself! Can you imagine? To realize that all is nothing unless you create it? To realize that all that exists is merely an extension of yourself? To have nothing beyond your own imagination on which to sit and rest? The terrible loneliness! It is too large, too deep, for our limited minds to comprehend."
She suddenly composed herself, aware that she was making a scene.
"So now," she said stiffly, sniffling, "He parties, to forget his sorrow, and He lets chance rule in his stead. And now you, though I am sorry to say it, must make your choice. I have given you options. So choose."
I was struck dumb. Yet I had to say something. I had to say something that would give me even a sliver of true understanding of this insane state of affairs. Even if it was only to better understand the nature of the arbitrariness to which I, and the rest of Humanity, was now subject. But what could I say, what could I ask, that would possibly give me the insight I needed?
"Well," I eventually asked, "what number was I?"
"Pardon me?" she said
"In today's order," I said. "What number was I?"
"Look behind you," she said bitterly.
I turned. Stomping toward me was an angry, evil looking man, who had certainly received his share of cruelty in life, and had doled out many more shares to others in return.
"Yes?" I said, turning back around. "What about him?"
"He will be number fourteen." | None of it is what I expected. First, the color scheme -- the walls are sky blue, which is on-brand, I suppose. But the closest I get to pearly gates is the gleaming smile of the lithe blonde sitting behind the obsidian counter. "Hello, and welcome to *Heaven Platinum*! How may I help you?"
I glance at the gleaming gold escalator behind her, currently frozen, and then back to her. "Uh...I was wondering if I could...y' know..."
Her smile never falters, but her voice gets a smidge chirpy: "...ascend into a truly divine after-life experience where all your fantasies come true?"
I glance down at my feet. My Chuck Taylors look *awfully* ratty against the gleaming tile of the floor. "Well...yeah, I mean, if it's not too much trouble."
Her pony tail swishes gently as she nods. "Certainly, sir, I would be happy to help you explore that possibility today."
My heart starts heading in the direction of my Chuck Taylors at that word *possibility*. And it only picks up the pace as she continues, "Now, can I ask your cause of death?"
I lick my lips. "I, um...hm?"
Her head tilts to one side, teeth shining at me aggressively. "The reason for the end of your earthly existence, sir. What actions or forces led to your shuffling off of all coils, mortal and otherwise?"
My gaze goes to the dazzling chandelier over her head. Maybe...it'll just fall on her, and I won't have to have this conversation. Or I could just make a break for the escalator -- but something tells me that would *not* go well.
"I, uh, I drangsumatpoinnin."
"I'm *terribly* sorry, sir, I seem to be having some trouble hearing you," she says, her voice sounding -- if anything -- pleased that I'm mumbling. "Could you try again? I'm afraid I can't process you if --"
"I DRANK SOME RAT POISON," I say, my voice echoing off the walls. "It was an accident, though. I had put it in my fridge. It's...a long story."
For a second, I imagine she is a video playback and someone hit the pause button: she freezes, and I have enough time to count the teeth in her smile before she blinks, then nods slowly. "*Super*, thanks so much for sharing that with me. Unfortunately, we are not going to be able to offer you a spot in Heaven Platinum today, but if anything changes, do let us know!"
"What, exactly, could possibly change about *how* I *died*?" I ask, tension building in my neck.
"I'm afraid I am unable to divulge that information but we are *so pleased* to be able to offer you this full-color informational brochure about other options you might have."
A delicately manicured hand appears from behind the counter, placing a folded pamphlet on the surface and sliding it an inch closer to me.
"...okay. Thanks."
I pick up the brochure. There is a man with his hands on the hips, face scrunched, underneath the headline **So You've Been Denied the Opportunity to Experience Eternal Paradise**.
Blondie speaks up again, "And to ensure the comfort and maximal pleasure of our *legitimate* clients, I'm afraid I *am* going to have to ask you to read the brochure outside. *Thanks so much* for understanding -- we truly appreciate it!"
I'm about to tell her somewhere she can go appreciate it when invisible hands grab my shirt and yank me out of the lobby and into the grey nothingness of Limbo.
I scowl at the platinum walls of the office building and think: *As soon as I find a computer with internet access, I'm going to leave them the worst Yelp review ever.*
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds for a couple hundred more stories and scenes, including [this story](https://old.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/a8siak/wp_you_have_died_and_gone_to_hell_strangely_it/) of a man who tries to make Hell more efficient and [this one](https://old.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/88ejbp/wp_you_work_at_an_office_in_hell_you_dont_live_in/) about a guy who is called to Hell to help them use Excel properly.
Also - forgot that the rat poison thing is loosely inspired by [this story](https://www.reddit.com/r/ShadowsofClouds/comments/91wa9x/wp_there_are_millions_of_different_timelines_that/). | |
[WP] You have been getting repeated emails promising you life-changing amounts of money, which you delete and forget about. One day, a famous billionaire knocks on your door and asks you why you have been ignoring him | “Sweetheart, do you know where the roasted red pepper flakes are?” Shelly asked her husband, Donovan.
Donovan heard a droning hum coming from the kitchen that interrupted his drunken video game session.
“Donovan! Do you know where the roasted red pepper flakes are? Shelly repeated.
Donovan slid his headphones off one of his ears and said, “Did you look in the spice cabinet?”
“No shit, fuck head. Yes, I looked in the spice cabinet,”
“Well, I don’t know” Donovan yelled.
Somewhere down Pine street, a man wearing a blue suit with long blonde hair enjoyed a mid-afternoon gin and tonic in the back of his long sleek limousine. The man was wealthy. He owned an arrangement of tech companies, many that had successful video game franchises that Donovan played quite often.
“Terry, I believe you have to take a right up here.” The tech billionaire said to the limousine driver.
The limousine driver looked at his GPS, seeing that he actually needed to continue straight and said, “Sir, I believe we need to continue straight.”
“Right, my apologies Terry. I’m just a little antsy, It’s not every day I get to offer up a stake in our companies to our best customer.”
The billionaire had launched a secret marketing plan to give a portion of the company to the most deserving customer. After repeated emails and phone calls, he figured he would just show up at the customer’s house. No one would deny this opportunity.
Terry pulled into a short driveway of a duplex. The billionaire stepped out of the limousine and his mirrored leather shoes stepped right into a pile of unraked leaves. He looked up to the house to see a roof that needed repair and grass that hadn’t been cut in what seemed like decades.
Inside the home Shelly grew increasingly angry while searching through cupboards for those elusive spicy flakes, “Donovan, did you ever go to the grocery store like I asked you.”
Donovan heard the tone of his wife’s voice and recognized it as an opportunity to concentrate more on the video game in front of him so that he did.
Shelly grabbed her car keys and stormed towards the garage door, but a knock at the duplex’s front door sliced through her angst. She stomped towards the front door. A man was there, wearing a blue suit.
Shelly opened the door for the blue suit man, “Can I help you?” she said.
“Hello! Is Donovan available?” he said.
“I wish”
“Does he not live here?”
“No, he does, in theory. I mean he spends most his time in front of that fucking computer screen.”
“I see,” the blue suit man said. “So, can I talk to him?”
“Right now is probably not the best time sir. I have some errands to run and Donovan is really busy, maybe try selling him whatever it is you sell at a different time.” Shelly said while slamming the door.
The blue suit man’s nose almost collided with the hollow oaked door. He sulked to the limousine door and climbed in to greet Terry.
“How’d it go?” Terry asked.
“Not great, remind me to look into developing a time management app.”
“Sorry to hear that boss, maybe he’s just not worth it and you should just move onto the next person on the list.”
The blue suit man shook his sunglasses over his eyes and pulled out a folded up white piece of paper from his pocket. He recognized when he needed to move on, no matter how life-changing it may be for someone so that he did. | *Ding dong*
*"*Hello!*"*
"Hello kind sir! How are you doing"
"I am doing quite well myself, who are you"
"Ahhh well sir, I came to your house because you have not been responding to me"
"Umm I am pretty sure I have not been avoiding anyone, either on the internet or in-person. Unless you are my crazy ex-girlfriend who I filed a restraining order on and you clearly are not a female"
"No sir, I have emailed you many, many times about a proposition"
"I don't think I have gotten any mails like that"
"Well sir, I emailed you about a proposition where I would give you an incredible amount of money, in the total of sum of over $33 billion dollars"
"Okay buddy, I do not have time for this. Goodbye"
"Sir, I recommend checking your deleted folder. Specifically, search for the name Chinua Adele on Google and your email"
"Okay buddy, I will humor you. Alright your 24 emails are right here in my deleted folder. And now let me google you....what the....."
"Sir is everything okay?"
"YOU ARE CHINUA ADELE!!??! The son of Nigerian President Muhammad Adele and the man who created the largest diamond mining business!!!??"
"Yes that is indeed me."
"HOLY SH-. Um to what do I owe this honor"
"Well it is the business proposition. Actually not as much a business proposition but rather a request"
"Wait are you serious? I thought that your emails were part of some Nigerian prince scam or something like that"
"Well yes but no"
"What do you mean"
"So the nigerian prince emails are actually a part of my organization's outreach tools. The emails contain a software tool through which we learn about our subjects abilities. After that we research and try to find a suitable candidate for the program. We had not found a perfect candidate until you. You have a 99.89% match for our requirements"
"Hold up what? First of all why would you trust me with $33 billion. I just graduated college and I am unemployed. Secondly, what program?"
"I do not have time for that. I have spent too much time here in the open with you. Tell me whether you accept or not"
"Yeah of course but what is the program? Why do you have to leave? Can you tell me something about what is happening"
"I will be in contact with you very soon. I have to go"
And with that, Chinua ran into his Mercedes sports car and sped away. Stunned, I walked back into the house and wondered about what the hell just happened. I sat there on my couch watching the television play some cooking show on TLC for thirty minutes when my bell rang. Could that be him back? I opened the door to find myself being faced by twenty grown men in pristine black suits with badges and the man whose photo I had seen with Chinua Adele: Muhammad Adele
"Hello, my name is Muhammad Adele and these kind gentlemen are from the US Secret Service who are helping me. Our agents tell us Chinua Adele, my son, has contacted you. Is this true? Tell us the truth since this is a matter of national security"
"Ummm yeahhh. But listen guys I am just a 23 year old guy...."
"Thats okay. Sir I think you should let us in so we can talk. We need to talk about the conversation you had with my son."
"Why is this conversation so important?"
"Because it is a matter of global security" | |
[WP] The prophecy states that the demon could only be defeated by the power of friendship and teamwork. Violence alone won't work. Well you don't like prophecies, and you're pretty sure the ones who wrote the prophecy never considered anybody would unleash nearly as much violence as you're about to. | I've got used to his laughter by now. It began like a trumpet announcing an arrival, before sloping into a wheezing tune, and then dying into silent waves that continued to wrack his body.
It never failed to make me laugh. Today was not like other days, however.
"Who would have thought?" he cried. "Who would have thought that you, a human, and I, a demon, would become the best of friends?"
"Not me," I said, a wistful smile playing on the corners of my lips. "I hated your guts."
"As I did yours," he said. "But look at us now."
Atop a tower, staring imposingly over the sturdy walls of the castle made out of dark stone, so high up that even ivy couldn't climb its way up here, Moros stood up from his gaudy purple chair--the one with a weird stain on the bottom right side that he insisted wasn't human blood--and grandly waved his right hand, his left holding steadily to a cup of dark red wine. It was his favourite drink, after all, and it was due to be opened some day.
What better than the day of reckoning?
"You and I, ruler," he continued. "Once mortal enemies, but now the fastest of friends, conquering your former lands."
I nodded. I stood, pacing besides him.
"Is it not beautiful?" Moros asked. "To see your former home that cast you out, that abandoned you, fall under your capable thumb?"
I rubbed my thumb with my index finger. It felt like a normal thumb. But it had done some terrible things, and it will continue to do some terrible things. I let my hand fall to my hip.
"It is cathartic," I said.
"I told you," Moros said. "It's all about belief. I believe in you, you believe in me, and here we are. Kings of the world."
"Do you believe in prophecies?"
"Prophecies?" he said. He turned towards me, concern in his hellish red eyes. An entirely human emotion in an inhuman being. "Are you alright? You are strange today. You must not be feeling well. Do you need rest?"
I walked up towards him.
"Yes," I said. "I will need a lot of rest. As do you."
The knife was small but sharp. It slipped between his demonic hide, tough as steel, as easily as a scythe reaped souls.
I expected his eyes to turn to anger. Perhaps it would have alleviated what I felt in my own heart, justified what I did.
"Was it necessary?" he asked.
"My friend," I replied. "More than you will ever know."
Violence alone won't work. Friendship and teamwork was the key. That was what the prophecy noted.
But why does the screaming savagery in my heart not quench and quell? Why did defeating the demon not cause me to erupt in elation, and jump in joy?
"So it shall be," Moros smiled. He laughed, even, the final trumpet of Moros, before it turned into a wheeze.
It never failed to make me laugh. Today was not like other days, however.
And finally, Moros' laughter was no more with his last, dying breath.
---
r/dexdrafts | Friendship, they said. Teamwork. Sacrificing your own lives to bind it again. That was the cycle of the prophecy.
I hate prophecy. I hate prophets. I killed they who uttered the demon's prophecy, which, to me, was more proof they were just lies.
I was no king, to lead nations into battle. I was no mage, to tame the world by will and word. I was no paladin, seeking to glorify my god.
I was an assassin, and there were few who could fathom the atrocities I was willing to inflict to bind, banish, or bloody this beastial bastard. It was I who had collapsed the cathedral of Ithinn during her feast, slaughtering hundreds just to claim the life of one novitiate who had slept with the wrong nobleman's daughter. I who chained and burned the Hundredfold Fleet, later to be blamed on a 'freak disaster'. And I would do whatever it took to kill this thing. | |
[WP] The prophecy states that the demon could only be defeated by the power of friendship and teamwork. Violence alone won't work. Well you don't like prophecies, and you're pretty sure the ones who wrote the prophecy never considered anybody would unleash nearly as much violence as you're about to. | (This became a larger story than I intended so if people want me to, I will finish it later with more parts)
Part 1
“You shouldn’t take everything you hear as the truth.”
That’s… more or less, what my mom told me as she was laying upon her deathbed. No one seemed to use the term ‘deathbed’ around me, but I thought it fit the bill. She was laying there for many months, aching and in pain. Finally, her pain was over, as much as it began to pain me now, I was happy she was at peace. Other than feeling the loss of my mother I began to understand just how much she did for me. The house was hard to take care of without her guiding voice. Now that I think of it, it was her nagging me that kept me from becoming a lump upon the couch or sleeping in for hours during the morning, until late afternoon when the sun was glaring down with harsh light.
I kept my sadness inside me, mostly because I didn’t know any of the people in the room with me, that day I was sitting next to her bedside as the nurses unplugged machines, telling us how long we had until we needed to leave the room. When I got to my car I sat and wept for we felt like moments, but I checked the clock, *4:42* I had been sitting here for over two hours. When I got home, I called my friend Chuck.
“Hey”
“Hey Earl, what’s happening?”
“You always answer like that”
“Like what?”
“Nothing. I well… I just got back from the hospital. Not good dude”
“Oh, do you mean, not good, not good. Or-”
“I mean I am the only one here now.”
“Oh, so like, your mom’s not coming home, is she?”
“No...”
I trailed off, and I was silent for a while. Chuck didn’t say anything.
“Want me to come by? Keep you company for a bit maybe.”
I kept that thought in my mind, mulling over what I could possibly do with him while I really just wanted to be unconscious for a long time. It was now that I wished I had not given up drinking. “Alright.” I said.
Chuck came by and I shared a few specific details, while we sat in the garden out back, about how the funeral arrangements were, who was going to pay for what, and what I was going to take care of. Then overhead, the ever-present, looming monolith that was the Overseer suddenly beamed into the sky. That was not usual but not entirely surprising either. After the day I had, nothing could surprise me now.
“Holy moly, the Overseer is doing the flashy thing again. That hasn’t happened in over a year right?”
“I don’t know. Yeah probably.”
“Wonder-”
​
“AND SO I SAY, IT WILL BE. A DEMON OF GREAT CUNNING WILL BE UPON OUR HOME SOON. NONE WHO WIELD VIOLENCE AGAINST IT WILL SUCCEED IN DEFEATING IT. THE POWERS OF FRIENDSHIP AND TEAMWORK WILL PREVAIL, ONLY. AND SO THIS WILL BE.”
​
The ground and everything attached to the ground, the trees, my house, the garage, my car, everything, shook and shuttered. The window to the kitchen behind Chuck looked as if it were about to shatter. I yelled something at him and pointed to it, pulling him down and away from it. The beam of light coming from the Overseer had spoken, in a deep grinding voice that felt harsh but also soothing. These words felt to me, like something had just been released. Kind of like when you finally get your dirty hands washed from working in the garden.
“What. Was. That?!” Chuck said. He was practically flipping out. His eyes were wide, he stumbled around while he reached for the door back inside. I followed him and we made it to the tv where, after turning it on, we saw news teams beginning to cover what had just taken place. Impromptu teams of news casters were setting up while filming the Overseer and the adjacent Oraclic hall which held the Overseer up.
“That was a prophecy? 300 years since the last one? This is some fantasy shit.”
Chuck stared at me with the same wide-eyed look.
I shrugged. It had been several days since my house plants had been watered, I just realized. I needed to make sure they were still alive.
“Where are you going?”
“My plants need watering. I’m watering them.”
“You don’t have anything to say about this? I mean, what does the Overseer mean when it said a demon was coming. That sounds like the military will be called in. I cannot believe this. Reserves might be called into duty even.”
I knew why Chuck said that, but I just grimaced and shook my head.
“Don’t mention him, I don’t want to talk about that right now. I know its freaky out there, I can’t believe it either, Chuck.”
“Come on, you know… Alright! I’m sorry Earl. Don’t make a I-want-to-kill-you face.”
Chuck playfully smacked my shoulder. I shook my head and went to water my plants. | Friendship, they said. Teamwork. Sacrificing your own lives to bind it again. That was the cycle of the prophecy.
I hate prophecy. I hate prophets. I killed they who uttered the demon's prophecy, which, to me, was more proof they were just lies.
I was no king, to lead nations into battle. I was no mage, to tame the world by will and word. I was no paladin, seeking to glorify my god.
I was an assassin, and there were few who could fathom the atrocities I was willing to inflict to bind, banish, or bloody this beastial bastard. It was I who had collapsed the cathedral of Ithinn during her feast, slaughtering hundreds just to claim the life of one novitiate who had slept with the wrong nobleman's daughter. I who chained and burned the Hundredfold Fleet, later to be blamed on a 'freak disaster'. And I would do whatever it took to kill this thing. | |
[WP]You have the superpower of being able to sense people's level of self-esteem. But one day - you encounter someone whose self-esteem you can't sense. It is, seemingly, non-existent. | \[Upward Growth\]
"Thank you for coming in, Lisa," Dana Sharp said. The pale woman in a white suit did not stand from behind her desk to greet Lisa. She simply nodded at the chair in front of her. Dana Sharp's assistant, Melody, stood close by at attention, in a black suit.
"Th-thank you, Ms. Sharp," Lisa nervously bowed her head as she took her seat. She had been working at Sharp Development for several years already and, it amazed her how enormous the company was. It spread across hundreds of universes and Lisa never expected to meet Ms. Sharp. When she walked into work that day, Lisa had a meeting waiting for her. She literally ran through several universes to get to Ms. Sharp's main office.
Once Lisa sat down, she couldn't help but notice the numbers above the heads of Ms. Sharp and her assistant. Thanks to working at the company, Lisa learned her ability was to determine someone's self-esteem. She was thankful to them because it was something she never would have guessed on her own. The numbers began appearing after she got a tattoo. No one ever had the same number for more than a day. It fluctuated within a range, sometimes from hour to hour. That went for everyone except Dana Sharp and Melody.
The highest number she ever saw was 10. She'd seen people on good days slowly rise up to 10, she'd seen people fall to one from 10 because of a simple mistake. Melody fluctuated, but never in a range. Anytime Lisa saw her with Ms. Sharp, Melody was always at 10. The few times she spotted Melody without Ms. Sharp nearby, the number was always 3.
Ms. Sharp on the other hand, was a real puzzle for Lisa. She had no number floating above her head. Her first thought was that it meant she had no self-esteem. However, that seemed silly for the most powerful woman in hundreds of universes. She bought alternate Earths as easily as buying a pair of socks.
The only other explanation Lisa had was a rumor that was common amongst Sharp Development employees. She thought it was a silly rumor, but she could understand the logic. On her Earth, the only way to get to the top of a corporate hierarchy was to be cold and soul-less as possible. She wasn't surprised to hear gossip around the office that Dana Sharp didn't have a soul. If it were true, it might explain why she did not show a self-esteem number. But, Lisa refused to believe that. Ms. Sharp made frequent walk-throughs of all her branches. Despite never meeting her formally, Lisa always appreciated that Ms. Sharp had kind words for all the employees she spoke to.
"I hope you don't mind if I rush through this," Dana said. "I'm very busy, and you're very smart. I know you can keep up." Lisa felt warm inside and wondered how anyone could doubt Ms. Sharp had a soul. Lisa nodded and scooted to the edge of her chair to be more attentive.
"You have the ability to see someone's self-esteem," Ms. Sharp began. "While it's not for me to decide if this is useful for you or not, I will say it's not of any particular use to Sharp Development. That being said, we both know you've done great work in your role and that has nothing to do with your abilities. To avoid misunderstandings I need to be clear. Your current job is not in any jeopardy." Ms. Sharp took a moment to smile at Lisa.
"If you're content where you are, I am comfortable with letting you continue. Although, I do believe you could do more for the company. You could *be* more."
"I want to," Lisa replied without hesitation. It sounded like Ms. Sharp was offering her a promotion, and she was ready to take it. Dana gave a curt nod at Lisa's eagerness but continued her explanation.
"I won't accept that. You should know what you're agreeing to first. This isn't a promotion as much as it is an upgrade. A risky, medical procedure-like upgrade," she clarified. Lisa's eyes widened for a brief moment until she got her surprise under control. She did not work for the medical division, but she'd heard stories. But, like the rumor about Dana's soul, she decided they were just embellished tales.
"What, exactly?" Lisa asked.
"Your excellent performance is what got you into this meeting," Dana said. "However, it was not a very large pool of contenders. I am specifically looking for a low-tier plant soul because I believe I can upgrade you to a Mundo."
Lisa sighed at the phrase 'low-tier'. It was explained to her that she was Unique Soul #52, La Maceta. But, she was also a C-tier Unique. It helped explain why her ability wasn't very useful. Mundos were Celestial Uniques, they didn't even have a C-tier, B was the weakest they got. At the bare minimum, any [Mundo could talk to everyone on an Earth](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dy1wr7/wp_you_have_the_ability_to_read_the_minds_of/) mentally. Lisa knew something like that would be [helpful for Sharp Development](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fmhrq7/wp_earth_gets_an_eviction_notice_from_the_higher/).
"I want to help you, Ms. Sharp," Lisa said.
"Wonderful, Melody will get you sorted. We're done here unless you have any last-minute questions?" As soon as Ms. Sharp suggested Melody would be helping her, Lisa noticed the number change above Melody's head. Her self-esteem dropped to a 3 as if she was anticipating being out of Ms. Sharp's presence. Lisa almost didn't ask, but she wasn't sure she'd ever have such a perfect opportunity again.
"Um, just one," Lisa said. "It's not about the job, but there's something I’m curious about."
"If there's one thing we value at Sharp Development, it's curiosity," Ms. Sharp smiled and nodded.
"I can see everyone's self-esteem, except yours. You don't have a number above your head."
"Oh, that's easy," Dana replied.
"Self-esteem is what it sounds like. A person's opinion of themselves," she said. Lisa nodded because everyone knew that. "I don't have an *opinion* of myself. I know exactly what I am, every second of the day. "
"Ohh,.." Lisa was in equal parts awe, and amusement. A giggle escaped her mouth and she felt obligated to explain it. "I asked others about it, but all I got was the rumor that you don't have a soul," she said with a broad smile. Dana Sharp returned the warm smile.
"[I don't](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh9mbo/wp_you_wouldnt_exactly_call_it_a_superpower_but/), but that's unrelated to your particular ability."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1079 in a row. (Story #349 in year three.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. | I looked upon a vast and churning cityscape
where people flowed like the sea at high tide;
crashing liquid waves lifting, seeking escape
from the twin gravities of society and their lives.
To my eye, beside every sparkling soul a solid pillar rose
built without thought by the endless toiling of those
who, before the mill of Time, saw Death and Life and chose
a path between; with confidence their astral shadow grows.
See me! they cry, into that space none see but all can feel
Hear me! they howl, afraid of that velvety, silent forever
Behold in me a unique wonder! they demand, a vain appeal
to the nothing outside that tidal basin in which they are, together.
​
The mightiest pillars grew beside those of straight back and certain eye.
Surely they, as I'd been taught, would be the voices heard most clear
in the cacophonus clamour of that surf crashing on Gaia's ear.
My surprise, then, at the muting blanket spreading from columns touching sky.
The edifice we build of confidence and self-esteem,
when it towers it devours every mote of light, each gleam,
and beside it in its shadow we diminish as we dream
that we perch upon pedestals as into the void we scream.
But a touch of light betimes befalls the cheek of the cow'ring meek
and perhaps it was my fancy but it seem'd like tended plants they grew,
those who questioned who they were and what they did and what they knew
and most lambent shone a soul which no-one's worship it did seek.
​
With peace and satisfaction pulsed this life-spark before me
and though 'lone it seemed somehow to be reclining by a tree.
I beseeched it for its wisdom - Oh! to know the things it knew! -
and begged of it merely one answer: 'How can I more be like you?'
"I do not know," it simply said.
​
So aback that answer took me, I jolted up from reverie
and I heard a trillion voices shouting from all around me
and in that clear-eyed moment all that effort seemed but show
so I asked, "what should I study, so like you my wisdom may then grow?"
It shrugged, with tilted head.
​
All about me splashed an ocean of aggressive certainty
drowning the tintinnabulation of whispers in human sea
and I saw upon this ocean a solitary leaf of palm
curling slightly at the edges, empty but for a sea of calm.
"Do you know?" it asked of me.
​
I wished to give an answer, to say I felt an inner peace
but I knew there were no names for this cathartic release
and although I wished to show my route, reveal a Peaceful Path
looking back from whence I came I saw but fields of flowered grass.
"I do not know," I said with glee. | |
[WP] You find yourself transported into the future. How far, you cannot tell, as the people have no memory of your time, or how the apocalypse started. Your town has been destroyed, and now a small community thrives there. With no way home, you're forced to face the choice to adapt, or repair. | James took off like a shot, heading due west from the entrance to Raintree. He could see the hill in the distance, and that meant one thing: home.
"Wait! Come back!" Rose called out to him before she took off after him. She had found him wandering in the woods and brought him back to town, but he had been talking nonsense the whole time. Something about a blast, a city called East Bend, and a family she'd never heard of. And now, when he saw the building that you had to enter to get into Raintree, he had lost what little of his mind remained.
The family home was 2.4 miles due west of City Hall. James had never been much of a runner, but he made it in under 10 minutes. He fell to his knees, tears staining the ground in front of him. Part of the foundation was still exposed and he could just make out some bricks from the chimney scattered around.
Rose eventually found him again; following the sobs wasn't difficult. She still knew this strange man was crazy, but she had always been empathetic and whatever he was crying about was at least real to him. She knelt with him and put her arm around his shoulders.
"It was here. My family home." He pulled a strange device out of his pocket and tapped on it a few times. "Here. Look." It looked to Rose like a picture, but under glass. It was a picture of a beautiful and huge house.
"That's like 3 houses stacked together!" She couldn't believe her eyes. And as she looked closer, she could see the same gnarled tree both in the picture and just a few feet away from her. And that hill...
Maybe he wasn't crazy after all.
"We were coming home for the 4th of July," James said. "Mom would grill burgers, brats, and hot dogs while dad spent all day smoking a pork shoulder." He looked up and could almost see the scene he'd been driving towards. "Everyone else, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, my sister and her husband... they'd all bring sides and we'd have a massive feast."
He stood up and began walking towards the hill. Rose followed, enthralled by his story of his family gathering.
"And when it got dark enough, my dad and I would climb the hill with a few boxes, and we'd give the town a fireworks show to remember." James stopped at the foot of the hill. He swore he could smell the gunpowder in the air. James walked around the hill, followed closely by Rose. He could faintly see the outline of the steps that led to the crest of the hill. Which meant...
"I need a shovel."
XXXXXXXXXXX
It hadn't taken long to hit metal. It had taken longer than expected to clear all the dirt away from the door, and to clean out the lock enough to use it.
James looked wearily at the key in his hand. He didn't know exactly what he'd find down in that old bomb shelter, but he knew it wouldn't be good. But he had to know. And Rose was coming with him no matter what.
They'd descended for what seemed like an eternity before they came to another large metal door. Rose ran her hand over it much in the same way a child does when they're experiencing something for the very first time. James had called it a "bomb shelter" and said they were relatively common when he was growing up. She stepped back and watched as he inserted a key, then twisted a large wheel on the door. As it opened, she could hear a faint humming. But it sounded different... mechanical, almost.
They were greeted with light and flowing air. James had always thought that his mother's claim about the power supply being able to last 2000 years was a joke, but maybe she was onto something. After all, she was a genius nuclear engineer. The main room was empty, save for a table. James glanced around and tried to remember where everything was.
"Bedrooms and bathrooms to the left, living area and kitchen to the right, power, support, and armory straight ahead." He started to head to his left, but something on the table caught his eye. It was a letter... with his name on it.
Rose watched in silence as he read the piece of paper. He looked to his left, then dropped his head. She could see the tears stream down his cheeks, and she understood. She noticed something else on the table, under the piece of paper he was reading. She picked it up.
"James?" He looked at her and saw the device in her hand. It looked like a phone, but with a solar strip at the very top. "What do these numbers mean?" She offered him the device. He examined it for a few seconds, his complexion went a sickly white, and he fainted. | Hank shuffled through the wreckage that had been a cobbler shop just moments ago. "I... don't.... I...." Hank stammered as he wildly spun around, taking in his surroundings in a blur. The world that met his eyes was a nightmarish caricature of the one he was standing in just moments ago. Buildings had toppled, streets, where they were still distinguishable, were reduced to rubble. Hank looked up and noted that even the sky had changed. Thick grey clouds swam through a nearly black sky that should be lit by a noon-day sun.
"Where am I?!" Hank finally verbalized. He stumbled over a loose brick in the wreckage and caught himself on 4x4. As Hank righted himself, he saw a thin column of smoke rising over what should be the shopping district. Desperately needing an explanation for his apparent and sudden loss of reality, Hank hurriedly made his way towards the rising smoke.
As he ambled on, he passed dozens of lean-tos and shelters nestled into the piles of demolished buildings. He called out as he passed the first few but no one answered. Before long, Hank was ignoring his immediate surroundings, hanging his hope on the smoke that was now less than a quarter mile ahead. The fire was still obscured by half-standing buildings and piles of rubble but he could hear the faint sound of human voices that rang like music to his ears. Hank's pace picked up as he half-sprinted toward the smoke.
The voices now loud enough to hear, were jovial- he even heard a loud fit of laughter coming from the group. With all the hope he had hanging on what he was about to find, Hank swung himself around the corner of a building hurriedly and blindly, desperately running towards his enlightenment. As he turned the corner, he saw the faces of 20-30 people, lit by the firelight they stood in front of. From what he could make out of their bodies, they were in various stages of dress/undress laughing and talking to each other. A few heads snapped toward him to meet his gaze. For a moment, Hank was filled with fear but the people staring at him, nonchalantly turned their attentions back toward conversation, paying him no mind. Pushing his fear down with the power of his desperate need to know he wasn't crazy, Hank called out "H-hey! Over here!" Hank waved his arms and stumbled toward the group. "I.. just appeared here... I don't know what happened. Why is everything destroyed?!" Hank's voice cracked with panic and the group looked at him in bewilderment. There was a long pause before a tall man with a surprisingly trimmed beard spoke up. "What is this you speak of? I know not of whence you came nor am I intrigued to find out. Our riches are few but you are welcome to share them." The man stared at Hank as he gestured toward the fire where a few rabbits were being roasted on sticks.
Confused and agitated by the lack of concern, Hank began babbling "No no.. no. You don't understand. I was here... or actually about a half mile that way near 'Savior Sole's Shoe Repair'... I was going to get my oxford's re-soled and now it's gone... Now it's all gone. The world is gone. What happened to the world!? Why is everything destroyed?!" Silence filled the air as each person was now looking directly at Hank. The people around the fire began looking at each other, exchanging whispers and confused looks. The man who spoke before stepped toward Hank and extended a hand out to the rest to signify that everything was OK. "You speak of a different location... You speak of the world being gone. Did you not arrive here as we did? Are you not a refugee from the Volax system?" Hank stammered "The Volax system?! Refugee?! No no, I am a citizen of the United States of America, I am from here!"
The man looked back at the group then to Hank before speaking again "There are no natives here. This planet's civilization was destroyed over a hundred years ago- I know nothing of it's previous inhabitants and furthermore, neither do you. We were assigned this planet by the board of intergalactic peace after Volax was conquered by the Elups. Now, make yourself a seat near the fire and warm your wings."
"Warm my wi-" Hank was cut off by his own astonishment as the tall man with the trimmed beard turned to face the fire again and stretched his arms out. Two large, feathered, wings emerged from his back and cupped themselves around the glow of the fire. | |
[WP] You get to heaven where it is explained that heaven is chosen for you by a relative who crossed the veil before you. Unfortunately for you, your heaven has been picked by great aunt Linda who in life gave you bad taste clothes, novelty gifts and ugly socks for Christmas. | I knew where I was. Happy to be here, honestly. After some of the things I had done in my life, I wasn't 100% sure where I would end up, so the sense of relief was almost overwhelming.
"GIGGLE-BEAR!" my Great Aunt Linda called out. "It seems like an eternity since I've seen you!"
"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor!" I barely got it out before being caught in one of Aunt Linda's squeezy-hugs, as she likes to call them.
"Well, how do you like it?" she asked with bated anticipation.
Looking around, there were countless shelves of kitschy figurines staring back at me. Thousands of pieces of turquoise jewelry in glass cases. Racks upon racks of knitted and crocheted sweaters and blankets. Dozens of display cabinets filled with carnival glass and old amber drink ware. The back of the place looked like an old flea market selling questionably-appraised antique household items from the early 1900's. The walls a parody of 1990's Cracker Barrel.
Reflecting for a moment, it seems the result of pulling out into the intersection of 5th and Walnut without taking the time to look, was the shotgun-like sound of breaking glass and crumpling metal, and finding myself standing in a tawdry Midwest convenience store smelling of warm fireplace and banana bread.
"I love it Aunt Linda."
She beamed with delight, folded her fingers together while letting out a "SQUEE!", then aggressively squeezy-hugged me again. | He woke up with a start. The last thing he remembered was the onrushing flood of stuffed bears, and then ... darkness. Now, he was in a blank white room, no door, no window, the walls mere hints of existence. What?
Slowly, he approached the walls, trying to figure out his bearing. Almost immediately, the outline of a door appeared to his right; and, upon approach, opened silently to another pure blank space. He carefully peeked past the doorway, wary. This certainly was no longer the make-a-bear factory...
The moment his foot probed passed the entrance, the second room came into view. All his senses were assaulted like only an extremely tacky, and tasteless Mall Santa can do. Walls festooned with streamers of all colours, off-tune renditions of Christmas carols blasting from saturated speakers, but most importantly, flashing lights of every colour, chosen to exactly not match each other.
With each step, his apprehension and dread grew. This seemed too familiar... why did this seem familiar?
Directly in front of him, a registration desk rose from within badly arranged tinsels and the outline of a Gingerbread house that appeared to have been decorated by an Alien with only a vague concept of Christmas, ... or locomotion.
"Aunt Linda?!" He was suddenly more terrified than he was ever before. "W... Aunt Linda?"
A sadistic smile flitted across her face as she looked up at him. "James, my dear boy." She spread her arms out wide and the manic glint from his youth returned to her eyes. "Welcome to heaven." | |
[WP] You are an angel of death, a reaper whose overall task is population control. You decide who's soul shall be moved to the afterlife by meeting certain quotas. You don't like that some souls are reaped early and thus give them an elaborate death to be remembered. | Most high races of the world- your elves, dwarves, orcs, fae - tend to stay in balance with the natural order.
Elves and fae may defy us reapers, but we let them be, for they can sense the divine rules they must live by and seldom exceed their limits of living souls.
Dwarves and orcs have no conscious knowledge of these 'targets', but seem to balance themselves out naturally. Dwarves answer to other entities within the earth, which strike them down if they grow too much and dig too deep. Orcs squabble endlessly between each other, and through mindless murder keep their populations in check without any need for divine provocation.
Humans, on the other hand, seem to have an innate tendency to defy the divine law. Their empires, when unchecked, prosper and spread, sapping the land around them to feed an endlessly growing populace. Though they have their fights and their struggles, these never seem to cause the race to diminish in any lasting fashion, and they grow stronger for the tribulations.
Now, this makes my job a tad difficult. Many ages ago, when we celestial beings were finding our callings, I chose to specialise in the realm of death. Ferrying souls to the afterlife seemed a noble task, offering comfort to those torn from their mortal shells.
It seems to me far less noble to have to be the one orchestrating the tearing. However, the Elders have recently deemed this necessary for humans, saying we must "keep their numbers in check" to preserve the divine plan. Not too long ago, we started receiving quotas - a scroll arrives every month with a number glowing on the parchment in golden script, declaring the minimum number of additional human souls we must reap.
Now, not everyone took issue with this - for some of my esteemed colleagues, the additional task barely required a second though. Smite someone with disease here, arrange a few unfortunate household accidents there. Never mind that most of these humans still had life left in them, life enough to live out great tales if their existence had not been cut short.
With these mindless deaths, I could not help but feel I was disrupting some divine plan more than I was helping it. It seemed unimaginably cruel to end these lives before their time, before some of them had really had the chance to live.
I have recently found a more... organic solution, one that satisfies both the Elders in their infinite wisdom, and lets the humans experience their delightful humanness to its fullest.
Humans seem to love stories and the idea of legacy, of writing their mark on the world. They will fall over themselves to fulfil some perceived 'nobler purpose', and will throw themselves recklessly at a challenge in the name of adventure.
A soul quota can easily be met by exploiting this tendency.
One could appear in the dream of some lord as a spectre, sending a divine message that he must save the souls of the heathens in a nearby city-state. Before you know it, said lord would be orchestrating a holy war, writing great and memorable pages of human history while freeing many a soul through the additional bloodshed.
One could re-arrange the notes of some great scientist so that his healing powder would instead have explosive properties. His discovery would bring him fame and prosperity, until he would rather unfortunately and ironically wipe out out himself and half his city while trying to improve his invention.
I have seen to it that a pack of orcs is due a rather dramatic encounter with a king's envoy. This month's target should be an easy one to hit. | Death stalked after the man. There was no need to, not really, the man wouldn't notice Death, but he felt it added something. Anyone could just walz up and Reap someone, but he was of the old guard; he wanted to do it in style. Not like those new upstarts. Give them a scythe and suddenly they think they're gods gift to mankind.
No, he decided, this death would be memorised into plays for years to come. He whispered something to the soul of the man's father, who was all too happy to oblige, and watched the chaos unfold. | |
[WP] You and the whole world are trapped in a 24 hours time loop, like the movie Groundhog Day. Except that everyone knows they are in a time loop. This is the 1,000th loop. | "Good Morning denizens of this Temporal Hell!"
I groaned awake like always. Seems a few hundred loops ago, the radio personalities lost whatever sense of propriety they had before.
"Last loop hit an all time high - 51.7 percent of goal according to the midnight announcement for the world. This is now the third straight loop above fifty percent in a row."
I grabbed my phone and unlocked it moments before a message hit - my daily changes. Most of them were fairly simple - wait in the train station until the busker finishes his song, take the left elevator instead of the right elevator, don't grab a Danish off the cart (darn, those are tasty). Nothing that really changes much.
Over the last two hundred loops or so, most people had fallen into a rhythm after the scientists managed to start to measure the data come from the satellite that appeared in the sky "yesterday". A thousand yesterdays ago depending on how you count when the same day occurs again and again. Apparently some of the egg heads managed to figure out that depending on the actions of individuals, we each get a score of how close we came to our "perfect day". My score is still on the low side - just a bit under forty for the past few weeks, but it has been steadily climbing.
"There are now twelve souls in our little corner of torment with recorded scored over ninety."
That shocked me from being still groggy to fully awake. Twelve? It was in the single digits yesterday for our town of around a hundred thousand. If the numbers start going up quickly, maybe we will all fall into place and we might get to see a tomorrow before the last bit of sanity flees the county.
By the time I finish the thought, I'm walking out my front door following a set of actions I know by heart. Walk down the sidewalk, ten steps later, spin on left foot to dodge the falling bird poop, reach the crosswalk, offer my arm to the sweet old lady to help her cross the road. Wink at the.....
Wait a second, the girl with the green dress. The one that has been in the diner window every day for the past hundred and sixty or so loops. She is missing. This wasn't part of my changes earlier. Am I supposed to wink at where she should be? Not wink at all? The question is answer for me in the form of a horn and sudden sideways motion.
"Good Morning denizens of this Temporal Hell!"
I groan awake, this time with a headache that most people have had at least once - when you start the day having been dead the day before.
"Last loop hit an all time high - 51.76 percent of goal according to the midnight announcement for the world. This is now the fourth straight loop above fifty percent in a row."
Well, good to know at least that getting hit by that bus or whatever it was didn't ruin everything, even if it does make me feel a bit small.
By the time I've grabbed my phone, the message is already there - My score for the day before was 71.
What
My listed changes are even shorter than yesterday - Follow normal until the old lady is across the street. Then find the girl in the dress.
I nearly forget my normal routine, and have to rush through it a bit to leave my house at the right time. I walk down the side walk, dodge the poop, reach the crosswalk, and offer my arm to the old woman.
"Lets actually get across this time sonny. I was up to almost eighty until you left me in the middle of the street yesterday." She gives me a wry grin. Most of us have become accustom to dying on occasion at this point.
This time we make it across the street safely, but I look across to where the woman should be according to my schedule. She's still missing.
I walk into the diner where she should be, and walk up to counter. It takes a few minutes before the waitress ambles over.
"You're not one of the regulars. You going off script?" she asks with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. "My script has been ripped up so to speak. Yesterday one of the marks I was supposed to hit was missing the actress on the other side." I grumble. She looks confused for a moment before catching on to the metaphor, "Ah, the girl at table six? She was missing yesterday as well." I nod. "My note for the day is to find out what happened to her. Don't have a lot of ideas though, I'm no detective."
The waitress thinks for a second. "Well, we've talked a few times when we could. Today was supposed to be her day off. A slow breakfast, a wander around the city, mainly getting used to a city she only moved to a few weeks ago."
"Great, trying to find someone in a city they don't know, and don't have places they would often go to. Sounds fun."
"Well," the waitress mentions after a moment, " there is going to be a crash in about twenty minutes. Lot of people come over to investigate, maybe one of them knows more. The woman usually leaves around then anyways."
I thank the woman and turn around in my seat and look at the window at the intersection. Sure enough, the accident happens on schedule. I'm glad that I'm not one of those people, getting into a car wreck every day. Waking up dead once and a while is bad enough.
I head out with the rest of the crowd and I'm about to start asking the bystanders if they've seen the woman, when one of the men walks over to me, looking between me and the phone in his hand. "According to my notes you apparently need to go west." He looks at me as if I have any more answers than him. "Thanks, that's something at least."
I have to pull out my own phone to even find west. Never did get a good sense of direction, and The Day is overcast in the city. I head west for a few blocks before I see a strange sight out of the corner of my eye. A massive chalk diagram drawn on the alley wall. Standing on the far side of the diagram is the woman, holding a large chalk stick in one hand, and a knife in the other.
"Hey, I've been looking for you!" I say as I start walking towards her. She recoils and stares at me. She backs up slowly as I approach, half looking out to the corner of my eye at the diagram she drew. It seems to be a web of connections between various people with notes on the connection. "Do you have any idea what's going on?" I ask. She seems ready to bolt when she looks down at my feet. I reflexively look down as well to see I'm standing on a chalk X on the ground. I look back up to she her charging me before stabbing the knife she is holding into my face.
"Good Morning denizens of this Temporal Hell!"
I groan awake again, with the same headache. I lie there for a minute trying to process what happened, then grab my phone. My score for yesterday was 92. Under the notes there is a single line:
"Don't get stabbed this time." | The blaring of my alarm startled me awake. I took a deep breath, prayed, and looked at my phone.
Monday March 3rd.
“No!” I groaned.
“Believe it sweetie. Happy March 3rd,” Mom announced, humming to herself.
She’s happier than usual.
I got dressed and hurried downstairs, just get the day over with. Who knows what my teachers will do today since any projects or homework they assign us, the day resets like it never happened.
“Why are you all dressed for?” Lucy asked me.
“Don’t we have school today?” I asked.
“Today’s the unofficial Saturday, and what’s the point? Every note I take, it erases by tomorrow. Oh, and I think Mom snapped, she’s been humming Amor Eterno for the past hour,” Lucy whispered.
“I think we all snapped Lucy. All the fucking progress we made, poof gone. I don’t know if we ever get out of this loop,” Dad sighed, grabbing a cup of coffee, “isn’t it an unofficial Saturday today?” Dad asked me.
“Well, since it’s only a day for the past... I don’t know how long-“
“One thousand mijo,” Mom sang.
We all looked over at the living room as Mom began to dance around. Never realized her makeup was a mess, and her hair was everywhere. She’s always composed and neat, this terrified me.
“I think I’m taking your mother with me this time. She’s kinda scaring me,” Dad said in a low voice.
“I don’t know how that’ll help,” Lucy whispered.
“You kids be safe, and don’t do anything stupid. Pretend we are not in a loop and I’ll be back before dinner,” Dad called out as he escorted Mom out the door.
“Well, I’m going to Minneapolis,” Lucy announced after they left.
“It’s a 3 hour drive,” I told her.
“What else is there to do. Don’t tell Dad. Bye,” Lucy said and left.
Well this blows. I might as well walk around town, see if people are going crazy. From what I heard, by the 300th(?) loop, people began to go insane. Nobody could be committed as they are back where they originally were on March 3rd at 6:43 AM, the moment the loop began, when an experiment gone wrong. At least we get to see March 4th... up until 6:43, when it switches back to March 3rd.
I need to stop thinking this, or I’ll turn into Mom. I took a deep breath and decided to head to the park, since there was nothing better to do, and any progress I made in any video game , I’m back to square one, so it got pretty annoying.
The moment I stepped out of the house, I was greeted with the craziness of what 3 years of one day can do. Chaos, complete and utter chaos. People driving around like mad, or breaking things, shoplifting, it’s nuts. Our house was raided multiple times before, so we just kinda got use to it now.
I dodged a flying blade as I reached the park, unsure what to do here. There was either fights or death everywhere. I hope this isn’t our last loop otherwise it will be awkward for everyone. I just sat on the bench, watch it all unfold until I got hungry. I raided a store (the cashiers didn’t give a damn anyways) and headed home, eating snacks, dodging knife fights or avoiding heavily armed areas. Will this be our new normal when this is over? Will it ever be over?
A bright light illuminated behind me. The chaos stopped as everyone stared at this light. I looked back to see a massive wall heading towards us in such speed. I checked the time.
3:21 PM.
The light surrounded me, blinding me. Then I wake up, in my bed.
“What the hell?” I mumbled and checked the time.
7:34 AM... Sunday March 2nd.
“Lucy?” I called out and ran to her room, but she wasn’t there.
“Holy crap we did it,” Dad cheered from his room.
“But it’s the day before... GO STOP THEM!” Mom yelled.
“Xo, they probably know and are probably going to avoid that experiment.” I heard dad say.
I wonder what experiment he was talking about. | |
[WP] You and the whole world are trapped in a 24 hours time loop, like the movie Groundhog Day. Except that everyone knows they are in a time loop. This is the 1,000th loop. | Sasha had to crawl on her elbows to get out of the upturned cockpit. She couldn't feel her legs, so it took a good minute to pull herself to a comfortable distance from scalding fire. Of course, she was grateful she could get out at all; she'd never forget the time her seat belt fused shut under the heat, trapping her with the flames. She looked back at the wreck. Her equipment, pristine barely an hour ago, now reduced to slag, crumpled in places like discarded aluminum foil. The flames were intensely bright, more of a sterile white than a warm yellow, sending a column of dense smoke into the starry night sky. And directly above, her enemy slowly descended upon her.
They sure were curious things, Sasha thought to herself. She was too tired to be afraid. She simply lay there, on the cool grass, looking up at its alloy shell reflecting the firelight. The plates were curved and interlocking, like that of an insect. She was starting to get used to seeing them; she probably even saw this particular one before. Yet it circled the wreck leisurely, as if it had never seen such a thing before.
"Command," she said, out loud, "if you fire on my position, you might catch this last one." It spun to face the source of the noise, then started to sink towards her. "It's a medium, but I already weakened it." And they just might win this time, she hoped.
They could only set the clock back to yesterday morning, and they only had about twenty-four hours to do it. Wait longer than that, and the human race is committed to whatever future they carved for themselves. The battle could never truly be lost. Some said there was no way to win, either, and lost the will to fight. But Sasha wouldn't let that happen to her. Because if this and a hundred other things just happen to go right, it would finally break the cycle. Humanity could finally move forward.
And if humanity did survive the battle, she knew, she wasn't coming back this time. No do-overs for her. One final sacrifice to end a thousand days of fighting. No more resets. A final rest, a dignified end to a-
Sasha blinked, and found herself back in her bed. It was an early morning but she felt well rested. Warm sunlight illuminated the room. Sasha clenched her eyes shut, and groaned. | “The thousenth loop eh?” I mention to corpses around me. “Oh well, you all will get another shot at me soon.”
The clocks ticking keeps me company tell midnight, and the world begins anew.
My eyes shoot open, and my legs are already flying out and over my beds ledge, as I dash to the kitchen to grab a knife. But there he was, my dad.
“Morning,” dad nonchalantly says, sharping one of the knives.
“Mornin’,” I reply, “so, are we just gonna or are we going to wait?”
Thinking over, my dad responds, “lets wait.”
I grab a knife myself and walk over to the dining room to streach. My arms extrend down to my toes, then my sides, then finally behind me.
“Morning guys,” my eldest brother greets us.
“Morning,” dad returns and turns his attention back to sharping.
“Hey, make sure you wait,” I call out before returning to streches.
Soon enough everyone is up, my mom, sister, and elder brother, and we all are ready.
I hurry back and prepare for someone charing, and see my sister coming to me. As her mouth begins to open I slash and feel her blood spill.
Twirling round I thrust to my moms head, only to have it deflected and have her blade going straight to my lovely heart. Quickly twisting, I get a gash across my chest, but the time I gained allows me to being my knife into my mothers spinal cord.
Flicking my blade out I see my elderest and elder brothers dead and my dad injured.
“A sec to catch my breath?” my dad pants.
“No,” I say as I dive to peirce my dads chest.
Expecting that, my dad swings at me and imbeds the blade in my elbow, rendering my upper arm worthless.
Smiling and nodding lightly I quickly pass my knife to my other hand and leave the knife in his head.
“Now, that was fun,” I gasp out and take a seat. | |
[WP] You and the whole world are trapped in a 24 hours time loop, like the movie Groundhog Day. Except that everyone knows they are in a time loop. This is the 1,000th loop. | “Bob, I swear if you shoot me again, I’m going to be mildly annoyed.” I poked my head out of the doorway, only to hear a metallic whizzing sound fly past my head, embedding itself on my door, leaving a small bullet mark behind.
I could see Bob on his porch, rocking his chair back and forth, mumbling to himself about how much of a better shot he had been in his youth. When he saw my glare, he merely whistled, placing his rifle by his side, trying to distance himself from the weapon.
“Bob, the hell was that? You can’t do this every morning. I just want to get my paper. Is that so wrong?” I whined, trying to get the man to sympathize with me. I wasn’t sure what I had done to earn such hatred from the man. We barely talked even before the strange event occurred. Sure, death had no consequence, but I would prefer not to spend everyday dead.
“What’s the point? You know what the headlines going to be, same thing it was one thousand days ago.” The old man groaned, bringing his rifle back to chest, his wrinkled hands fiddling with the bullets, reloading his weapon.
“I know. Guess I’m just hoping for something different.” I crept out of the doorway, moving down to retrieve the newspaper from my driveway. The headline as expected was the same.
‘Micro Blackhole created. What does this mean for humanity?’
If only those scientists knew what they had created. I tossed the newspaper aside, moving towards my fence, leaning against it. The small wooden structure only reaching my stomach, hardly enough to hide me from my gun wielding neighbor. Part of me wanted to flee into the house, but what point was there? More than anything, I wanted answers.
“I don’t get it Bob, why kill me? I haven’t been a bad neighbor, have I? Did I upset you or is it just boredom?” Bob’s face screwed up, forming a frown. Had I offended him?
“Boredom? You think I enjoy this? I’m doing it to protect you. You weren’t a bad neighbor; you kept your music low and didn’t disturb me. That’s why I want to keep you sane.”
“Protect me? Keep me sane? You think dying is good for my sanity?” I was nearly over the fence, my body leaning forward, causing the poor wooden frame underneath to creak.
“It’s better than the alternative. People have gone feral, a life with no consequences leads to some horrible things. They tried to police it, tried to maintain order, but you know what they say. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again. People soon did whatever they wanted. Want to steal? Want to kill? Why not? There are no consequences for your actions, at least that’s what people believed. When you wake up the next day, you still remember the horrible things you have done. Your victim remembers it too. Over time, people’s minds deteriorated and now most of them are feral.”
“That’s insane, you can’t expect me to believe that. How do I know you haven’t gone feral then? How many times have you killed me? Wouldn’t I be feral too if this is all true?”
“I’m not sure. If I had to take a guess, I would say I have killed you at least seven hundred times. By the sounds of it, you only remember the most recent ones. My aims gotten worse, Usually I would get your head on the first shot, but lately it hasn’t been that easy. I missed my first shot five days ago, that’s when you figured out what was happening. Maybe your ignorance kept you sane?”
“I-I can’t believe it. If what you are saying is true, then what happens if we break the time loop?”
“If we break it. Many people will need to be killed, there’s far too many that would be too dangerous to leave alive. Maybe I should have told you what was happening, I just worried that if you knew, you might end up like them.” Bob had his rifle pointed at me, before it lowered, the old man losing his nerve.
“Like them? Who even are they?” As soon as the words left my lips, Bob motioned me up towards his porch. I looked around before I climbed the fence, moving onto the porch.
Bob was checking his gun, eyeing it over before he aimed it into the air. Once the gun was pointing at the heavens, he fired. The blast causing my ears to ring, that rattling sound nearly enough to force me onto my knees. As the pain faded, I watched as doorways opened; the ferals coming outside.
They looked perfectly normal. Many of them dressed in clean attire. That was the curse of the loop. No matter what happened, they would always return to how they were that morning. No way of telling them apart at first glance.
I turned to Bob, who only motioned me to keep looking forward. I stared at the streets; the ferals looking at one another before attacking. Each one biting and clawing at their fellow neighbors. The display was sickening, each one reduced to a mindless monster of a human. Then they stopped, turning their attention towards the porch.
A few let out a horrific high-pitched screech before they charged towards the porch, running on all fours towards us, I turned to face Bob, only to hear that familiar sound from earlier, the sound of hot metal being fired.
I awoke once more in my bed, staring at the ceiling. My alarm still reading the same date, caught in an inescapable hell.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | “The thousenth loop eh?” I mention to corpses around me. “Oh well, you all will get another shot at me soon.”
The clocks ticking keeps me company tell midnight, and the world begins anew.
My eyes shoot open, and my legs are already flying out and over my beds ledge, as I dash to the kitchen to grab a knife. But there he was, my dad.
“Morning,” dad nonchalantly says, sharping one of the knives.
“Mornin’,” I reply, “so, are we just gonna or are we going to wait?”
Thinking over, my dad responds, “lets wait.”
I grab a knife myself and walk over to the dining room to streach. My arms extrend down to my toes, then my sides, then finally behind me.
“Morning guys,” my eldest brother greets us.
“Morning,” dad returns and turns his attention back to sharping.
“Hey, make sure you wait,” I call out before returning to streches.
Soon enough everyone is up, my mom, sister, and elder brother, and we all are ready.
I hurry back and prepare for someone charing, and see my sister coming to me. As her mouth begins to open I slash and feel her blood spill.
Twirling round I thrust to my moms head, only to have it deflected and have her blade going straight to my lovely heart. Quickly twisting, I get a gash across my chest, but the time I gained allows me to being my knife into my mothers spinal cord.
Flicking my blade out I see my elderest and elder brothers dead and my dad injured.
“A sec to catch my breath?” my dad pants.
“No,” I say as I dive to peirce my dads chest.
Expecting that, my dad swings at me and imbeds the blade in my elbow, rendering my upper arm worthless.
Smiling and nodding lightly I quickly pass my knife to my other hand and leave the knife in his head.
“Now, that was fun,” I gasp out and take a seat. | |
[WP] You and the whole world are trapped in a 24 hours time loop, like the movie Groundhog Day. Except that everyone knows they are in a time loop. This is the 1,000th loop. | The Czech author Milan Kundera once wrote "Einmal ist keinmal" - that is, *Once is nothing*. The idea being that, given a near-infinity of moments spread across billions of lives, any single act is of trivial importance, and that for something to truly matter, it must happen multiple times.
Czech author Milan Kundera can eat a dick. Seriously. \*Fuck\* that asshole. I hope someone beats him to death with his own shoe.
See, people don't understand what the number one thousand really means. Or, they didn't.
They learned.
A thousand isn't just "a lot." It's so much more than that. And to really appreciate it, you have to take something relatively trivial, like stubbing your toe, and imagine what it's like if you do it ten times in a row.
Then have that experience of doing it ten times in a row ten times in a row.
And then do *that* ten times in a row.
That's a thousand. That's what we're dealing with. And that's why things are the way they are.
The streets are littered with corpses. A handful of murders, sure, but most people got that out of their system by the 100th loop. Murders at this point are due to grudges that have simmered so long that all that's left is black and hard. The kind of hatred that makes you want to kill someone more than once, more than ten times, more than a hundred times. A vengeance as empty as the existence we all lead.
Which brings us to the majority of the corpses. Suicides. You learn to give it a couple hours after sunrise so you are less in danger of being hit by bodies falling from windows or cars driving into buildings.
Because that's the thing - the real meaning of a thousand. You go insane, insane in a way that Arkham Asylum could never dream...an existential severing with reality that makes Lovecraft look like Danielle Steele.
Your life has stopped. You are trapped. There is no moving forward. You get 24 hours of progress, then God or The Devil or whoever slams his hairy fist down on the cosmic reset button, and everything is undone.
Progress, of course, is a relative thing. It's the glass half full version of life. It assumes that you are looping a day that is, at worst, neutral.
But some of us are stuck in a day that is half empty.
More than half empty.
A day that is steeped in sorrow, a day that is remarkable in the worst possible way.
Every morning, I wake up next to my wife. She says the Loop is an answer to our prayers, a way to steal hours back from the universe that tried to take her away.
She'll have a light breakfast; by lunch, her appetite will be gone. As the sun sets, darkness will overtake her eyes, and I will lose her. Again. For the thousandth time.
\*Every\* morning, I wake up next to my wife. Her light blond hair is splayed out on the pillow beside me. Her eyes are cornflower blue as they look up at me and say "Aren't we lucky?"
And I will kiss her so she won't see my face.
And I will say "Yes."
I will lie.
For the thousandth time.
* * *
Feedback welcome. Check out my sub /r/ShadowsofClouds for more stories - some of despair, some much happier. | “The thousenth loop eh?” I mention to corpses around me. “Oh well, you all will get another shot at me soon.”
The clocks ticking keeps me company tell midnight, and the world begins anew.
My eyes shoot open, and my legs are already flying out and over my beds ledge, as I dash to the kitchen to grab a knife. But there he was, my dad.
“Morning,” dad nonchalantly says, sharping one of the knives.
“Mornin’,” I reply, “so, are we just gonna or are we going to wait?”
Thinking over, my dad responds, “lets wait.”
I grab a knife myself and walk over to the dining room to streach. My arms extrend down to my toes, then my sides, then finally behind me.
“Morning guys,” my eldest brother greets us.
“Morning,” dad returns and turns his attention back to sharping.
“Hey, make sure you wait,” I call out before returning to streches.
Soon enough everyone is up, my mom, sister, and elder brother, and we all are ready.
I hurry back and prepare for someone charing, and see my sister coming to me. As her mouth begins to open I slash and feel her blood spill.
Twirling round I thrust to my moms head, only to have it deflected and have her blade going straight to my lovely heart. Quickly twisting, I get a gash across my chest, but the time I gained allows me to being my knife into my mothers spinal cord.
Flicking my blade out I see my elderest and elder brothers dead and my dad injured.
“A sec to catch my breath?” my dad pants.
“No,” I say as I dive to peirce my dads chest.
Expecting that, my dad swings at me and imbeds the blade in my elbow, rendering my upper arm worthless.
Smiling and nodding lightly I quickly pass my knife to my other hand and leave the knife in his head.
“Now, that was fun,” I gasp out and take a seat. | |
[WP] When they stop being worshipped, Gods reincarnate as humans. Artemis as a sniper on the Eastern Front, Hephasteus as an Engineer... | Ares stood in the middle of war, his squad dying left and right around him, and found himself feeling sick.
The emotion startled him, almost as much as the initial rush of adrenaline and fear that had come during the initial push. He and his squad were at the front of the left flank tasked to push the enemy to the right, whereupon a reserve force would slam through at the rear. Since his reincarnation, Ares had done nothing but dream and study and prepare for this moment, the moment of his initial birth and conception: War.
Ares flinched wildly as Stephan’s skull exploded beside him. The young man’s kindly face was a horror as he pitched back and forth and dropped to the ground, limp. Stephan had taught Ares how to knock the cap off a bottle using only his knee. His girlfriend, Alice, was waiting for him back home in England.
Resisting the urge to throw up, Ares pushed forward, his bayonet in hand, helmet uncomfortably damp with his sweat. The sounds of dying men rang in the air around him, compounded by awful screams of soldiers crying out for their mothers.
When he was the God of War, Ares had heard these cries from soldiers across time, and had found them distasteful. How dare these soldiers beg for their mothers and fathers as they died a glorious death in war? How did these men find the cowardice to not face death as warriors should, stoic and proud?
But now Ares wept as he pushed forward, cringing as a mortar exploded nearby, sending bits of flesh and dirt into the air. He wept as he killed. He wept as he stepped over—and sometimes in—those who he had come to call friends.
War… Ares had loved war, but now he knew the truth; he loved it from *afar.* When he was a god standing atop the peak of Olympos, casting his eternal gaze down onto the strife of men, their emotions and bloodlust had energized him, strengthened him. From above, war was a chaotic entanglement of human greed and anger, a structure coalescing all of humanity’s passions into a singular bloodied *thrust.*
Down on the ground, war was horror. War was pain, war was suffering, war was the hell men had been promised after a life of sin. And Ares... Ares found himself hating it and himself as he pushed onwards into the madness.
---
/r/chrischang | *Why does he do the things he does? How much can be linked back to him? What is his agenda? What is his end goal?*
Those are questions that have been burning in the minds of people across the world for years and years. While he's grown many critics for his disruptions in foreign diplomacy, it hasn't been severe enough for anyone to declare war.
But that's the other curiosity...
Does he want war? Or does he enjoy meddling with foreign politics just to have a front row view of drama unfolding on the world stage?
The devilish grin of world leader Loki is loved by some, but seen as haunting by many.
r/randallcooper | |
[WP] An Urban Legend says there's a Grey Taxi that charges you $20 no matter how far it takes you. They say the driver only listens to the blues and wears sunglasses even at night. They say the taxi doesn't take you where you want to go...But where you *NEED* to be. | "Ey Chuck Berry, nice", Josh remarked in his highly inebriated state.
"You know it, brother", the older African gentleman nodded approvingly.
Indeed the tune of "Maybellene" was playing on the old radio. The alcohol clouded the young man's senses, so much so not even the old interior of the cab he noticed, nor the vintage smell of the leather seat. Trying his best to stay awake, although through his pounding head, his eyes were barely open. However, without any direction the taxi took off to the night.
"Would you care for some water?", the driver offered handing him a bottle of water which he took from seemingly nowhere. Graciously Josh chugged the water. Almost miraculously his mind was cleared in an instant. He looked to the unlabeled bottle of water astonished before turning to the driver, now whistling the tune of B.B. King's "The Thrill is Gone".
"Dude, what's in this water? It's amazing! I'm almost completely sober now!", he chugged once more clearing his head completely.
"Well, you know how it is. You don't want to be drunk to be where you're heading right?"
The cryptic yet innocent remark alarmed Josh somehow.
"Hey I didn't tell you where to go, how do you know where my house is?"
"Oh we're not going to your house, young man. You're going where you need to be", he said still smiling.
Josh's heart dropped. Had that magic water not sobered him up, the realization of a possible kidnapping would. "No, no, get me out of here!"
"Oh you can get out wherever or whenever you want, friend. But trust me, not here"
Beyond the windshield was a stretch of road. Smooth asphalt surface with nothing but darkness on each side. The headlight of the taxi light up only a few meters ahead of them, yet they were moving close to 120km/h. To made his worry even worse, Josh notice the sunglasses covering the driver's eyes.
"Hey why...it's night! Why are you driving with those on? Slow down!"
"Oh relax, young man. I know precisely where we are going. This is a shortcut", he laughed.
"No, you're crazy man! Let me out! I say, let me out!", panicking Josh started to kick on the door to no avail.
"Tell me about your mother, *Josh"*
Having his name and his mother mentioned put the terror in him. Who was this man? Some kind of a stalker?
"Wh...what are you talking about?"
"Like I said, I want to hear about you mother, Josh. If you do I'll slow down"
Taking a moment, Josh's head spun trying to comprehend what this mad man could've wanted. Not just for the fact he didn't remember ever telling him his name, also he knew about Josh's late mother.
"She...she died. Okay? She died a few months ago!"
"And how did she die?"
"She...she was sick. Cancer. Slowly ravaged through her body. She died very weak on the hospital bed"
"And were you there, Joshua?"
Josh's emotion started to swirl. The seemingly all knowing driver had struck a sensitive subject. Josh refused to answer, remaining quiet.
"You didn't, did you?", he said almost like a sure statement rather than a question. "Is that why you drink so much, Josh? Hm?"
Riled up, Josh's emotion finally reached its limit. "No! No I did not! Is that what you want me to say? Are you happy now? No I wasn't there to see her die!"
"You were busy drinking that night, didn't you?"
"I did! Yes I did. I drank and drank, not caring about my own dying mother! When I got the news I felt nothing! So I drank more just to feel something!", he burst in tears. "And yes, I regret it! I regret it so much! Every single day, every single moment! Not even the alcohol could numb it!"
For the first time the driver was taken aback. He didn't expect Josh to say what he was about to ask. Slowly he took off his foot from the gas pedal, slowing the car down.
"Well said, young man...we're here", softly and grandfatherly he said.
Wiping his tears off Josh had noticed the driver unnoticeably drove them out of the empty stretch of road. The taxi was parked outside of a quiet unassuming hospital.
"This is...", Josh muttered noticing the familiar building.
"I told you we were going where you need to be. This is it, Josh. Make your amends. Go see her"
Josh didn't know how they got there or how they even drove to time went past. But deep down he knew it was right. His legs felt lighter, unshackled as he made his way inside to room 303 where his mother lay dying.
The driver waited, like he usually does now humming the tune of Muddy Water's "Hoochie Coochie Man". An hour maybe a bit more later, Josh walked out. The driver smiled seeing Josh's liberated expression, like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He made his way back to the taxi, climbing on the back seat.
"Feeling better?", the driver asked.
"Yes", Josh said smiling.
The driver took off again. Josh didn't ask where to go, but somehow he knew where the driver was taking him. Along the way Josh contemplated, replaying the memory again and again. Of his mother's face lit up upon seeing him. Her soft hand on his hand as he apologized and said his goodbye. Of her motherly warmth caressing his head. He smiled and cried, and he couldn't stop. From the rear view mirror the driver could see him. He was also smiling, humming another tune of Stevie Ray Vaughan's "Pride and Joy".
The sound of the car softly braking broke Josh out of his stupor. "Here we are", the driver said.
Outside was Josh's house. For a moment Josh look on to his house, where his wife must be already sleeping.
"You know what to do right, young man", the driver smiled.
"Is this a dream?", asked Josh.
"Does it matter?"
"No...not at all", Josh muttered. "How much do I owe you?"
"$20, brother"
Handing the driver a crumpled note, Josh walked up to his driveway before turning back one last time. "Thank you"
"Pleasure's all mine", the driver nodded before driving away, the tune of Chuck Berry's "Johnny B Goode" slowly getting quiet as he got further.
Continuing his walk back to his house, Josh was a changed man. His burden was no more. He didn't know nor he was care whether that was some kind of a divine intervention or something else. All he knew was he was redirected to a better path. He made a note to himself, first thing in the morning he's getting rid of all of his alcohol stash and apologize to his wife. | ##Something Blue and Something Gray
One night of drunken debauchery to celebrate my best friend getting married. I whisper to myself that everything will be alright. Danielle has approached me before stating that she is starting to get cold feet. Everyone is nervous before the big day. It is a huge commitment. I have seen how she acts with Joseph. They are a good couple.
Her two sisters, Jane and Diana, hate each other and me which may make the night less enjoyable. I think to myself as I put on my eyeliner. Both of them have been in constant competition since we are kids, and they both wanted the maid of honor role. Their hatred for me has created a truce until after the reception.
I put the finishing touches on the outfit and think of the other two bridesmaids. Janice, Danielle's cousin, is only a bridesmaid because Danielle was forced to include her. I completely understand why Danielle did not want her included; she has been calling and texting me non-stop about doing a Bachelorette Party that does not involve alcohol. I told her if she was against drinking she did not have to come, but she insists even though she will probably spend the whole night uncomfortable. The other bridesmaid is Danielle's friend from college, Brianna. Danielle told me Brianna is cool. I would not know since Brianna only texts back "okay."
I check myself in the mirror before calling an Uber. I got us tickets to a comedy show, and then, I booked a room at a club. Danielle told me she did not want a stripper so I was sure not to get one. I walk outside and see a gray car pull up. The man in the front is wearing sunglasses at 8 PM. A little weird, but I have seen weirder.
"Baby Please Don't Go" is playing in the car, a lovely tune that calms me down. The man makes a wrong turn up ahead and continues.
"Excuse me, I think you should've turned left," I say.
"This is a shortcut. Don't worry. It will be twenty dollars either way," he replies. The song shifts to "Born Under a Bad Sign."
I start to panic and pull out my cellphone. No reception. Great, kidnapped on the Bachelorette Party night. I feel like that is a sitcom episode plot. He keeps moving, bopping his head to the blues. For a kidnapper, he is quite serene. Granted, I have never been kidnapped so I would not know how they should act.
After a few miles, I start to recognize my surroundings as Danielle's street. I breathe a sigh of relief; I must have put in the wrong address. The route was odd, but at least I will not be featured in the local news. I check my phone to see I still have no reception. No way to text Danielle to see if she is home, but I could knock on her door and say it was part of the surprise if she answers. This has been a blessing in disguise. He stops in front of her apartment.
"This is where you need to be," he says.
"Can you wait outside?" I ask.
"I can't do that. You will have to find someone else. Other people need me," he says. He is a little odd, but I will still give him a good rating. I step outside and walk over to buzz Danielle.
"Who is it?" she sniffles.
"Hey, it is Katie. I thought I would surprise by sharing a cab," I lie, but it is the thought that counts.
"Oh, uh, come upstairs," she opens the front door. I walk up the stairs. When she opens her door, she is wearing a T-shirt and pajama pants.
"Danielle, did you forget that the show starts soon?" I ask.
"Did you not see my text? I am not coming," she says. I look down at my phone to see I missed several texts from her and the other bridesmaids discussing plans.
"I am sorry. I had no reception on the way over here. Is everything alright though?" Danielle starts to cry. I walk her over to the couch.
"This whole wedding has been a nightmare like you have no idea," she says.
"What do you mean?"
"Diana and Jane are constantly spamming me with insults. I defend you, but they gang up on me. They have even convinced my parents that it was a mistake to make you Maid of Honor. I am standing by you, but it is so much unnecessary stress," she says. I always knew those two were trouble, "Janice is constantly trying to insert herself into the wedding. She has very strict religious beliefs, and she is trying to impose them on us. That is not the worst thing. I caught Brianna with Joseph."
"What but you two were so good together," I yell.
"Apparently, the two of them hooked up before I met Joseph. She got a different boyfriend so it never came up. Since she broke up with him a few months ago, they have been having an affair," she cries. I rub her shoulder.
"I cannot believe it. I take it you are calling off the wedding?" I ask.
"I plan on it, but it is going to be so embarrassing. I am ashamed just telling you now. I don't even want to think about what my family will say."
"I will always be by your side. Do not worry. Come on," I pull out my phone and tell everyone that the party is off, "We may not be able to have a Bachelorette Party, but we can still have a night on the town. We can talk about calling the wedding off later."
"Thanks, Katie. It is a good thing you came by. I was probably not going to call you since I was so overwhelmed," she says.
"Funny story. I did not intend to come," I pull out my phone. The route shows the destination as the comedy show, "That is weird. I put the destination as the comedy club, but the driver brought me here."
Danielle perks up, "Wait, was the car gray, and did the driver wear sunglasses and listen to the blues. Also, did you pay $20?"
"Woah, that is a lot of questions," I blink a few times, "But yes everything happened."
Danielle gets a big smile on her face, "Katie that man is a huge part of town folklore. I have always wanted to see him. This is so amazing."
"Wait what?" I ask.
"Katie, you need to take a bigger interest in this town. The man takes people to where they need to go. He took you here because I needed you. This is so exciting," her mood has done a complete shift. I never believed in folklore like that. I am sure there is a different explanation, but for her sake, I will play along.
"That is cool, but right now, I need you to get some better clothes on. I cannot be seen with you looking like that," I smile.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | |
[WP] Your love of spicy food has gotten out of hand. It began with curry, mapo tofu and so on, but when they lost their luster, you ate spicier foods, even raw ghost peppers and naga vipers. Then pepper spray. Then live coals and kerosene. Now, you look up at the sun, and salivate as you prepare. | I checked the speedometer and the engine temperature on the dashboard, they all looked good. It was finally happening. I couldn’t help but look back to how I got here. It was an innocent enough story, but I could only look back a little helplessly on the path I took that could only lead to my destruction.
It all started with Sherman. Sherman was my slightly odd neighbour, but was friendly enough to me when I moved in a month ago. It was a new town for me so I eagerly welcomed a new friendship, even if it was a friendship that was characterised by long intense stares over the hedge while I was emptying my trash. One bright and sunny morning there was an abrupt rap on my door at 7am. Sharp.
I blearily dragged myself out of my deep slumber. Something about solar flares lingered in my half-dreaming mind as I plodded down to get the door, only to find a slightly hunched but excited Sherman. He spoke in animated and twitchy bursts, but it was clear that he wanted me to come with him. Fuck it, I was already up and Sherman was my only friend, so I donned my slippers and trundled on after him in the bright morning light.
Sherman was still talking, but almost to himself, he wasn’t turning back to look at me as we walked round the back of my house to his yard. Did he say *solar flares*? My mind was elsewhere, thinking off coffee and bagels as we rounded the corner. Sherman lurched to a standstill and proudly pointed to his vegetable garden. I had seen it before, and was a little disappointed to be dragged out of my bed for this. He looked up at me, and that’s when saw it, the madness in his eyes. The madness that I’m now all too familiar with. He leapt up from his hobble and pointed me to a specific little bush. A little chilli bush.
I stooped down to take a closer look at the unassuming plant. Yes, it was a chilli bush. The little pointed chillies still glistened with the morning’s dew. I’m no horticulturalist, but it was a cute looking plant I concluded as a straightened up to leave. Sherman clearly wasn’t done with me, he grabbed my arm and insisted that I take a few of the chillies home. That’s when I saw it again, the intense fire in his eyes. It felt as if I was being blinded and my face was burning when I looked back at him, almost as if I was staring into the-- he forced some chillies into my hand and toddled off towards his house, leaving me standing awkwardly in his yard with a handful of chillies.
Back at my place I tossed the chillies on the kitchen counter and set about making myself some breakfast. I sat down with some coffee and recalled my morning’s adventures with Sherman. This was by far not the strangest experience with the man, let’s not forget about the revolver incident, but there was something decidedly odd about him this morning. Typically he would evade my eye contact completely, mumbling incoherently into his sleeve or looking at his toes. Today was different. Did he assault me? It certainly felt that way, but all I could remember was the intense world-shattering look he gave me. Nothing I could write to the cops about.
One egg in the pan, bacon in another. Yes, this is how mornings should be. I plated up and almost instinctively grabbed one of the little orange chillies and sliced it finely and sprinkled a moderate amount on my egg. I’m no stranger to spicy food. I would order extra hot at the local Dheli Darbar, and then insist that the waiter actually bring me the extra hot, not the one they give to pasty white guys experimenting with ethnic food.
This chilli was different as I ate my breakfast. It was warm, comforting, delicious. I chopped up another and doused my egg in its shavings, seeds and all. The burn was there, it was real and enthralling. Almost a spiritual experience. Sherman had been holding out on me, these chillies were lit!
I scraped my plate and noticed Sherman on the roof of his house, staring at the sky. What a strange man, I thought without a double take. Time to get on with my day. I remembered I needed to dash into town to buy some screws for the bathroom mirror, and other miscellaneous broken bits around the new place. I could also swing by the supermarket for some groceries, and more chillies. More chillies? I don’t need those.
The supermarket was pretty uneventful. Everyone was friendly enough and starting to recognise me as a local. Staying in a small town was nice, even if it was on a major river with huge ships blaring their horns at the most surprising moments. I crossed the drawbridge on my way back just as one of the behemoths was creeping up the river.
My guilty pleasure is DIY, so I was fairly excited as I stepped into my new house with a bag of screws ready to tinker. I plonked the shopping bag down on the counter and began rummaging through for the screws. I found the chillies. Odd. I didn’t buy chillies. I found the hot sauce, the curry powder, the peri-peri seasoning and the paprika. I didn’t buy these, I thought as I backed away. I heard a siren in the distance. Yes, I did! I bought these things! I remembered as I opened the hot sauce and put it to my lips. Of course I did, I need this, I thought as I gave it a hefty chug.
It was good, but I needed more. I grabbed a handful of chillies and stuffed them into my mouth, bliss. I paused as I swallowed and savoured the sensation. The burn was intoxicating. I grabbed the curry powder and started shoving handfuls of into my mouth. It was good, but not good enough. I wanted more, I needed more. I eventually rendered the shopping bag empty. The hot sauce, chillies, everything was gone. It wasn’t satisfactory, I needed more. The sirens were right outside, I turned to look out my window and that’s when I saw him. Sherman, on his roof staring at the sun. Yes, Sherman understood. Nothing could satisfy the hunger from those chillies, nothing but one thing.
There were people trying to coax Sherman down from the edge of his house as he stood staring skywards. They didn’t know, they didn’t understand, but I did. Sherman had opened my eyes. Those chillies had opened my eyes, and I was going to get my zenith. I salivated thinking about it as I rushed down to my car. A crowd had now gathered below Sherman. My heart went out to him, my saviour. Go Sherman, I whispered to myself as I hurried past to my car and hoped in. I sped out just as I heard shrieks from the crowd. He had done it, he had satisfied his hunger.
Now it was my turn. I sped down the main street just as I heard the familiar chiming of the drawbridge bell as a ship was making entry. The drawbridge was raised and there it was above it. The sun. In all its seductive majesty it lorded over me. I stared at it as my mouth watered. I needed a taste, a bite, all of it.
I revved the engine once as I lined my car up with the raised drawbridge pointed right at the sun. I was going to get it, I was going to feel the it in my mouth. I put my foot down hard, the wheels spun and I was off! | That morning hangs in my mind like a crooked picture taking up too much space on a wall. A wall otherwise empty and wanting. I remember waking up and reaching over to grab a soft pillow and nothing more. Empty space where a warm body should be. I wake up to see nothing, to see those empty spaces begin to take over. It was a day of ends. Of nasty fights and thrown objects and broken things. It was also a day of beginnings. A day where walking to the fridge and taking out a bottle of hot sauce, nothing fancy, and lifting it to my lips seemed like the only way. Slowly at first, to feel the familiar sting of the peppers dance across my mouth and explode on my tongue. That spice that hurts and tastes and lives within my mouth. It made everything make sense in that brief moment so I spent my time chasing that heat. Chasing down that dragon and conquering it until it conquers me.
Now I sit, with my father, staring at the sky in a longing bliss as the beautiful and yellow Corona burns into my eyes. I break first, conceding to the sun with a balled fist slammed to the ground.
"I want it. Its all I can think about." I commiserate. I sink my sullen face into my palms and cry. My father stands on firm legs and a wide frame. One large and calloused and dry hand rests on my shoulder.
"It is not meant to be held by men and certainly not consumed." He turns and walks away with a hung head, leaving me to stare, leaving me to desire the unattainable.
I sulk through the darkened streets grabbing anything I can find and throwing it into my mouth. The grass stings but not for long, twigs scrape and cut my pinkish flesh but leave me just as wanting. I need heat and I need it now, I need it in my mouth. I drop to my knees and cry as her image floods back into my minds eye. I see her and everything else goes cold. My hair stands up and I shiver. I shiver and shake and vibrate until I see a small red can in the distance. A vessel for gas sitting alone, alone like myself, against a small car. My mind jogs, it sprints towards the possibilities and my feet follow. When I tilt the can back and the sweet gasoline pours down my throat, I feel alive again. I chug and chug until its empty and I tilt the can further and wring out every last drop. The sting was beautiful, it was mesmerizing and strong. I loved it but it was gone now and I needed more.
I combed the streets until the beautiful ball of fire in the sky went away. I found a few more cans and emptied them as fast as I could. The sting was there but less and less as I consumed. The gas became stale and almost comfortable by the end of the night. It wasn't enough and I knew nothing ever would be. Nothing except... it was still so gorgeous so luminous when the rises the next morning. I feel invigorated once again. I feel empowered, galvanized I rush towards his place. His lab is where I end up. My father, the man who gave me so much. I need to take more from him now. My mind is blinded by the suns light as I shuffle into his lab. The sign hangs low, slightly above the doorway.
"Day Die Less labs." I never understood the name. Some modern spin on an old myth I think. I never listened long. I move through the floor on nervous feet, quietly peering into the glass encasements of different machines and inventions to change the world. I dont need to change the world or even my own, I just want the sun.
I come to a single glass box sitting high above the rest. A set of wings mechanical but covered in some white and brown feathers. I can't tell of they're real but my smile doesn't care. I break the glass and grab at the device, peeling off its constraints and throwing it over my back. I move faster as I hear my father struggle from his office. He appears in his doorway as I burst through the front entrance and sprint as fast as my legs will allow.
"It's not ready, son. You'll get too close. Don't fly too close, don't fly too close to the sun." He screams after me but his old body keeps him from following. I attach the wings and activate them jumping from a bridge with whatever strength is left in my gelatin legs. The wings activate with a mechanical scrape and I begin my ascent. My body is an arrow, my mind the sharpest point. I fly, aerodynamically into the upper heavens. I climb higher and higher expecting the heat of the gods to fill me and consume me as I consume it. The heat escapes me. As I gain height I see the blue of the sky start to fade. The darkness, the black matter of the universe begins to wrap itself around me.
"Temporary" I tell myself. Just a moment of cold before the sun takes over. I climb slower now, waiting for what is mine. Waiting for the heat to come again. My mouth is agape, wider to the point of a mechanical pain in my jaws. That pain is mirrored in my fathers wings. They scrape and slow as I attempt to flap them again, fighting against the failing gravity and my own waining strength. My ascent stops before I reach the sun. My breath is visible and my bones are shaking with fear and cold. The wings stop. They fall and me with them. Descending now, dropping from the sky backwards. I stare at the sun as the warm earth accepts me back. Takes me in with open arms as she always has. I think to myself of the heat that I desire so. I picture it in my minds eye for a brief moment before everything goes dark. The last thing is see is my father. Silently staring at his son fall but helpless. Forced to watch and hope that I can save myself as all fathers do for all sons. | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | I push the wisps of silver away from her face, and shake my head.
"You watch. I'll get them."
I kneel down at the foot of the bed, and lower myself to see beneath it. The carpet smelled faintly of a flowery scent.
"Hey. Hey! You, under there!" I pound the carpet with a balled fist. "I catch you coming up here, I'll rip your nose off. What's good smellins, with no nose?"
I peek up over the edge of the bed to find Tara covering her nose with the blankets.
"Yeah, see? She knows. Pies, cookies, stews, and chowder - ain't no smellins with no nose."
"Dad. Dad!" Tara whispered. I kneeled up off the floor and leaned closer to her.
"What. What?"
"Monsters have big noses!" She said, motioning wide with both hands.
"That's why..." I balled a fist and mimed swinging it, "you punch them first, to make 'em flat."
"You can't do that!" Tara clamped her hands over her mouth, realizing she'd yelled. She gave me big, bright green eyes - I just smiled, and rose to stand.
"Get to sleep, bobblehead. Its past midnight."
"You'll come if there's a monster?" She said, as she tightened the covers over herself with some hesitation.
"Yes." I nodded.
"Promise?" She tilted her head to the side, looking towards a darker corner of the silver-pink room.
"Always."
The scent of freesia rendered me nostalgic as I left.
------
Each night, every night, I tuck her in. It wasn't surprising, of course - six year olds weren't exactly stalwarts of the dark.
I was lucky that she had always been a fast sleeper. It meant that the night didn't have the opportunity to bug her for long before she set off into the dreamscape. Still, I had a habit at times of standing by her door, barely-open, listening for the distinct sound of breathing sleep - that was when I could be certain, that she'd be alright.
After closing her door, I headed for the living room and sat on the couch. I was a little restless, I admit. Hypervigilance typically wasn't an issue anymore, but...
But what if?
That was always the question, wasn't it? What if hypervigilance was necessary, always necessary, to make sure she'd be okay?
What if it was a mistake to do what the therapist said?
That thought triggered a rebuke -
*You don't want her life placed back under lock and key, right? You want her to be a normal kid, go to a normal school, grow up normally. You want her to make friends, study, graduate, go off and be what she wants to be.*
*You want that, so do what the damn therapist tells you to do.*
But...if it happened again...
She's okay. Everything's okay. There's no fire. Not a bit.
I took a slow, deep breath, to relax.
I took a slow, deep breath, and smelled it again.
A scent that made me feel nostalgic.
Freesia.
One of my daughter's favorite scents.
Her mother bought it for her 16th birthday.
My heart stopped.
I leapt up from the couch, and bolted for her bedroom, grabbed for the knob, turned it. Locked.
"Tara?" I said, as I knocked on the door, my breath catching in my throat, "Honey, are you okay?"
"I'm okay," came her voice from inside.
"Can you unlock the door, please?" My breathing was quickened, pulse racing, fingers curled around the knob.
"I'm okay, Daddy," she replied.
"Honey, I just..." I tried turning the knob again, to no avail. "I need to check on you. Please let me in."
Silence.
"Tara?"
Nothing.
"Tara, I really need you t---"
"I'm sorry."
I froze, midsentence.
That voice. That voice.
I hadn't heard that voice in six years.
"Still want the door open?" said the voice, as it unclicked the lock.
I gripped the doorknob as hard as I could.
"Tara," I said, "please don't hurt her."
"I couldn't even if I wanted to." Something, like a fist, slammed against the other side of the door. "I'm not here for her."
"What do you want?" I said.
"To hurt you."
The door became redhot before it was blown against me, and my vision went white as I felt my body sail through the air. Next thing I knew, I was facedown in my living room, where smoking dust and debris were floating down all around me. I pushed myself to a stumbling stand.
But I wasn't ready to see.
Long hair of silver - eyes bright green. She had on a puffy purple jacket with a lion embroidery near the pocket I recognized - that was a present from me for that same birthday, winterclothing. But she'd wore it all the time - sun or snow. Her hand was outstretched, palm facing me, the skin on it glowing faintly orange.
Looked the same, wore the same, had the same voice.
She was indisputably my daughter, Tara Susan Graham.
She was indisputably someone I loved, and once loved with all of my heart.
She was indisputably gifted, a genetic pyromancer who progressed leaps and bounds in the mastery of her gift over her adolesence.
And she was indisputably broken, someone who had used that gift to do unspeakable things.
"Why would you come here? I finally gave you what you wanted - I left you alone." I said slowly, but with a tinge of frustration, anger. "I stopped trying to stop you."
"Yeah? You shouldn't have. You really fucking shouldn't have, Dad," She was looking at me, through narrowed eyes and gritted teeth. She approached, came within a few steps of me."Turns out, when you weren't there to stop me?"
She conjured a flame gout in her hand, and closed her fingers around it. It didn't burn herself - it was a part of her, of course.
"That was when I really needed to be stopped," she whispered, intensifying the flame in her hand as she leaned in close, "Stopped."
Unlike her, the heat did singe me. But I remained still. If she wanted me dead, I would have been.
"Why won't you?" I asked, quietly.
She shook her head slowly, wisps of flame trailing out of the very corners of her eyes.
"Every time a little part in me asked that, it was too late," she said, "until I realized that it wasn't, right after it was again." There was a pause, before she continued. "I tried to figure out how to save half my house after I'd burnt three quarters down - three quarters after the boards were piled up."
"Then what do you want? What do you want from me?"
"Finish what you fucking started." She closed her fist on the flame she held, and punched me in the chest. I stumbled backward and staggered to the side as a dull pain rocketed through my body. However, when I got my breath, I noticed that I hadn't been burnt.
"Wh...what do you mean?" I asked, gasping.
"You have a new life here. A new me here. You left the old behind. But you didn't clean up after yourself." She pointed to her chest with her thumb. "You didn't deal with the biggest problem you had."
"I'm not killing you."
"Oh, you're gonna have to," she said, as a tear formed in the corner of her eye, "Because if you don't, I'll kill you. And there's nobody you can call, nowhere you can run, that can stop me." She unrolled her fingers into an open palm. I could see the veins down her arm lighting up orange - the telltale sign of her pyromancy being properly prepared.
"Tara...you don't want to do this."
"Shut your mouth," she said, as she flexed and unflexed her fingers, "Mom couldn't..." Another tear trickled down the opposite cheek. "You have to."
My mouth fell open.
"Your mother?"
"You have to."
For a long time, we both stood in silence, facing one another.
"She'll come back, right?" I asked of my littler one, quietly.
"Yes." Tara's response was without emotion.
After what seemed to be forever, it was as though there were no more words left to say.
Her pyromancy coursed through her entire body, making her eyes glow an intense shade of red-orange.
And I, thinking of something else I'd wanted to forget, lifted my hand, curling my fingers like she did hers.
While a stinging blurriness obscured my vision...
...gravity ripped chunks of the floor and wall from their settings, and prepared them for my command. | Brian yawned as he walked past Ophelia’s room. He stopped when he heard her giggle. It was late, even for him. What was she doing up, he wondered as he leaned in close to her bedroom door.
“-how to keep you away. When I say the words you are supposed to leave!” Ophelia’s little voice sounded like it did when she was scolding her toys. Brian smiled. She was “keeping away” the monsters under her bed with the silly poem he had made up when she was younger. She still remembered -
“I’m very sorry.” A low, rumbling voice came from the other side of the door. It wasn’t Ophelia’s. The hairs on Brian’s neck stood up. His eyes widened. He hesitated, only for a moment, and threw open her door.
“O!” He switched on her bedroom light and peered around the room. Ophelia was crouched at the foot of her bed in her pj’s, bedside lamp glowing, covers thrown back. There was no one else in the room. “Who were you talking to?”
“Oh, it was Toobits. I told him to leave, Daddy.” Ophelia picked at the leg of her pajama bottoms. Her dark hair falling over her shoulders as she looked back at the bed. “He said he didn’t want to go this time.”
Brian felt a wave of adrenaline wash over him. It was that name, Toobits: memories of large white teeth, the smell of smoke, the flash of a coin. “Toobits? What’s a Toobits?”
“The monster. I see him sometimes. You made him go away, remember?” She looked at him with her bright green eyes. He tried not to focus on the clinching in his chest. He listened to the silence.
“Is Toobits still here?” Brian asked.
Ophelia shrugged. “I said: ‘Monster, monster where are you? Under bed or in my shoe? Be my friend, but let me sleep. Not tonight, I’m counting sheep.’ Just like you taught me.” She nodded her head, satisfied. Brian crept to the side of the bed and kneeled next to his daughter.
“I bet he’s gone now, O.” He swallowed and leaned down to look. There was a flash from under the bed and Brian jumped to his feet. It was a quarter. Ophelia looked at him with wide eyes. Brian’s heart thumped in his ears. “Did you do that?”
“You scared me, Dad!” She grabbed the quarter and put it back under the bed. “I told you I don’t want it, Toobits! You nerd!” She shouted under the bed.
“Get away from there, O!” Brian reached down and grabbed his daughter by her arm and moved her back. He didn’t hesitate this time. He crouched and threw the bedskirt up. As the blood rushed to his face, Brian saw shoe boxes and a plastic tub. The quarter wasn’t there. He reached in and moved a box. Nothing. A sharp tang reached his nose, like someone had lit a bottle rocket. “What the hell?” He sat up and let the bed skirt fall, sniffing. “You smell that?”
“Smell what? That hurt!” Ophelia rubbed her arm.
“Smoke.” An image of a hairy, clawed hand placing a quarter in his hand invaded Brian’s thoughts. A cold sweat broke out on his brow. He looked back at Ophelia. “Why did Toobits give you that quarter, O?”
Ophelia looked at the bed, Brian jerked his head and looked, half expecting to see a monster himself. “He said he gave it to you, before. He said you promised.” The bright white smile flashed in his mind again. Brian felt dread, the feeling of forgetting something important. The harder he tried to remember, the further it slipped away. He reached out and put his hands over Ophelia’s arms.
“What did I promise, O?” His voice was low.
Ophelia looked at her father, “You promised he could play with me, Dad.” | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | Disclaimer: horror.
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"Are you? Did Fluffy deserve the death you gave him? You ripped him open, cotton spread everywhere, he begged to live while I tried to sew him back together, but he died before."
That's your daughter's voice, Arya.
"I said I'm sorry."
You had wrongfully accused her of destroying the toy.
"What about doctor Snuggles?"
You peek trough the door akar, from there you see a set of fingers, scribbling idly at the ground as if they belonged to a nervous child. You revise the judgement, these are teeth belonging to a massive jaw.
"Your ripped his arm off, I had to take the splinters away from between your dirty teeth."
"Sorry."
Once more, you believed she was the culprit, but how could you have guessed the truth?
"I know, I know."
You thank God that your daughter seems to hold the thing in check. Scared, you keep looking in fascination.
"We all know whose fault it is," you hear Arya continue, "and tonight we shall teach him a lesson."
"Yes," says the thing under the bed, "I never liked your dad anyway."
You gasp.
Arya's gaze suddenly appears to meet yours. Her bright green eyes shine in the dark.
"You have been naughty, daddy."
Your stomach contracts in terror, the door slams open and an army stands to know you better. Doctor Snuggles is bandaged at the shoulder and holds a lit match, the dolls are chained at the neck to the house and drag it behind them, raising their tiny arms forward to give them leverage. Fluffy the teddy bear, eyes and tissue dead, is worn by a wooden manequin. His face, devoid of features during the day, had crude features drawn and a grim smile. A snake made tears and blood wrapped around his head moved like a hungry tongue. And the noise, the clicks, wooden steps, plastic moves, glass cracking to bring an immobile joint to life in a cry of pain.
"I don't like my daddy."
You muster the will to defend yourself, you couldn't have known, no word comes out. They lunge at you, the only answer is to run. Outside, to the night and calm, anything to escape the insanity. You nearly crash when coming down the stairs four by four, the door is nearly in reach.
barnes the husky stands guard.
His white fur red and brown with blood and shit, his innards spread around the walls of the entry hall, you realize the squashy things you stepped on were his eyes. Ernst the big duck wore his emptied cadaver on his head like a trophy. Ernst was unharmed, Barnes had never seen him coming.
"The court shall decide," you hear your daughter say, before feeling the stab of a fork planted in your calf. You fall to your knees and open your mouth to scream, socks are stuffed inside to keep you shut.
The weight of a hundred toys keeps you face down on the ground, you can barely see your daughter paraded high on her pink chair by four baby puppets. They kept their heads low as in silent prayer, Arya wore the plastic tiara you had offered her many years ago.
"He throws us away when we're still alive."
"He stepped on me and broke my leg!"
"He tells me to shut up when I cry", says a baby, "but I can't, the machine in me won't let me."
"Silence!" shouts your daughter. The crowd stands still and in awe, she is more a godess than a queen to them.
"Daddy has been naughty, but he explained to me we should forgive people."
The crowd lets out a collective sigh of disappointment.
"He shall only be half eaten. Steven!"
You wriggle in panic, nearly choking yourself to death on the socks, little fingers dig blood from your skin to keep you still, murmuring at your ear to keep fighting so they are allowed to hurt you, the lady wouldn't allow them to otherwise.
Suddenly, they all left your back, you get painfully up. A maw the size of your daughter greets you. Steven, the monster from under the bed, his teeth wringling in anticipation of the blood, ready to rip into you with joy.
"What's happening honey?"
It's your wife, calling from the upper floor.
You're about to warn her, Steven closes his mouth on your throat, only blood comes out of your open mouth, forever silenced.
"Mom has been naughty," you hear your daughter say, before your body collapses to the ground, head held up high by a hungry mouth. | “Goodnight dear” as I kiss my daughter’s forehead and make for the door I hear a sleepy “goodnight mummy”, as I turn off the lights a smile grows on my face, my brave little girl no longer needs me to scold the monsters under her bed, she’s not afraid anymore, it’s a good thing she grew out of it because the embarrassment of my husband seeing me pretend to scold monsters was killing me.
The sofa seems to swallow my exhausted body whole, whilst my little princess’s wishes have gotten gradually more unreasonable, the actual work I have to do is far less now than it was back then, but I still feel so tired, I haven’t caught back up on my sleep just yet, she would say “I want mummy!” When asked what she wanted for her birthday, but little did I realise that such a cute request was actually a demand to subjugate myself to the torture that is reading 3 little bunnies over and over again, nonstop, morning until night, with a happy little “AGAIN! AGAIN!” encouraging me to repeat the short story once more, she’s different now, she asked for a unicorn on her most recent birthday, I felt a bit defeated to be honest, “you love unicorns more than you love mummy now, huh?” is what the devil on my shoulder told me to say, but no, I have to be strong, this is all a part of growing up, when I got her a broom and arts and crafts supplies I was worried what she would think, would she be disappointed that I had clearly side stepped her impossible request and tried to justify it by saying it would be more fun to make one ourselves? Would she say the words that hurt worse than a knife, the dreaded “I hate you mummy!”? Luckily no, she was ecstatic, we did it together and even though it also took from morning until night it was far more engaging and rewarding to see her learning something new and improving her skills than reading the same story ad nauseum, she gained a whole new hobby and it’s absolutely taken over her life, she probably asked for me so much back then because she was bored but now she has something to sink her time into and it’s paying dividends, she’s sewn so many plushies and teddy bears, learnt so much about materials and her dexterity has improved so greatly that all of her teachers compliment her on her beautiful handwriting, the shrewd little business woman even started teaching the other kids at school how to sew, fixed school uniforms of her friends before the end of the school day so their parents don’t get angry at them and taught drawing and design, all for a fee of course, she’s just started accepting commissions from those same children to turn their designs into bears since she’s so good at it, she created her own market! Once upon a time she was gloomy, lonely, bored and had no idea what she wanted to do, but now she wants to make a custom teddy bear store, turning other children’s dreams into reality. Little did I know that soon she would be turning nightmares into reality too...
After musing about the lonely reality of parenthood I picked up the TV remote and switched over to the news channel “—as you can see Cassidy, the vandalism and breadth of the crimes are shocking, no one knows if this is a spontaneous group or an organised one, they all strike at the same time, without warning but also do completely unconnected things, here in Equestrianshire they vandalised the horses, dressing them up as unicorns, even going so far as to paint patterns on them, luckily they are unharmed, but the same can’t be said for the bank heist that went on, over 10 miles away from the scene of this crime, over to you Bert.” “Thanks Dave, the police currently suspect that they are working in tandem in order to create distractions like the unicorn prank whilst the real, serious crimes like this one, take place, they’ve been dubbed the “Mascot Mafia” although no one knows the name the group calls itself, one police officer was punched by an 8 foot pink panda and said that, quote, “it felt as if I was punched by a giant teddy bear”, what’s frightening is that no one knows how these costumes are being worn that allows their wearer to move in a way that is so dexterous and animalistic, in ways that can be said to totally defy human anatomy, back to you in the studio Cassid—“ “BAD BOY!” resounds so loudly that it drowns out the TV “I should turn this off, she’s probably scolding the imaginary monsters under her bed again, if she hears this she might become afraid of teddy bears, I don’t want these criminals to steal the precious hobby that gave my daughter so much” I think to myself, as I press the button to turn off the TV I hear a response “sorry boss” in a deep, gruff voice. Shivers run down my spine and i sprint upstairs grabbing the phone as I go, what if it’s not my imagination and there’s someone who has broken into her room? Criminal activity has been on the rise as of late, the Mascot Mafia targeting our area specifically, as I burst into her room I see my daughter in an eye patch, pirate hat, black suit and red tie with a fake beard drawn on her face in marker, stepping on the head of a giant pink panda in dogeza, raising a wooden sword above her head in triumph “what on earth is going on dear?” As I speak the diverse array of my daughters creations littering every crevice of space, from clay figures, teddy bears and even drawn pictures on the wall turn their heads and lock their eyes on me “We’re playing Yakuza mummy! And I’m the boss! Panther bamboo stole real money though so I’m telling him off and to give it back, he’s so silly, we don’t need to do naughty things, I just want to play make believe!” She says with a big toothy smile, revealing that marker was also on some of her teeth to make it look like she was missing some, I began to feel overwhelmed, my daughter was pressing her foot harder on the pink panda’s head, why was he so obedient? Why are all of my daughter’s creations alive? Is she the boss of the mascot mafia, and her bizarre, diverse interests for make believe scenarios has resulted in these mass, simultaneous crime sprees? Why is this panda called panther bamboo? Pink panther and bamboo because it’s a panda? As this flood of questions incessantly assaults my consciousness I find myself falling backwards as the world goes dark only to be caught by the unicorn we had so lovingly crafted together, it was enough to push me over the edge, enough to make me subconsciously choose to sleep, hoping that this was just a strange dream.
To be continued.
Edit 1: fixed some spelling mistakes and descriptions. | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | The deepest and most persistent fears are often the ones we invent ourselves, so when you were young and afraid of the dark, I would scold the monsters under your bed and in your closet so that you might sleep more easily. There were, of course, no monsters actually there - at least that I could see - but that was never the point. Eventually, as you grew older, you began to realise that if the monsters were afraid of me, they’d probably be afraid of you, too. So, slowly, as these transitions are made, you began to scare the monsters away yourself until all I needed to do was stand in the hall and smile while you shouted “don’t try anything” in your little voice to the closed closet door. Eventually, that too became unnecessary, and now you have grown into the fearless woman you are today.
But I don’t think I’ll ever forget the time one of the monsters replied.
​
Like many nights prior, I had just finished tucking you to bed, and had closed the door. Seconds later (you thought I couldn’t hear) you’d wriggle your way out and direct a few choice admonishments to the closet and the space under the bed. I must admit, I chuckled a little, not out of ridicule but in part of pride. Of course, those chuckles soon stopped when I heard the monster reply “I’m sorry” in a low, gruff voice from the area under the mattress. Now you whispered, and I could not make out your words, but the monster’s mumbles and grunts carried like the sound of river water over rocks, splashing off the floors and walls in a quiet cacophony. Still shocked, and somewhat confused, I slowly opened your door to find both you and the monster absent. The air hummed with an almost electric energy and smelled faintly of strawberries.
My confusion morphing into concern, I called for you, but you did not respond. I checked in the closet, pushing aside clothes on hangers to see if you were playing some game with me, but the far wall remained as barren as usual. It was not until I, too, peeked under the bed that I saw something abnormal. Perhaps “saw” is not the right term: in the night’s darkness further compounded by the bed’s shadow, I could hardly see anything. It was more a feeling, a sensation of touch and sound that, like the monster’s voice, was fluid and warbling. And as soon as I had registered this strange feeling streaming into my pores, I was no longer in your bedroom nor anywhere else I recognised.
Floating at the bottom of an inverted pond, I swam to the surface where that same misty water rolled off my night-clothes and seemed to part for each unsteady footstep. Beyond the pond rolled impossibly green hills with red trees and ribbon-like clouds that swooped and twirled in a gentle breeze. As I tentatively stumbled from the lake, the blades of grass, too, darted away from the soles of my slippers like scared ants. Each step I took in this strange and wondrous world felt curiously light and insubstantial, like walking on clouds without a shadow. Like in your room, the air was charged with a palpable tingling energy, and on the breeze wafted the scent of strawberries, elusively indistinct.
Wandering along the living hills for a time neither short nor long, I came across a crossroads where a monster had set up shop. He occupied a small but airy stand, listing products and prices in a script I couldn’t read. He was short and squat, with a wide, toad-like mouth and four bright green eyes that moved independently like those of a chameleon. Beneath his wrapped robe, his skin was iridescent and feathery, and like the rest of this world, brilliantly colored by a dazzling range of hues. The overall effect was strangely enchanting, horrific and beautiful in equal measure, and perhaps the title “monster” was too shallow to give justice to this entity’s appearance.
“Hello,” it said, in a language I didn’t know but nonetheless understood. “Could I interest you in any of my wares?”
“Perhaps,” said I, “but I am afraid I do not know what it is you are selling.”
The monster reached under the desk into a large sack, and began to produce items which he set, one by one on the countertop. “We have trains,” said he, “and bubble-gum, and roses, and memories, and bottled fears, fresh from the source.” Each item he placed looked the same to me, roughly round and bumpy that changed its size and color each time I blinked.
“Another time, perhaps,” I said, unable to distinguish the bubble-gum from the memories. “I’m looking for a little girl, about your height, wearing light blue. Have you seen her?”
The monster blinked his four eyes one at a time in a curious ocular wave before opening his mouth once again. “Why, of course,” warbled he, “you’ll find the Queen to the east,” and pointed to his left down that fork of the crossroads.
“The Queen?” remarked I, with some degree of surprise, and my eyebrows shot up my face.
“Naturally,” said he, “the Queen of the Monsters, the One in Blue, Regina Somnum, Glorious Monarch of All, and She Who Admonishes. Her palace lies in the east, beyond the White Wall and atop the Great Pinnacle.”
“Thank you,” I replied, and set off down the road where the grass and weeds slithered between the cobblestones.
​
After some time, I arrived at the foot of a great wall, made of whitish stones that towered into the sky farther than I could see. This frontage was worn and looked old, but was nonetheless strong and I spent a long time searching for a passage to bypass it. Eventually, I came across a loose stone that I wiggled back and forth and eventually pulled out, where it rested upon the grass that dutifully escaped before it could be crushed. The opening was small and claustrophobic, but I managed to worm my way through into a stadium of sorts. Around me sat monsters like the one with whom I had spoken, silent in rapt attention. On a tower in the center of this place, you stood, speaking to the crowd in words I couldn’t recognise. As I stood there and watched, after some statements the monsters would cheer and after others I could sense a distinct exhale of disappointment.
The sky, which had until now been brilliantly blue, slowly changed in color until it was an ashen grey. With equal slowness, the ribbony clouds darkened and accumulated into towering thunderheads. So did the breeze, which increased to a steady and piercing wind that left me and the monsters shivering. Rain fell from the sky, and unlike the airy water of the pond, it was leaden and soaked through my night-clothes even more aggressively than usual. The stones of the wall and stadium began to crumble, rolling down flights of seating, crushing countless monsters along the way. The air was filling with dust and haze, and even your tower in the center began to split and shatter until the soaking rain began to evoke the same liquid sensation I had felt on my journey here.
​
“Silly you!” you said to me, my head underneath the bed-frame. “I already checked for monsters and let them know who's boss.”
I smiled a bit. “Just wanted to make sure,” and closed your door.
I never heard the monsters speak again, nor could I find the strange portal under your bed the next day or any day following. I don’t know if that world of the monsters is real or not, or if so, if it still exists. Perhaps I killed it… perhaps you did. Or perhaps the monsters are just waiting patiently for another visit from their monarch in their own dimension of the green hills and ribbony clouds. But I do know one thing for sure: regardless of who you are now, or will be in the future, you’ll still remain Queen of the Monsters.
​
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites | “Goodnight dear” as I kiss my daughter’s forehead and make for the door I hear a sleepy “goodnight mummy”, as I turn off the lights a smile grows on my face, my brave little girl no longer needs me to scold the monsters under her bed, she’s not afraid anymore, it’s a good thing she grew out of it because the embarrassment of my husband seeing me pretend to scold monsters was killing me.
The sofa seems to swallow my exhausted body whole, whilst my little princess’s wishes have gotten gradually more unreasonable, the actual work I have to do is far less now than it was back then, but I still feel so tired, I haven’t caught back up on my sleep just yet, she would say “I want mummy!” When asked what she wanted for her birthday, but little did I realise that such a cute request was actually a demand to subjugate myself to the torture that is reading 3 little bunnies over and over again, nonstop, morning until night, with a happy little “AGAIN! AGAIN!” encouraging me to repeat the short story once more, she’s different now, she asked for a unicorn on her most recent birthday, I felt a bit defeated to be honest, “you love unicorns more than you love mummy now, huh?” is what the devil on my shoulder told me to say, but no, I have to be strong, this is all a part of growing up, when I got her a broom and arts and crafts supplies I was worried what she would think, would she be disappointed that I had clearly side stepped her impossible request and tried to justify it by saying it would be more fun to make one ourselves? Would she say the words that hurt worse than a knife, the dreaded “I hate you mummy!”? Luckily no, she was ecstatic, we did it together and even though it also took from morning until night it was far more engaging and rewarding to see her learning something new and improving her skills than reading the same story ad nauseum, she gained a whole new hobby and it’s absolutely taken over her life, she probably asked for me so much back then because she was bored but now she has something to sink her time into and it’s paying dividends, she’s sewn so many plushies and teddy bears, learnt so much about materials and her dexterity has improved so greatly that all of her teachers compliment her on her beautiful handwriting, the shrewd little business woman even started teaching the other kids at school how to sew, fixed school uniforms of her friends before the end of the school day so their parents don’t get angry at them and taught drawing and design, all for a fee of course, she’s just started accepting commissions from those same children to turn their designs into bears since she’s so good at it, she created her own market! Once upon a time she was gloomy, lonely, bored and had no idea what she wanted to do, but now she wants to make a custom teddy bear store, turning other children’s dreams into reality. Little did I know that soon she would be turning nightmares into reality too...
After musing about the lonely reality of parenthood I picked up the TV remote and switched over to the news channel “—as you can see Cassidy, the vandalism and breadth of the crimes are shocking, no one knows if this is a spontaneous group or an organised one, they all strike at the same time, without warning but also do completely unconnected things, here in Equestrianshire they vandalised the horses, dressing them up as unicorns, even going so far as to paint patterns on them, luckily they are unharmed, but the same can’t be said for the bank heist that went on, over 10 miles away from the scene of this crime, over to you Bert.” “Thanks Dave, the police currently suspect that they are working in tandem in order to create distractions like the unicorn prank whilst the real, serious crimes like this one, take place, they’ve been dubbed the “Mascot Mafia” although no one knows the name the group calls itself, one police officer was punched by an 8 foot pink panda and said that, quote, “it felt as if I was punched by a giant teddy bear”, what’s frightening is that no one knows how these costumes are being worn that allows their wearer to move in a way that is so dexterous and animalistic, in ways that can be said to totally defy human anatomy, back to you in the studio Cassid—“ “BAD BOY!” resounds so loudly that it drowns out the TV “I should turn this off, she’s probably scolding the imaginary monsters under her bed again, if she hears this she might become afraid of teddy bears, I don’t want these criminals to steal the precious hobby that gave my daughter so much” I think to myself, as I press the button to turn off the TV I hear a response “sorry boss” in a deep, gruff voice. Shivers run down my spine and i sprint upstairs grabbing the phone as I go, what if it’s not my imagination and there’s someone who has broken into her room? Criminal activity has been on the rise as of late, the Mascot Mafia targeting our area specifically, as I burst into her room I see my daughter in an eye patch, pirate hat, black suit and red tie with a fake beard drawn on her face in marker, stepping on the head of a giant pink panda in dogeza, raising a wooden sword above her head in triumph “what on earth is going on dear?” As I speak the diverse array of my daughters creations littering every crevice of space, from clay figures, teddy bears and even drawn pictures on the wall turn their heads and lock their eyes on me “We’re playing Yakuza mummy! And I’m the boss! Panther bamboo stole real money though so I’m telling him off and to give it back, he’s so silly, we don’t need to do naughty things, I just want to play make believe!” She says with a big toothy smile, revealing that marker was also on some of her teeth to make it look like she was missing some, I began to feel overwhelmed, my daughter was pressing her foot harder on the pink panda’s head, why was he so obedient? Why are all of my daughter’s creations alive? Is she the boss of the mascot mafia, and her bizarre, diverse interests for make believe scenarios has resulted in these mass, simultaneous crime sprees? Why is this panda called panther bamboo? Pink panther and bamboo because it’s a panda? As this flood of questions incessantly assaults my consciousness I find myself falling backwards as the world goes dark only to be caught by the unicorn we had so lovingly crafted together, it was enough to push me over the edge, enough to make me subconsciously choose to sleep, hoping that this was just a strange dream.
To be continued.
Edit 1: fixed some spelling mistakes and descriptions. | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | "Stop it! Scaring is rude and mean."
I couldn't help but giggle to myself. Anna was so serious about scolding the monsters under the bed!
"I'm sorry." A gruff voice answered. It sounded deep.
Without thinking, I threw the door open and turned on the light. "What the fuck are you doing in my child's room?!"
"Mom, don't say fuck!" My angelic four-year-old piped up.
A red-skinned reptilian creature, about the size of a German Shepherd, crawled out from under the bed. It rolled over on its back, exposing a pale pink belly. "I'm sorry, Mom. Don't hurt me. I just wanted to play with the Anna."
"Oh my God." I knelt down, keeping my distance. "You sound like a grown man. I was ready to kill you."
"Mom, you can't kill mans!"
"If they're trying to hurt you, I can." I hoped the lizard creature wouldn't call my bluff. Anna was right; I probably couldn't kill a man with my bare hands, but I could incapacitate him for long enough to grab a knife and incapacitate him some more, then find a phone to call 911.
"I didn't mean to scare you." The lizard creature spoke again. "The Anna has a gift. She brought me to life with her imagination." It pointed a back foot in her direction. It was still on its back.
I glanced up at Anna.
"It was an accident! I was scared of Badzilla and I telled her every night not to scare me, and then last night she scared me and tonight she scared me and you came in!" Her voice cracked.
"It's okay, honey." I stood, stepped over the monster and sat down on the bed. I wrapped an arm around her.
The monster twitched its tail.
"Badzilla? Is that your name?" I asked. "Flip over, sit up. Let's talk."
"Badzilla, yes." The monster flipped over and sat, using its thick hind legs and tail to balance. It was surprisingly cute.
"Mom?" Anna whispered. "Is she gonna get me? Is she gonna lay eggs with baby Badzillas in them?"
Diplomacy time. This monster came from Anna's imagination. She legitimately believed in Badzilla, so Badzilla happened. It was up to me to sway her beliefs toward something we could all live with.
"She said she wanted to play with you and she's sorry for scaring you, remember?" I gave Anna a reassuring smile, then raised a quick threatening eyebrow at Badzilla.
"I just wanted to play, but your eyes were closed." Badzilla hung her head. "So I growled to get you to notice me. I'm sorry. I didn't know that was scary."
"Badzilla, her eyes were closed because she was asleep. We sleep at night and play when the sun is out." I spoke plainly.
The monster nodded.
"And Anna, do you know how eggs hatch?" I asked.
"A mommy bird or a mommy lizard sits on them and then the babies crack out?"
I nodded. "Yes, that's how it ends, but first, a daddy bird or a daddy lizard has to mate with the mommy. They have a body part called a cloaca where the mating and egg laying happens. Badzilla, if you're comfortable with it, will you please show me where your cloaca is?"
"I don't have one."
I smiled. Of course she didn't. "See, Anna? She can't lay eggs. No babies."
"No babies," Badzilla repeated.
"Thank you, Badzilla. Now, how were you thinking of playing with Anna?"
Badzilla scampered over to the toy box and grabbed a bag full of blocks. "Build and destroy."
She clumsily stacked three blocks up, then kicked them over with a growly laugh.
"What do you think of that, Anna?"
Badzilla pushed the blocks over to Anna. She stacked them up and looked at Badzilla.
"Break! Break!" The lizard creature chanted.
Anna kicked the tiny tower over.
Badzilla let out a triumphant roar, a roar that shook the window and made Anna slam her hands over her ears.
"No! Too loud!" Anna shrieked.
I nodded. "Let's not do that again, Badzilla. That was too loud."
"Sorry." She put a scaly hand over her mouth.
"Now, both of you, it's bedtime. Badzilla, you may stay, but don't scare Anna."
"The Anna needs protection," Badzilla said. She walked around the room, collecting plush toys and setting them on the bed. "The furry toys will protect her on the bed. I'll protect her underneath. We can play tomorrow."
"That sounds good to me," I said. "What about you, Anna?"
"She gave me all my furry toys!" Anna laughed. She was covered in plushies. "Now I can sleep with all of them!"
"Yep, and that's exactly what I'd like you to do. Goodnight, Anna, I love you." I walked backwards toward the door.
"Goodnight, Mom, I love you too!" She waved.
"Goodnight, Mom, I respect you." Badzilla bowed and got down on all fours. "Goodnight, Anna, I like you."
"Goodnight, Badzilla, I like you too now!" Anna giggled.
I turned off the light and heard little scratchy claws crawling under the bed. I'd been heading off to bed myself, but made a detour to the kitchen to pour myself a stiff drink. Things were about to get weird. | “Goodnight dear” as I kiss my daughter’s forehead and make for the door I hear a sleepy “goodnight mummy”, as I turn off the lights a smile grows on my face, my brave little girl no longer needs me to scold the monsters under her bed, she’s not afraid anymore, it’s a good thing she grew out of it because the embarrassment of my husband seeing me pretend to scold monsters was killing me.
The sofa seems to swallow my exhausted body whole, whilst my little princess’s wishes have gotten gradually more unreasonable, the actual work I have to do is far less now than it was back then, but I still feel so tired, I haven’t caught back up on my sleep just yet, she would say “I want mummy!” When asked what she wanted for her birthday, but little did I realise that such a cute request was actually a demand to subjugate myself to the torture that is reading 3 little bunnies over and over again, nonstop, morning until night, with a happy little “AGAIN! AGAIN!” encouraging me to repeat the short story once more, she’s different now, she asked for a unicorn on her most recent birthday, I felt a bit defeated to be honest, “you love unicorns more than you love mummy now, huh?” is what the devil on my shoulder told me to say, but no, I have to be strong, this is all a part of growing up, when I got her a broom and arts and crafts supplies I was worried what she would think, would she be disappointed that I had clearly side stepped her impossible request and tried to justify it by saying it would be more fun to make one ourselves? Would she say the words that hurt worse than a knife, the dreaded “I hate you mummy!”? Luckily no, she was ecstatic, we did it together and even though it also took from morning until night it was far more engaging and rewarding to see her learning something new and improving her skills than reading the same story ad nauseum, she gained a whole new hobby and it’s absolutely taken over her life, she probably asked for me so much back then because she was bored but now she has something to sink her time into and it’s paying dividends, she’s sewn so many plushies and teddy bears, learnt so much about materials and her dexterity has improved so greatly that all of her teachers compliment her on her beautiful handwriting, the shrewd little business woman even started teaching the other kids at school how to sew, fixed school uniforms of her friends before the end of the school day so their parents don’t get angry at them and taught drawing and design, all for a fee of course, she’s just started accepting commissions from those same children to turn their designs into bears since she’s so good at it, she created her own market! Once upon a time she was gloomy, lonely, bored and had no idea what she wanted to do, but now she wants to make a custom teddy bear store, turning other children’s dreams into reality. Little did I know that soon she would be turning nightmares into reality too...
After musing about the lonely reality of parenthood I picked up the TV remote and switched over to the news channel “—as you can see Cassidy, the vandalism and breadth of the crimes are shocking, no one knows if this is a spontaneous group or an organised one, they all strike at the same time, without warning but also do completely unconnected things, here in Equestrianshire they vandalised the horses, dressing them up as unicorns, even going so far as to paint patterns on them, luckily they are unharmed, but the same can’t be said for the bank heist that went on, over 10 miles away from the scene of this crime, over to you Bert.” “Thanks Dave, the police currently suspect that they are working in tandem in order to create distractions like the unicorn prank whilst the real, serious crimes like this one, take place, they’ve been dubbed the “Mascot Mafia” although no one knows the name the group calls itself, one police officer was punched by an 8 foot pink panda and said that, quote, “it felt as if I was punched by a giant teddy bear”, what’s frightening is that no one knows how these costumes are being worn that allows their wearer to move in a way that is so dexterous and animalistic, in ways that can be said to totally defy human anatomy, back to you in the studio Cassid—“ “BAD BOY!” resounds so loudly that it drowns out the TV “I should turn this off, she’s probably scolding the imaginary monsters under her bed again, if she hears this she might become afraid of teddy bears, I don’t want these criminals to steal the precious hobby that gave my daughter so much” I think to myself, as I press the button to turn off the TV I hear a response “sorry boss” in a deep, gruff voice. Shivers run down my spine and i sprint upstairs grabbing the phone as I go, what if it’s not my imagination and there’s someone who has broken into her room? Criminal activity has been on the rise as of late, the Mascot Mafia targeting our area specifically, as I burst into her room I see my daughter in an eye patch, pirate hat, black suit and red tie with a fake beard drawn on her face in marker, stepping on the head of a giant pink panda in dogeza, raising a wooden sword above her head in triumph “what on earth is going on dear?” As I speak the diverse array of my daughters creations littering every crevice of space, from clay figures, teddy bears and even drawn pictures on the wall turn their heads and lock their eyes on me “We’re playing Yakuza mummy! And I’m the boss! Panther bamboo stole real money though so I’m telling him off and to give it back, he’s so silly, we don’t need to do naughty things, I just want to play make believe!” She says with a big toothy smile, revealing that marker was also on some of her teeth to make it look like she was missing some, I began to feel overwhelmed, my daughter was pressing her foot harder on the pink panda’s head, why was he so obedient? Why are all of my daughter’s creations alive? Is she the boss of the mascot mafia, and her bizarre, diverse interests for make believe scenarios has resulted in these mass, simultaneous crime sprees? Why is this panda called panther bamboo? Pink panther and bamboo because it’s a panda? As this flood of questions incessantly assaults my consciousness I find myself falling backwards as the world goes dark only to be caught by the unicorn we had so lovingly crafted together, it was enough to push me over the edge, enough to make me subconsciously choose to sleep, hoping that this was just a strange dream.
To be continued.
Edit 1: fixed some spelling mistakes and descriptions. | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | *Night 1*
"Good night, Sweetie." Jill plants a kiss on Amy's forehead and turns toward the door.
"Mommy?"
Jill turns back around at the sound of the timid voice. "What is it, Baby?"
With her teddy bear clutched to her chest, the girl whispers, "I'm sca'ed." She pulls the blankets up to the bottom of her nose. Wide eyes stare at her mother.
"Aw, Sweetie." She sits back down on the bed and strokes Amy's hair. "What are you scared of?"
Frightened eyes dart around the room. Finally, she replies, "There's a monstew undew the bed."
"Well, we can't have that. Alright, Monster, listen up!" Jill slides off the bed and peers underneath it. "You need to stop scaring my little girl! Go home and leave us alone!" For added effect, she shakes a fist at the dust bunnies on the floor.
Jill stands back up and gives the little girl another kiss. "That'll teach him. Alright?" At Amy's smiling nod, Jill walks back to the door. "Good night again."
\--------------
*Night 2*
"Good night, Sweetie."
"Good night, mommy!"
The mother walks out of the bedroom and closes the door. A soft voice speaks up from the room behind her, so she presses her ear against the wall to listen. She can't make out the words, but imagines it's just Amy talking to her teddy bear.
Just as the woman is about to walk away, a deep, masculine voice rings out from the bedroom, "I'm sorry."
Jill's heart leaps into her throat. She spins around and hurls herself through the bedroom door. Before she even realizes what she's doing, she scoops the little girl up into her arms. "Who was that?!"
"It was the monstew."
"What?" Jill presses the girl against her chest as she scans the room for any sign of another person. "What monster? Where is he?"
"Undew the bed."
The mother gapes at the little girl. "Sweetie, are you sure?"
Amy nods vigorously.
Muscles tensed and ready to run, Jill kneels down. She holds her breath as she sinks lower. With the girl still cradled against her, she tips her head and peeks under the bed to see nothing but dust and a few toys.
Jill lets out a sigh and stands back up. She yanks open the closet door, checks the toy chest, looks in the laundry basket, and anywhere else that someone could be hiding. Just for good measure, she even checks all the drawers in the dresser. But there's no sign of anyone. At last, she convinces herself that it was her imagination. Or that somehow, Amy had made the noise and Jill's own mind had misrepresented the situation.
She tucks the little girl back into bed and leaves the room again. Standing in the hallway, she listens again, but all is quiet. Finally, she walks away.
\--------------
*Night 3*
With Amy tucked into bed, Jill climbs into her own and turns off the bedside lamp. She slips down beneath the covers. Her muscles relaxes as her head sinks down into the pillow. She lets out a sigh.
There's a noise -- a tiny creak of floorboards -- on the other side of the room. Jill's eyelids fly open. She stares into the darkness. The clock ticks away the minutes in the otherwise silent room. Eventually, the drowsiness returns and she lets herself relax again.
Another noise -- a swish of the curtains -- and Jill sits bolt upright in bed. Her heart pounds in her ears as she listens.
With a damp palm, she reaches for the lamp's chain. She tugs. The light comes on and she's looking directly into a pair of brilliant purple eyes. The thing bares its fangs and lets out a hiss. Jill screams.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flies open and Amy comes charging in. Both the mother and the monster turn toward the newcomer. Teddy bear held fast in her grip, Amy stomps her foot and glares at the fanged beast. "Bad monstew! Weave my mommy awone!"
The creature's shoulders droop. He looks at the little girl for a moment, then turns toward Jill. "I'm sorry." He turns and trudges out of the room.
Jill, slack-jawed, turns toward a smiling Amy.
"Don't be sca'ed, mommy. He's gone now. Alwight?"
Jill simply nods and pulls the girl into a hug.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
r/WannaWriteSometimes | “Goodnight dear” as I kiss my daughter’s forehead and make for the door I hear a sleepy “goodnight mummy”, as I turn off the lights a smile grows on my face, my brave little girl no longer needs me to scold the monsters under her bed, she’s not afraid anymore, it’s a good thing she grew out of it because the embarrassment of my husband seeing me pretend to scold monsters was killing me.
The sofa seems to swallow my exhausted body whole, whilst my little princess’s wishes have gotten gradually more unreasonable, the actual work I have to do is far less now than it was back then, but I still feel so tired, I haven’t caught back up on my sleep just yet, she would say “I want mummy!” When asked what she wanted for her birthday, but little did I realise that such a cute request was actually a demand to subjugate myself to the torture that is reading 3 little bunnies over and over again, nonstop, morning until night, with a happy little “AGAIN! AGAIN!” encouraging me to repeat the short story once more, she’s different now, she asked for a unicorn on her most recent birthday, I felt a bit defeated to be honest, “you love unicorns more than you love mummy now, huh?” is what the devil on my shoulder told me to say, but no, I have to be strong, this is all a part of growing up, when I got her a broom and arts and crafts supplies I was worried what she would think, would she be disappointed that I had clearly side stepped her impossible request and tried to justify it by saying it would be more fun to make one ourselves? Would she say the words that hurt worse than a knife, the dreaded “I hate you mummy!”? Luckily no, she was ecstatic, we did it together and even though it also took from morning until night it was far more engaging and rewarding to see her learning something new and improving her skills than reading the same story ad nauseum, she gained a whole new hobby and it’s absolutely taken over her life, she probably asked for me so much back then because she was bored but now she has something to sink her time into and it’s paying dividends, she’s sewn so many plushies and teddy bears, learnt so much about materials and her dexterity has improved so greatly that all of her teachers compliment her on her beautiful handwriting, the shrewd little business woman even started teaching the other kids at school how to sew, fixed school uniforms of her friends before the end of the school day so their parents don’t get angry at them and taught drawing and design, all for a fee of course, she’s just started accepting commissions from those same children to turn their designs into bears since she’s so good at it, she created her own market! Once upon a time she was gloomy, lonely, bored and had no idea what she wanted to do, but now she wants to make a custom teddy bear store, turning other children’s dreams into reality. Little did I know that soon she would be turning nightmares into reality too...
After musing about the lonely reality of parenthood I picked up the TV remote and switched over to the news channel “—as you can see Cassidy, the vandalism and breadth of the crimes are shocking, no one knows if this is a spontaneous group or an organised one, they all strike at the same time, without warning but also do completely unconnected things, here in Equestrianshire they vandalised the horses, dressing them up as unicorns, even going so far as to paint patterns on them, luckily they are unharmed, but the same can’t be said for the bank heist that went on, over 10 miles away from the scene of this crime, over to you Bert.” “Thanks Dave, the police currently suspect that they are working in tandem in order to create distractions like the unicorn prank whilst the real, serious crimes like this one, take place, they’ve been dubbed the “Mascot Mafia” although no one knows the name the group calls itself, one police officer was punched by an 8 foot pink panda and said that, quote, “it felt as if I was punched by a giant teddy bear”, what’s frightening is that no one knows how these costumes are being worn that allows their wearer to move in a way that is so dexterous and animalistic, in ways that can be said to totally defy human anatomy, back to you in the studio Cassid—“ “BAD BOY!” resounds so loudly that it drowns out the TV “I should turn this off, she’s probably scolding the imaginary monsters under her bed again, if she hears this she might become afraid of teddy bears, I don’t want these criminals to steal the precious hobby that gave my daughter so much” I think to myself, as I press the button to turn off the TV I hear a response “sorry boss” in a deep, gruff voice. Shivers run down my spine and i sprint upstairs grabbing the phone as I go, what if it’s not my imagination and there’s someone who has broken into her room? Criminal activity has been on the rise as of late, the Mascot Mafia targeting our area specifically, as I burst into her room I see my daughter in an eye patch, pirate hat, black suit and red tie with a fake beard drawn on her face in marker, stepping on the head of a giant pink panda in dogeza, raising a wooden sword above her head in triumph “what on earth is going on dear?” As I speak the diverse array of my daughters creations littering every crevice of space, from clay figures, teddy bears and even drawn pictures on the wall turn their heads and lock their eyes on me “We’re playing Yakuza mummy! And I’m the boss! Panther bamboo stole real money though so I’m telling him off and to give it back, he’s so silly, we don’t need to do naughty things, I just want to play make believe!” She says with a big toothy smile, revealing that marker was also on some of her teeth to make it look like she was missing some, I began to feel overwhelmed, my daughter was pressing her foot harder on the pink panda’s head, why was he so obedient? Why are all of my daughter’s creations alive? Is she the boss of the mascot mafia, and her bizarre, diverse interests for make believe scenarios has resulted in these mass, simultaneous crime sprees? Why is this panda called panther bamboo? Pink panther and bamboo because it’s a panda? As this flood of questions incessantly assaults my consciousness I find myself falling backwards as the world goes dark only to be caught by the unicorn we had so lovingly crafted together, it was enough to push me over the edge, enough to make me subconsciously choose to sleep, hoping that this was just a strange dream.
To be continued.
Edit 1: fixed some spelling mistakes and descriptions. | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | "Stop it! Scaring is rude and mean."
I couldn't help but giggle to myself. Anna was so serious about scolding the monsters under the bed!
"I'm sorry." A gruff voice answered. It sounded deep.
Without thinking, I threw the door open and turned on the light. "What the fuck are you doing in my child's room?!"
"Mom, don't say fuck!" My angelic four-year-old piped up.
A red-skinned reptilian creature, about the size of a German Shepherd, crawled out from under the bed. It rolled over on its back, exposing a pale pink belly. "I'm sorry, Mom. Don't hurt me. I just wanted to play with the Anna."
"Oh my God." I knelt down, keeping my distance. "You sound like a grown man. I was ready to kill you."
"Mom, you can't kill mans!"
"If they're trying to hurt you, I can." I hoped the lizard creature wouldn't call my bluff. Anna was right; I probably couldn't kill a man with my bare hands, but I could incapacitate him for long enough to grab a knife and incapacitate him some more, then find a phone to call 911.
"I didn't mean to scare you." The lizard creature spoke again. "The Anna has a gift. She brought me to life with her imagination." It pointed a back foot in her direction. It was still on its back.
I glanced up at Anna.
"It was an accident! I was scared of Badzilla and I telled her every night not to scare me, and then last night she scared me and tonight she scared me and you came in!" Her voice cracked.
"It's okay, honey." I stood, stepped over the monster and sat down on the bed. I wrapped an arm around her.
The monster twitched its tail.
"Badzilla? Is that your name?" I asked. "Flip over, sit up. Let's talk."
"Badzilla, yes." The monster flipped over and sat, using its thick hind legs and tail to balance. It was surprisingly cute.
"Mom?" Anna whispered. "Is she gonna get me? Is she gonna lay eggs with baby Badzillas in them?"
Diplomacy time. This monster came from Anna's imagination. She legitimately believed in Badzilla, so Badzilla happened. It was up to me to sway her beliefs toward something we could all live with.
"She said she wanted to play with you and she's sorry for scaring you, remember?" I gave Anna a reassuring smile, then raised a quick threatening eyebrow at Badzilla.
"I just wanted to play, but your eyes were closed." Badzilla hung her head. "So I growled to get you to notice me. I'm sorry. I didn't know that was scary."
"Badzilla, her eyes were closed because she was asleep. We sleep at night and play when the sun is out." I spoke plainly.
The monster nodded.
"And Anna, do you know how eggs hatch?" I asked.
"A mommy bird or a mommy lizard sits on them and then the babies crack out?"
I nodded. "Yes, that's how it ends, but first, a daddy bird or a daddy lizard has to mate with the mommy. They have a body part called a cloaca where the mating and egg laying happens. Badzilla, if you're comfortable with it, will you please show me where your cloaca is?"
"I don't have one."
I smiled. Of course she didn't. "See, Anna? She can't lay eggs. No babies."
"No babies," Badzilla repeated.
"Thank you, Badzilla. Now, how were you thinking of playing with Anna?"
Badzilla scampered over to the toy box and grabbed a bag full of blocks. "Build and destroy."
She clumsily stacked three blocks up, then kicked them over with a growly laugh.
"What do you think of that, Anna?"
Badzilla pushed the blocks over to Anna. She stacked them up and looked at Badzilla.
"Break! Break!" The lizard creature chanted.
Anna kicked the tiny tower over.
Badzilla let out a triumphant roar, a roar that shook the window and made Anna slam her hands over her ears.
"No! Too loud!" Anna shrieked.
I nodded. "Let's not do that again, Badzilla. That was too loud."
"Sorry." She put a scaly hand over her mouth.
"Now, both of you, it's bedtime. Badzilla, you may stay, but don't scare Anna."
"The Anna needs protection," Badzilla said. She walked around the room, collecting plush toys and setting them on the bed. "The furry toys will protect her on the bed. I'll protect her underneath. We can play tomorrow."
"That sounds good to me," I said. "What about you, Anna?"
"She gave me all my furry toys!" Anna laughed. She was covered in plushies. "Now I can sleep with all of them!"
"Yep, and that's exactly what I'd like you to do. Goodnight, Anna, I love you." I walked backwards toward the door.
"Goodnight, Mom, I love you too!" She waved.
"Goodnight, Mom, I respect you." Badzilla bowed and got down on all fours. "Goodnight, Anna, I like you."
"Goodnight, Badzilla, I like you too now!" Anna giggled.
I turned off the light and heard little scratchy claws crawling under the bed. I'd been heading off to bed myself, but made a detour to the kitchen to pour myself a stiff drink. Things were about to get weird. | The deepest and most persistent fears are often the ones we invent ourselves, so when you were young and afraid of the dark, I would scold the monsters under your bed and in your closet so that you might sleep more easily. There were, of course, no monsters actually there - at least that I could see - but that was never the point. Eventually, as you grew older, you began to realise that if the monsters were afraid of me, they’d probably be afraid of you, too. So, slowly, as these transitions are made, you began to scare the monsters away yourself until all I needed to do was stand in the hall and smile while you shouted “don’t try anything” in your little voice to the closed closet door. Eventually, that too became unnecessary, and now you have grown into the fearless woman you are today.
But I don’t think I’ll ever forget the time one of the monsters replied.
​
Like many nights prior, I had just finished tucking you to bed, and had closed the door. Seconds later (you thought I couldn’t hear) you’d wriggle your way out and direct a few choice admonishments to the closet and the space under the bed. I must admit, I chuckled a little, not out of ridicule but in part of pride. Of course, those chuckles soon stopped when I heard the monster reply “I’m sorry” in a low, gruff voice from the area under the mattress. Now you whispered, and I could not make out your words, but the monster’s mumbles and grunts carried like the sound of river water over rocks, splashing off the floors and walls in a quiet cacophony. Still shocked, and somewhat confused, I slowly opened your door to find both you and the monster absent. The air hummed with an almost electric energy and smelled faintly of strawberries.
My confusion morphing into concern, I called for you, but you did not respond. I checked in the closet, pushing aside clothes on hangers to see if you were playing some game with me, but the far wall remained as barren as usual. It was not until I, too, peeked under the bed that I saw something abnormal. Perhaps “saw” is not the right term: in the night’s darkness further compounded by the bed’s shadow, I could hardly see anything. It was more a feeling, a sensation of touch and sound that, like the monster’s voice, was fluid and warbling. And as soon as I had registered this strange feeling streaming into my pores, I was no longer in your bedroom nor anywhere else I recognised.
Floating at the bottom of an inverted pond, I swam to the surface where that same misty water rolled off my night-clothes and seemed to part for each unsteady footstep. Beyond the pond rolled impossibly green hills with red trees and ribbon-like clouds that swooped and twirled in a gentle breeze. As I tentatively stumbled from the lake, the blades of grass, too, darted away from the soles of my slippers like scared ants. Each step I took in this strange and wondrous world felt curiously light and insubstantial, like walking on clouds without a shadow. Like in your room, the air was charged with a palpable tingling energy, and on the breeze wafted the scent of strawberries, elusively indistinct.
Wandering along the living hills for a time neither short nor long, I came across a crossroads where a monster had set up shop. He occupied a small but airy stand, listing products and prices in a script I couldn’t read. He was short and squat, with a wide, toad-like mouth and four bright green eyes that moved independently like those of a chameleon. Beneath his wrapped robe, his skin was iridescent and feathery, and like the rest of this world, brilliantly colored by a dazzling range of hues. The overall effect was strangely enchanting, horrific and beautiful in equal measure, and perhaps the title “monster” was too shallow to give justice to this entity’s appearance.
“Hello,” it said, in a language I didn’t know but nonetheless understood. “Could I interest you in any of my wares?”
“Perhaps,” said I, “but I am afraid I do not know what it is you are selling.”
The monster reached under the desk into a large sack, and began to produce items which he set, one by one on the countertop. “We have trains,” said he, “and bubble-gum, and roses, and memories, and bottled fears, fresh from the source.” Each item he placed looked the same to me, roughly round and bumpy that changed its size and color each time I blinked.
“Another time, perhaps,” I said, unable to distinguish the bubble-gum from the memories. “I’m looking for a little girl, about your height, wearing light blue. Have you seen her?”
The monster blinked his four eyes one at a time in a curious ocular wave before opening his mouth once again. “Why, of course,” warbled he, “you’ll find the Queen to the east,” and pointed to his left down that fork of the crossroads.
“The Queen?” remarked I, with some degree of surprise, and my eyebrows shot up my face.
“Naturally,” said he, “the Queen of the Monsters, the One in Blue, Regina Somnum, Glorious Monarch of All, and She Who Admonishes. Her palace lies in the east, beyond the White Wall and atop the Great Pinnacle.”
“Thank you,” I replied, and set off down the road where the grass and weeds slithered between the cobblestones.
​
After some time, I arrived at the foot of a great wall, made of whitish stones that towered into the sky farther than I could see. This frontage was worn and looked old, but was nonetheless strong and I spent a long time searching for a passage to bypass it. Eventually, I came across a loose stone that I wiggled back and forth and eventually pulled out, where it rested upon the grass that dutifully escaped before it could be crushed. The opening was small and claustrophobic, but I managed to worm my way through into a stadium of sorts. Around me sat monsters like the one with whom I had spoken, silent in rapt attention. On a tower in the center of this place, you stood, speaking to the crowd in words I couldn’t recognise. As I stood there and watched, after some statements the monsters would cheer and after others I could sense a distinct exhale of disappointment.
The sky, which had until now been brilliantly blue, slowly changed in color until it was an ashen grey. With equal slowness, the ribbony clouds darkened and accumulated into towering thunderheads. So did the breeze, which increased to a steady and piercing wind that left me and the monsters shivering. Rain fell from the sky, and unlike the airy water of the pond, it was leaden and soaked through my night-clothes even more aggressively than usual. The stones of the wall and stadium began to crumble, rolling down flights of seating, crushing countless monsters along the way. The air was filling with dust and haze, and even your tower in the center began to split and shatter until the soaking rain began to evoke the same liquid sensation I had felt on my journey here.
​
“Silly you!” you said to me, my head underneath the bed-frame. “I already checked for monsters and let them know who's boss.”
I smiled a bit. “Just wanted to make sure,” and closed your door.
I never heard the monsters speak again, nor could I find the strange portal under your bed the next day or any day following. I don’t know if that world of the monsters is real or not, or if so, if it still exists. Perhaps I killed it… perhaps you did. Or perhaps the monsters are just waiting patiently for another visit from their monarch in their own dimension of the green hills and ribbony clouds. But I do know one thing for sure: regardless of who you are now, or will be in the future, you’ll still remain Queen of the Monsters.
​
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | "Stop it! Scaring is rude and mean."
I couldn't help but giggle to myself. Anna was so serious about scolding the monsters under the bed!
"I'm sorry." A gruff voice answered. It sounded deep.
Without thinking, I threw the door open and turned on the light. "What the fuck are you doing in my child's room?!"
"Mom, don't say fuck!" My angelic four-year-old piped up.
A red-skinned reptilian creature, about the size of a German Shepherd, crawled out from under the bed. It rolled over on its back, exposing a pale pink belly. "I'm sorry, Mom. Don't hurt me. I just wanted to play with the Anna."
"Oh my God." I knelt down, keeping my distance. "You sound like a grown man. I was ready to kill you."
"Mom, you can't kill mans!"
"If they're trying to hurt you, I can." I hoped the lizard creature wouldn't call my bluff. Anna was right; I probably couldn't kill a man with my bare hands, but I could incapacitate him for long enough to grab a knife and incapacitate him some more, then find a phone to call 911.
"I didn't mean to scare you." The lizard creature spoke again. "The Anna has a gift. She brought me to life with her imagination." It pointed a back foot in her direction. It was still on its back.
I glanced up at Anna.
"It was an accident! I was scared of Badzilla and I telled her every night not to scare me, and then last night she scared me and tonight she scared me and you came in!" Her voice cracked.
"It's okay, honey." I stood, stepped over the monster and sat down on the bed. I wrapped an arm around her.
The monster twitched its tail.
"Badzilla? Is that your name?" I asked. "Flip over, sit up. Let's talk."
"Badzilla, yes." The monster flipped over and sat, using its thick hind legs and tail to balance. It was surprisingly cute.
"Mom?" Anna whispered. "Is she gonna get me? Is she gonna lay eggs with baby Badzillas in them?"
Diplomacy time. This monster came from Anna's imagination. She legitimately believed in Badzilla, so Badzilla happened. It was up to me to sway her beliefs toward something we could all live with.
"She said she wanted to play with you and she's sorry for scaring you, remember?" I gave Anna a reassuring smile, then raised a quick threatening eyebrow at Badzilla.
"I just wanted to play, but your eyes were closed." Badzilla hung her head. "So I growled to get you to notice me. I'm sorry. I didn't know that was scary."
"Badzilla, her eyes were closed because she was asleep. We sleep at night and play when the sun is out." I spoke plainly.
The monster nodded.
"And Anna, do you know how eggs hatch?" I asked.
"A mommy bird or a mommy lizard sits on them and then the babies crack out?"
I nodded. "Yes, that's how it ends, but first, a daddy bird or a daddy lizard has to mate with the mommy. They have a body part called a cloaca where the mating and egg laying happens. Badzilla, if you're comfortable with it, will you please show me where your cloaca is?"
"I don't have one."
I smiled. Of course she didn't. "See, Anna? She can't lay eggs. No babies."
"No babies," Badzilla repeated.
"Thank you, Badzilla. Now, how were you thinking of playing with Anna?"
Badzilla scampered over to the toy box and grabbed a bag full of blocks. "Build and destroy."
She clumsily stacked three blocks up, then kicked them over with a growly laugh.
"What do you think of that, Anna?"
Badzilla pushed the blocks over to Anna. She stacked them up and looked at Badzilla.
"Break! Break!" The lizard creature chanted.
Anna kicked the tiny tower over.
Badzilla let out a triumphant roar, a roar that shook the window and made Anna slam her hands over her ears.
"No! Too loud!" Anna shrieked.
I nodded. "Let's not do that again, Badzilla. That was too loud."
"Sorry." She put a scaly hand over her mouth.
"Now, both of you, it's bedtime. Badzilla, you may stay, but don't scare Anna."
"The Anna needs protection," Badzilla said. She walked around the room, collecting plush toys and setting them on the bed. "The furry toys will protect her on the bed. I'll protect her underneath. We can play tomorrow."
"That sounds good to me," I said. "What about you, Anna?"
"She gave me all my furry toys!" Anna laughed. She was covered in plushies. "Now I can sleep with all of them!"
"Yep, and that's exactly what I'd like you to do. Goodnight, Anna, I love you." I walked backwards toward the door.
"Goodnight, Mom, I love you too!" She waved.
"Goodnight, Mom, I respect you." Badzilla bowed and got down on all fours. "Goodnight, Anna, I like you."
"Goodnight, Badzilla, I like you too now!" Anna giggled.
I turned off the light and heard little scratchy claws crawling under the bed. I'd been heading off to bed myself, but made a detour to the kitchen to pour myself a stiff drink. Things were about to get weird. | “And I don’t want to see or hear you doing that again. I will be very angry if you do. Understand?” Her lisp was adorable, he thought, chuckling to himself as he leaned against the wall of his daughters bedroom.
“I’m sorry, Dotty. I am. I promise I’ll behave better.” The voice was gruff and slightly slurred.
Dan Jefferson’s chuckle caught in his throat as he gasped for air and lunged for the door. Unlocked. Bewildered, he looked around the empty room, arms slightly raised and hands clamped into tight fists.
“Dotty,” he asked with a forced calmness he most surely did not feel. “Dotty, darling, where is the man you just talked to? Where did he go?”
His daughter pointed to underneath the bed.
“But dad-”
He picked her up and, hugging her tightly, quickly took her out to the hallway. “Darling, I need you to go down to mum and tell her to call the police. Ok? Tell her what just happened.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her an encouraging pat on the back to set her off towards the living room.
“But dad-”
“No buts, Dotty. Now.” His tone told her this was not up for debate, so she sighed and walked off, mouth pouting.
Should he go inside and look? His first instinct, after saving Dotty, had been to throw himself on the floor and grab whoever was hiding under the bed and give him a good beating.
Now that the first rush of adrenaline had calmed he wasn’t so sure anymore. Dan Jeffersson did not have any illusions of how well he’d fare in a fight. He was definitely more brain than brawn, and he hadn’t been in a fight since high school. And to be honest, those had been involuntary, and he’d always been on the losing side.
He stood outside her room, his hands on his knees to support himself as he trembled with the aftermath of those overwhelming feelings of panic and fear, when Dotty and her mum walked up to him. He almost jumped again, but prided himself of not actually shrieking.
“Dotty says you want me to call the police?” his wife said questioningly.
“Shh, not so loud! He might hear you.” he whispered back, and glanced into the room. Still empty. They would catch him.
“Darling,” Delilah paused and looked at him, “you want me to call the police and tell them that a big, blue monster is hiding under our daughter’s bed? I know it’s been a lot lately, and you’ve been stressed out, but really-”
“I heard him!” He didn’t bother whispering now. “I heard a man reply! There’s no monster, it’s a damn intruder that’s hiding under the bed, and god knows what he wanted to do with Dotty. Or I can take a guess, but-” he interrupted himself as he realized that said daughter was listening keenly.
His wife rolled her eyes ever so slightly. “Ok. Let me have a look.” And without further due she handed over Dotty and went into the room.
He could feel his calf muscles tensing without a conscious thought, getting ready to sprint off. His wallet was on the table in the hallway, as was his cellphone. He could grab them on the way out, if he had the time. Dotty was what mattered.
“There’s no one here, Dan.” Delilah called from the bedroom. I’ve checked under the bed, the drawers of the dresser - though I don’t see how anyone could fit in them - and the window is still locked. No one’s there.” He couldn’t decide whether she looked annoyed or worried.
“I’ll double check.” He handed over Dotty and walked into the room. It felt empty, he must admit. Although he didn’t know how it would feel if someone was hiding. Maybe there’d be sounds, he mused, from their breathing?
He knelt by the bed, steadied himself. Empty. He flipped over on his back so he could check the boards, in case they had to do with a very nimble person - a ninja? Admittedly the ninja would also have to be extremely thin, not to be visible while hanging on to the underside of the bed. Still empty. He moved his hand along the boards, just in case. Nothing.
The window was locked, and the drawer empty of scrawny ninjas, just as his wife had said. Running his fingers through his hair, ignoring the balding spot he looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry dear… I… I could have sworn I heard a man speak.”
“It was the monster, daddy. I tried to tell you!” Dotty exclaimed, and slipped down on the floor from her mum's embrace. “Mr Snuggles had been naughty, so I told him off, just like you used to do, and he promised to behave.”
Dan Jeffersson stared at his daughter in silence for a few seconds before laughing shortly. “Of course you did, sweetie. And real good. I’m sorry I scared you. And,” he turned to his wife, “I’m sorry, hun. I guess there has been a lot of stress lately. Maybe I should try taking a bath and listen to that audio book on mindfulness that you recommended earlier, eh?”
Dotty waited until the footsteps had died away outside, and then some more.“It’s alright now, Mr Snuggles,” she said comforting. “I’m not mad at you.”
Mr Snuggles evaporated out from the small cavities in the bed where he’d been hiding, and composed himself on the floor. The blue fur on his massive body shone in the pale moonlight.
\- - - - - - - -
Oh, this was a fun prompt!! ~~I don't have time to finish this off right now, but will update/edit in an hour or so, I hope.~~ :D
Edit: Updated.
​
Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more! | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | *Night 1*
"Good night, Sweetie." Jill plants a kiss on Amy's forehead and turns toward the door.
"Mommy?"
Jill turns back around at the sound of the timid voice. "What is it, Baby?"
With her teddy bear clutched to her chest, the girl whispers, "I'm sca'ed." She pulls the blankets up to the bottom of her nose. Wide eyes stare at her mother.
"Aw, Sweetie." She sits back down on the bed and strokes Amy's hair. "What are you scared of?"
Frightened eyes dart around the room. Finally, she replies, "There's a monstew undew the bed."
"Well, we can't have that. Alright, Monster, listen up!" Jill slides off the bed and peers underneath it. "You need to stop scaring my little girl! Go home and leave us alone!" For added effect, she shakes a fist at the dust bunnies on the floor.
Jill stands back up and gives the little girl another kiss. "That'll teach him. Alright?" At Amy's smiling nod, Jill walks back to the door. "Good night again."
\--------------
*Night 2*
"Good night, Sweetie."
"Good night, mommy!"
The mother walks out of the bedroom and closes the door. A soft voice speaks up from the room behind her, so she presses her ear against the wall to listen. She can't make out the words, but imagines it's just Amy talking to her teddy bear.
Just as the woman is about to walk away, a deep, masculine voice rings out from the bedroom, "I'm sorry."
Jill's heart leaps into her throat. She spins around and hurls herself through the bedroom door. Before she even realizes what she's doing, she scoops the little girl up into her arms. "Who was that?!"
"It was the monstew."
"What?" Jill presses the girl against her chest as she scans the room for any sign of another person. "What monster? Where is he?"
"Undew the bed."
The mother gapes at the little girl. "Sweetie, are you sure?"
Amy nods vigorously.
Muscles tensed and ready to run, Jill kneels down. She holds her breath as she sinks lower. With the girl still cradled against her, she tips her head and peeks under the bed to see nothing but dust and a few toys.
Jill lets out a sigh and stands back up. She yanks open the closet door, checks the toy chest, looks in the laundry basket, and anywhere else that someone could be hiding. Just for good measure, she even checks all the drawers in the dresser. But there's no sign of anyone. At last, she convinces herself that it was her imagination. Or that somehow, Amy had made the noise and Jill's own mind had misrepresented the situation.
She tucks the little girl back into bed and leaves the room again. Standing in the hallway, she listens again, but all is quiet. Finally, she walks away.
\--------------
*Night 3*
With Amy tucked into bed, Jill climbs into her own and turns off the bedside lamp. She slips down beneath the covers. Her muscles relaxes as her head sinks down into the pillow. She lets out a sigh.
There's a noise -- a tiny creak of floorboards -- on the other side of the room. Jill's eyelids fly open. She stares into the darkness. The clock ticks away the minutes in the otherwise silent room. Eventually, the drowsiness returns and she lets herself relax again.
Another noise -- a swish of the curtains -- and Jill sits bolt upright in bed. Her heart pounds in her ears as she listens.
With a damp palm, she reaches for the lamp's chain. She tugs. The light comes on and she's looking directly into a pair of brilliant purple eyes. The thing bares its fangs and lets out a hiss. Jill screams.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flies open and Amy comes charging in. Both the mother and the monster turn toward the newcomer. Teddy bear held fast in her grip, Amy stomps her foot and glares at the fanged beast. "Bad monstew! Weave my mommy awone!"
The creature's shoulders droop. He looks at the little girl for a moment, then turns toward Jill. "I'm sorry." He turns and trudges out of the room.
Jill, slack-jawed, turns toward a smiling Amy.
"Don't be sca'ed, mommy. He's gone now. Alwight?"
Jill simply nods and pulls the girl into a hug.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
r/WannaWriteSometimes | “And I don’t want to see or hear you doing that again. I will be very angry if you do. Understand?” Her lisp was adorable, he thought, chuckling to himself as he leaned against the wall of his daughters bedroom.
“I’m sorry, Dotty. I am. I promise I’ll behave better.” The voice was gruff and slightly slurred.
Dan Jefferson’s chuckle caught in his throat as he gasped for air and lunged for the door. Unlocked. Bewildered, he looked around the empty room, arms slightly raised and hands clamped into tight fists.
“Dotty,” he asked with a forced calmness he most surely did not feel. “Dotty, darling, where is the man you just talked to? Where did he go?”
His daughter pointed to underneath the bed.
“But dad-”
He picked her up and, hugging her tightly, quickly took her out to the hallway. “Darling, I need you to go down to mum and tell her to call the police. Ok? Tell her what just happened.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her an encouraging pat on the back to set her off towards the living room.
“But dad-”
“No buts, Dotty. Now.” His tone told her this was not up for debate, so she sighed and walked off, mouth pouting.
Should he go inside and look? His first instinct, after saving Dotty, had been to throw himself on the floor and grab whoever was hiding under the bed and give him a good beating.
Now that the first rush of adrenaline had calmed he wasn’t so sure anymore. Dan Jeffersson did not have any illusions of how well he’d fare in a fight. He was definitely more brain than brawn, and he hadn’t been in a fight since high school. And to be honest, those had been involuntary, and he’d always been on the losing side.
He stood outside her room, his hands on his knees to support himself as he trembled with the aftermath of those overwhelming feelings of panic and fear, when Dotty and her mum walked up to him. He almost jumped again, but prided himself of not actually shrieking.
“Dotty says you want me to call the police?” his wife said questioningly.
“Shh, not so loud! He might hear you.” he whispered back, and glanced into the room. Still empty. They would catch him.
“Darling,” Delilah paused and looked at him, “you want me to call the police and tell them that a big, blue monster is hiding under our daughter’s bed? I know it’s been a lot lately, and you’ve been stressed out, but really-”
“I heard him!” He didn’t bother whispering now. “I heard a man reply! There’s no monster, it’s a damn intruder that’s hiding under the bed, and god knows what he wanted to do with Dotty. Or I can take a guess, but-” he interrupted himself as he realized that said daughter was listening keenly.
His wife rolled her eyes ever so slightly. “Ok. Let me have a look.” And without further due she handed over Dotty and went into the room.
He could feel his calf muscles tensing without a conscious thought, getting ready to sprint off. His wallet was on the table in the hallway, as was his cellphone. He could grab them on the way out, if he had the time. Dotty was what mattered.
“There’s no one here, Dan.” Delilah called from the bedroom. I’ve checked under the bed, the drawers of the dresser - though I don’t see how anyone could fit in them - and the window is still locked. No one’s there.” He couldn’t decide whether she looked annoyed or worried.
“I’ll double check.” He handed over Dotty and walked into the room. It felt empty, he must admit. Although he didn’t know how it would feel if someone was hiding. Maybe there’d be sounds, he mused, from their breathing?
He knelt by the bed, steadied himself. Empty. He flipped over on his back so he could check the boards, in case they had to do with a very nimble person - a ninja? Admittedly the ninja would also have to be extremely thin, not to be visible while hanging on to the underside of the bed. Still empty. He moved his hand along the boards, just in case. Nothing.
The window was locked, and the drawer empty of scrawny ninjas, just as his wife had said. Running his fingers through his hair, ignoring the balding spot he looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry dear… I… I could have sworn I heard a man speak.”
“It was the monster, daddy. I tried to tell you!” Dotty exclaimed, and slipped down on the floor from her mum's embrace. “Mr Snuggles had been naughty, so I told him off, just like you used to do, and he promised to behave.”
Dan Jeffersson stared at his daughter in silence for a few seconds before laughing shortly. “Of course you did, sweetie. And real good. I’m sorry I scared you. And,” he turned to his wife, “I’m sorry, hun. I guess there has been a lot of stress lately. Maybe I should try taking a bath and listen to that audio book on mindfulness that you recommended earlier, eh?”
Dotty waited until the footsteps had died away outside, and then some more.“It’s alright now, Mr Snuggles,” she said comforting. “I’m not mad at you.”
Mr Snuggles evaporated out from the small cavities in the bed where he’d been hiding, and composed himself on the floor. The blue fur on his massive body shone in the pale moonlight.
\- - - - - - - -
Oh, this was a fun prompt!! ~~I don't have time to finish this off right now, but will update/edit in an hour or so, I hope.~~ :D
Edit: Updated.
​
Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more! | |
[WP] Your daughter is afraid of the dark. To help allay her fears, you started scolding the monsters hiding under her bed. As she grew older, she started doing this herself. One evening you’re laughing outside her door as she does so, that is until you hear a very gruff voice say I’m sorry. | I have to be hearing things. I *must* be hearing things.
My laugh dissipated into the air, like a frosty breath at the end of its brief life. I stood, stock still, straining my ears to hear for more.
The door creaked slightly open, and my feet instinctively slid back, a surprised yelp escaping from the back of my throat, followed rapidly by my heart.
"Daddy?" Eve whispered, eyes scanning and searching before a puzzled look greeted my face.
Oh my god. I exhaled and coughed at the same time, a jumbled sound that no human should make.
"E--eve," I said, kneeling down. "Are you alright?"
Her bright smile soothed my palpitating heart.
"Of course!" she said. "I was just telling Bear Bear to keep it down. I wanted to go to sleep."
Even if only for a short while.
Normally, I would chalk this situation up to an overactive, juvenile imagination. Heck, I've mumbled to my fair share of make-believe mates, fantastic friends, and fictitious monsters under the bed. It helped to dive into them when I was a child, to pretend they were really there, just like I did with my daughter in past years gone by so fast. If I recall, Bear Bear was even a name of my own invention.
But I've never had a monster under the bed reply to me.
"Bear Bear?" I asked, trying to smoothen the slight wavering in my voice. "It's... here?"
"Why wouldn't he be?" Eve said. "Do you want to see him?"
"Er," I contemplated.
My 10-year-old child was completely OK. Happy, even. There was no harm, right?
"Sure," I said.
My daughter took my by the hand, tugging me into her room of plushies and books galore.
Oh, did I forget to mention the giant monster? Because there was a giant monster, draped in fur, barely illuminated by the small nightlight on her bed stand, turning it into a creepy, ethereal being washed in barely-there LED green.
I gulped.
"Daddy, Bear Bear," Eve said, helpfully pointing out the terrifying monster. "Bear Bear, Daddy."
"We've met," it said, in the gruff voice that I could recognize from moments ago. It felt like a lifetime, though. "Or rather, scolded me."
It then waved a large paw, lined with what looked to be a row of sharp knives masquerading as claws.
Internally, I tried very hard not to scream. Externally, I tried very hard not to bolt from my daughter's room in terror. It all decided to come out of me in a jumbled croak of barely audible words.
"Hello. We've talked."
"Daddy, why do you sound so weird? Do you have a cold?" Eve noted.
"No," I rasped.
"You do sound strange, Mr. Cooper," Bear Bear said in a concerned tone of voice. It was utterly bizarre.
"A little under the weather, I suppose," I coughed. "So... you've been here? All this while? Just under my daughter's bed?"
"Why, yes," Bear Bear said. "It's a very nice home, along with my family."
"Family. Right, right," I muttered, wondering if I should scream and call for my wife.
"I was scared of them, Daddy," Eve said. "But I'm OK now! They turned out to be really nice when they actually introduced themselves."
"Themselves. Right, right."
"There isn't an issue, is there?" Bear Bear asked. "I would love to continue living here. Your daughter is very nice as well. I promise we'll be more quiet in the future."
"Sure. Why not?" I said, eyeing the claws on it.
Eve yawned.
"Ah, she's tired," the monster continued. "Let's continue speaking outside and let her go to bed?"
"Right, right," I muttered. "Sleep tight then, Eve."
She responded with a louder, longer yawn, and promptly climbed into the bed. I headed outside the room, almost closing the door behind me, before feeling a furry sensation on my arm.
"Hold on, mister," it said.
I scrambled out. I looked up. Down. The thing was massive. There was no way not to look at it.
It then bowed. Very strange.
"Mr. Cooper," Bear Bear whispered. "I must thank you."
"Me?" I asked, incredulous.
"Yes," it continued. "Your scoldings early on helped me become a better monster. Without it, I would never have met my lovely wife, Lady Bear Bear."
"Sure, sure."
"In a way, you've turned something I've always imagined into reality," Bear Bear continued. "I know so many monsters under the bed who live unfulfilling lives, withering away into nothingness once their hosts fade. But because of you? I've become a better monster, and will strive to continue self-improving."
"There are other monsters under the bed?"
"Oh, lots," Bear Bear said. "See a bed? There's a monster underneath it. A lot of them eat socks as well, if you were wondering."
"That was definitely a question I wanted to ask."
"So, without further ado," Bear Bear bowed once more. "I'll be heading to sleep."
"Right," I said. "Good night, then."
"Good night."
Bear Bear turned, entering my daughter's room. I turned, walking down the hallway, and entered mine. I climbed into bed right beside my wife, her gentle snores remaining undisturbed.
Yea, there was no way I was falling asleep. Rolling out of bed, I pushed up the covers and checked underneath it. Nothing.
My feet too me to my daughter's room once more. She was tucked in nicely. Another scan under the bed revealed nothing.
"Imaginary friends, huh?"
There was not much sense in thinking about it now with my addled brain. There was time to think about it tomorrow.
There will be, right?
---
r/dexdrafts | “And I don’t want to see or hear you doing that again. I will be very angry if you do. Understand?” Her lisp was adorable, he thought, chuckling to himself as he leaned against the wall of his daughters bedroom.
“I’m sorry, Dotty. I am. I promise I’ll behave better.” The voice was gruff and slightly slurred.
Dan Jefferson’s chuckle caught in his throat as he gasped for air and lunged for the door. Unlocked. Bewildered, he looked around the empty room, arms slightly raised and hands clamped into tight fists.
“Dotty,” he asked with a forced calmness he most surely did not feel. “Dotty, darling, where is the man you just talked to? Where did he go?”
His daughter pointed to underneath the bed.
“But dad-”
He picked her up and, hugging her tightly, quickly took her out to the hallway. “Darling, I need you to go down to mum and tell her to call the police. Ok? Tell her what just happened.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her an encouraging pat on the back to set her off towards the living room.
“But dad-”
“No buts, Dotty. Now.” His tone told her this was not up for debate, so she sighed and walked off, mouth pouting.
Should he go inside and look? His first instinct, after saving Dotty, had been to throw himself on the floor and grab whoever was hiding under the bed and give him a good beating.
Now that the first rush of adrenaline had calmed he wasn’t so sure anymore. Dan Jeffersson did not have any illusions of how well he’d fare in a fight. He was definitely more brain than brawn, and he hadn’t been in a fight since high school. And to be honest, those had been involuntary, and he’d always been on the losing side.
He stood outside her room, his hands on his knees to support himself as he trembled with the aftermath of those overwhelming feelings of panic and fear, when Dotty and her mum walked up to him. He almost jumped again, but prided himself of not actually shrieking.
“Dotty says you want me to call the police?” his wife said questioningly.
“Shh, not so loud! He might hear you.” he whispered back, and glanced into the room. Still empty. They would catch him.
“Darling,” Delilah paused and looked at him, “you want me to call the police and tell them that a big, blue monster is hiding under our daughter’s bed? I know it’s been a lot lately, and you’ve been stressed out, but really-”
“I heard him!” He didn’t bother whispering now. “I heard a man reply! There’s no monster, it’s a damn intruder that’s hiding under the bed, and god knows what he wanted to do with Dotty. Or I can take a guess, but-” he interrupted himself as he realized that said daughter was listening keenly.
His wife rolled her eyes ever so slightly. “Ok. Let me have a look.” And without further due she handed over Dotty and went into the room.
He could feel his calf muscles tensing without a conscious thought, getting ready to sprint off. His wallet was on the table in the hallway, as was his cellphone. He could grab them on the way out, if he had the time. Dotty was what mattered.
“There’s no one here, Dan.” Delilah called from the bedroom. I’ve checked under the bed, the drawers of the dresser - though I don’t see how anyone could fit in them - and the window is still locked. No one’s there.” He couldn’t decide whether she looked annoyed or worried.
“I’ll double check.” He handed over Dotty and walked into the room. It felt empty, he must admit. Although he didn’t know how it would feel if someone was hiding. Maybe there’d be sounds, he mused, from their breathing?
He knelt by the bed, steadied himself. Empty. He flipped over on his back so he could check the boards, in case they had to do with a very nimble person - a ninja? Admittedly the ninja would also have to be extremely thin, not to be visible while hanging on to the underside of the bed. Still empty. He moved his hand along the boards, just in case. Nothing.
The window was locked, and the drawer empty of scrawny ninjas, just as his wife had said. Running his fingers through his hair, ignoring the balding spot he looked at her apologetically. “I’m sorry dear… I… I could have sworn I heard a man speak.”
“It was the monster, daddy. I tried to tell you!” Dotty exclaimed, and slipped down on the floor from her mum's embrace. “Mr Snuggles had been naughty, so I told him off, just like you used to do, and he promised to behave.”
Dan Jeffersson stared at his daughter in silence for a few seconds before laughing shortly. “Of course you did, sweetie. And real good. I’m sorry I scared you. And,” he turned to his wife, “I’m sorry, hun. I guess there has been a lot of stress lately. Maybe I should try taking a bath and listen to that audio book on mindfulness that you recommended earlier, eh?”
Dotty waited until the footsteps had died away outside, and then some more.“It’s alright now, Mr Snuggles,” she said comforting. “I’m not mad at you.”
Mr Snuggles evaporated out from the small cavities in the bed where he’d been hiding, and composed himself on the floor. The blue fur on his massive body shone in the pale moonlight.
\- - - - - - - -
Oh, this was a fun prompt!! ~~I don't have time to finish this off right now, but will update/edit in an hour or so, I hope.~~ :D
Edit: Updated.
​
Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more! | |
[WP] On a walk home, you notice a bag with a note: "Free cat food." You've been strapped for cash and the expiration date is good so you decide to take it. You feed it to your cat that night; she seems to like it. The next morning she greets you, purring, and says in a human voice: "Good morning." | I groan and habitually crack my neck. The sound of a voice hit me, but didn't quite register. Instead, I stared on ahead at the wall. Then, I snap back to reality.
"Morning. You finally there?" Her voice quietly echoes in my barely affordable, tiny apartment.
"Morning." My brain function bad yet to kick in, as I failed to notice my cat speaking to me. Looking over at her bowl, it was half empty, as she usually left it.
"I guess I'd better top you off, huh?"
"Actually! How dare you feed me those pellets! The least you could do ia get me actual meat! ...Though I must admit, the pellets last night were exceptionally good."
I kept a straight face. This was hardly the most concerning thing to me as of late.
"Well, there's plenty of them, so enjoy I guess. And stop leaving your food at the side of the bowl to get stale! Shit's expensive!"
With that, I went about my daily routine and left for work. Several mundane, soul-sucking hours later, thinking maybe the happenings from the morning were my hungover brain's attempts of scaring me sober. It didn't work.
Opening the door, her voice yelled out at me, confirming that this was, in fact, real.
"You asshole! You don't just leave me here! Why do you neglect me so? Your careless negligence yeilds-"
"You watch your tone, Teppy. How do you think you get fed, most days? I have a job you know. You could at least give me a thank you."
In response, Teppy gasped and scoffed at me.
"Such abuse! Such horrible mistreatment! Miss Teppy Pyrope shall pack her little rucksack and leave! These horrors of the foot and the tongue, how dare you!"
"Stop being melodramatic. You can't even leave, you don't have hands you small fuzzy bastard. I brought you some catnip and a felt mouse today. Try not to overdose."
With that, I tossed her the items, then sat down with my headphones on and booted up some old console game, for nostalgia sake.
"Ah, the good old days, when I used to play this game with friends."
"You had friends? You're having happy memories? Nostalgia? You-"
"Shut it, missy. What does a cat know of nostalgia anyway?" | Stunned, I stammer back, "M-morning"?
My cat glides toward me, tail pointed high in the air curving down at the tip like a question mark. "I've always wanted to tell you..."
I sit on my knees, leaning in. She sits directly across from me, "I've always wanted to tell you what a total disappoinment you are. You make me shit in a box full of pellets. You moron, I want SAND. I need to come and go as I please, and how very dare you for ever telling me no. Let me out now. I'll come here again when I'm hungry".
She glides toward the door. I follow. I unceremoniously let her outside. Not another word was exchanged between us. | |
[WP] If a soul has unfinished business when it dies, a specter remains at its final resting place until its business is complete. You are the most recent in a line of ‘Grave Keepers’ whose job is to send these souls to rest by completing their final wishes. | Like so many women before her, Susan had met an untimely and violent death. As a grave keeper it was not within my abilities to help anyone before they died. There were many different forms of spirits and wrights which did such things. A Grave Keeper's job was to help those who passed before their time. It was our job to see that those souls were able to find peace.
Susan had died defending her daughter, her only child, her reason for living. You see, Susan's husband was...well, violent was putting it mildly. They'd gotten married at 18 because Susan had been pregnant. That pregnancy had culminated into a little baby girl: Lily. The moment Susan had held Lily in her arms she's known that there was nothing she wouldn't do for her. This tiny life that she's carried for 9 months was forevermore a part of her.
After Lily had been born things with Frank had gotten hard. In high school he'd been the quarterback of the football team, the most sought after boy in school. But when high school was over and they both had to face the real world Frank hadn't taken well to it. He was often extremely demanding, and Susan, wanting her family to be happy, went along with his demands. Until those demands included shutting Lily up by any means necessary.
The moment he shook her baby, the meek housewife disappeared and in her place was a mother bear prepared to defend her cub. Without thinking she grabbed the skillet off the stove and brought it down on his head with all her might. As he faltered she grabbed Lily from his arms and held her close.
She was screaming at the top of her lungs, practically bursting Susan's eardrums. But Susan didn't care. All she cared about was keeping this baby safe. Grabbing her purse and the keys to the new station wagon, Susan fled from Frank. Her and Lily stayed with Susan's parents that night.
Frank came crawling back to her, apologizing and saying it was the beer that made him do it. He swore to her that it would never happen again, and she believed him. She believed him again and again and again. After her apologized things would always get better again. He would call her cute nicknames like he used to, and bring her small gifts. But inevitably he would always start drinking again, and when he drank he got cruel. He was always careful to only leave bruises in places where no one else would see them. But she could feel them, a stark reminder of the cruelties life had thrust at her.
One night Frank was too drunk and too angry. Lily was always afraid of him when he was like that, and when she cried it would only make him angrier. Susan got between him and Lily as she always did, but Frank made sure this would be the last time. He beat her until she was unconscious, and didn't stop until her breathing did.
That was the moment I entered the playing field. See, Susan may not have been able to defend her child in life, but I would make damn sure she was able to in death. I stood silently next to her body, invisible to Frank and Lily. It always took a few minutes for the soul to realize that the body was no longer functioning. Eventually I saw Susan's spirit coming apart from her body. I reached down and grabbed her hand, helping her up.
"What happened?" She asked, looking confusedly around herself.
"Frank lost control of himself again." That was enough to jog her memory. Her eyes went wide, her pupils dilating until I could hardly see any of the blue of her eyes. She looked around her frantically until she spotted Lily. Her spirit was able to do things her body couldn't, and as soon as she thought about Lily she disappeared and reappeared beside her daughter. Susan smiled, "Lily." She went to pick up her child, but her hands passed through her. She grabbed frantically, trying to comfort her crying child. That was when she began to truly process what had happened.
Her face contorted into rage and she turned from Lily to Frank. "Don't you dare touch her!" Susan bellowed. The force of her rage shook the room, dust sprinkling down from the ceiling fan. Even as drunk as he was, it gave Frank pause. His expression went from anger to something akin to fear. Lily, however, seemed to know it was her mother's presence, and was soothed into sniffles.
I touched Susan's arm, "I know you're angry, but this isn't something you can do alone."
I watched as her anger melted away into grief. "My baby," she sobbed. I held her in my arms as her grief passed over her, until the last of her sobs died away.
"Susan, I can help you make sure that your daughter is safe from him. Forever."
She looked up at me with hopeful eyes. "I just need to know that she'll be safe. And then I can rest."
I nodded, "I know."
Frank passed out on the couch as he always did when he drank, not seeming to realize that he had just murdered his wife. Lily quietly cried beside her mother's body, trying to wake her up. Susan sat beside her, helpless to do anything but watch her child mourn.
"Take my hand," I said, extending my arm. She hesitantly took it, and then I pointed at Lily, "Now try to comfort her." As she reached tentatively towards her daughter I allowed my power to pass through her. When she tried to touch Lily's cheek instead of going through her, her hand ever so lightly brushed it. "I'm here, Lily," she whispered.
Note: I reached the character max, and had to split this into 2 parts. Part 2 is below. | I sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey. While the barman poured I glanced up at the TV hanging above. Nothing exciting, just the news. Apparently a soulstorm was making its way through one of the astral planes and traffic had to be averted. The pert and perky weatherdemon said it would blow itself out by the weekend. They cut to sports as my drink arrived.
“Hey man… give me another,” the guy two seats down petitioned the barman who scuttled off to pour. He looked rough, even for a keeper. Doing our job you end up with a pale complexion and gaunt malnourished look. It’s a dead giveaway.
Dead giveaway, get it? That’s a little keeper humor.
I think I recognized him, started just recently. “Hey buddy, didn’t you just start a few months back? What was your name?”
“Robert,” he sighed into his drink heavily as it was placed in front of him.
“None of my business but… you doing okay, Rob?”
He paused a minute, swirling the drink in its glass. For a second I thought he was just going to ignore me. Fine, that’s what I get for trying to be a nice guy. Then he started his story.
“Not really, I got fired,” he barked a laugh wryly. “’Failure to Complete Assigned Duties’. I just can’t win.”
“Damn, that’s hard,” I waved to the barman to put that one on my bill.
He sat still for a minute and studied the drink. “You know, when I was chosen for this job it was great. I mean, the way they sell it to you is fantastic. Go find lost souls, complete their one final wish. Their one true desire or goal that was in the back of their heads before they died.” He sipped his drink. “My first assignment was hard man, it was hard and I wanted to walk away right then. I get the letter and is just says ‘Denise Sanders, Seymour, Texas’.” He paused again remembering. “You ever been to Texas?”
“A while ago,” I nodded. “I was in Houston last year, doing an assignment at one of the hospitals near Rice. 92-year old woman wanted to see her granddaughter one last time.”
He nodded as if he’d known. Luckily most of our assignments were like that. Someone at the end of a long life wanted one last look at friends or family. It was sweet and touching and the kind of days you felt good about what you did.
He breathed in a ragged breath, considering his drink. “Seymour isn’t huge. It’s quaint. One of those proud Texas towns with mostly good people. Real Americana like a cross between Rockwell and one of those old cowboy movies. I liked it. I roll into town and get the pull.”
Now if you’re not in the business you probably don’t know the lingo. The Pull is the natural force that directs us to the recently deceased when we’re nearby, specifically to who we’ve been assigned.
He finished his drink and waved for another before continuing. “And there I am, not in the local hospital but on the street corner. It was a heart breaker. Denise was a 14-year-old who had been hit by a car crossing the street.”
“Ah jeez, not for your first,” I moaned. We all get them eventually, the tragedies. They suck. There’s nothing good you can do but try to set things as right as you’re allowed and then move them over to the next life.
“Yeah, just my luck,” he continued. “She seemed to know what was going on at least. Young people have a better handle on death than we give them credit for. I gently talked to her and explained what we do. Unburdening them of their final dying wishes, helping them move on, you know the pitch. She cried a bit, but seemed to understand. That’s when she told me where she’d been heading.” He took a stiff sip from his glass and looked at me. “So this boy she liked worked part time at the auto parts place across the street. They’d been doing the teenage thing, flirting and making eyes. Real cute innocent stuff. She was on her way to give one of those teenage love notes to him, really telling him how she felt. It was in pink pen and folded into some weird origami thing I couldn’t figure out.” He seemed to sink further into his barstool.
“That’s tough. How’d you handle it?” I asked. Some keepers get this way over some cases, it helps to talk it out. We got to be there for each other. The job’s not always easy.
He actually smiled and nodded to himself. “I thought I did a pretty good job. I arranged for a paramedic to find the note. The family eventually gave it to the boy. He put on a brave face and thanked them and gave his condolences, but went into his bedroom immediately after and shut the door to cry.”
It was a sweet story. The kid was going to hurt either way, at least this way he knew how she’d felt. “That was clever, indeed,” I said appreciatively.
“So I thought maybe I have a knack for this. I mean, I couldn’t bring her back, but maybe I could make things a bit better. She thanked me before I dropped her off,” another long pause. “After that it was the stuff you can compartmentalize a bit better. Lots of old folks, a few car accidents,” his voice grew hushed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sick ones though. Those with cancer and stuff.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, sipping my drink. “You can’t ever come to accept those, you have to still have feelings.”
“So this morning I get a new one,” he continues. He’s got a steely look in his eyes. “’Gino Vario, New York, New York’. No big deal, I head out to the big city. Maybe I’ll check out a museum if I have spare time. I get there and there’s this big guy, keeled over. Heart attack. He’s one of those. Blubbering, weeping, ‘this can’t be me’, and on and on. I mean I get it, it’s hard but you had a pretty full life and you might’ve had a few more years if you’d dropped a few pounds. Though of course I didn’t say that to him,” he quickly corrected.
I nodded for him to go on, finishing the last sip of my drink. “So, what’d the guy want?”
He flashed that wry smile again, as if he’s laughing at some big cosmic joke being played on him. He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “To kill his ex-wife.” | |
[WP] If a soul has unfinished business when it dies, a specter remains at its final resting place until its business is complete. You are the most recent in a line of ‘Grave Keepers’ whose job is to send these souls to rest by completing their final wishes. | People think they know the world’s oldest profession, but they’re wrong. Even older is my line of work and while I also deal with stiffs, it’s strictly of the dead kind. What I am has been known by many names in many places, but these days my kind are called the Grave Keepers. Among our ranks are thieves, swindlers, murderers and much else besides. We seek no acclaim, demand no recompense, observe no pomp and ceremony to hide the dark nature of our work behind faux civility. Without us, the world would be a far more dangerous place. Without us, the remnants of the dead would be left to sow mayhem and destruction across the entire face of the Earth.
Who would take up this life? That’s a question not easily answered. In my own chapter are drifters and the driven, the bold and the timid, the mad and sane. Those that think they know why they became a keeper, do not. It is simply a calling, a gut instinct, an animal drive older than our species - older perhaps than any species.
We deal with the grievances of the departed, grievances that linger soul-deep like grit embedded in a ragged wound. The dead do not share our morality, they want what they want. Petty jealousies, rivalries or slights are all good enough reasons for some obstinate souls to stick around and If a soul fails to pass over because of these reasons…well, things can get messy to say the least. As they linger, their power to influence the world grows in magnitude, corrupting and swaying unguarded minds to madness and violence. While some people can resist these influences, their minds like fortresses trained to repel such assaults, most minds have barely a broken down picket fence to secure them.
That’s why we exist, to resolve this unfinished business no matter how base, pathetic or evil it is. And it is almost always one of those. It is the emotions of rage and envy that keep souls tied to this place, not compassion, concern or even love. On this occasion it was deep, abiding, seething resentment. A young man, dead before his time, killed in an ill-fated effort to win back the affection of a young woman poached from him by his more successful and charismatic father. At least that’s how he’d seen it, the truth and fairness of that assessment was unknown and irrelevant to me. The young man’s spectre now stalked the docks, already causing trouble among the workers there. Within a month or so, sabotage would be committed by once loyal employees and murder would almost certainly be on the cards among what were once friends.
It was as clear to me as my own name what the young man desired. It was part of my nature as a keeper. He wanted the old man dead, and I would satisfy that desire. In the week I’d allowed myself to plan, a risk in and of itself, I’d carefully observed the target. I drew together all that I could about him, an honest and decent man by all accounts. Not that it would work in his favour. He was fated to die, to be killed by an unknown assailant leaving no traces and for no discernable motive. The weapon chosen would be painful, the death protracted. Nothing less would satisfy the spectre now.
I carefully pulled on my gloves, and checked my watch. Now was the time. I emerged from my shadowy hiding place, the old man within sight. Blood would soon be spilled, but the vengeful spectre would be quelled.
We are, as I said, murderers, thieves, and swindlers. Dirty people for dirty work best kept out of sight. But work that keeps this world turning a little more peacefully than it otherwise might. | I sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey. While the barman poured I glanced up at the TV hanging above. Nothing exciting, just the news. Apparently a soulstorm was making its way through one of the astral planes and traffic had to be averted. The pert and perky weatherdemon said it would blow itself out by the weekend. They cut to sports as my drink arrived.
“Hey man… give me another,” the guy two seats down petitioned the barman who scuttled off to pour. He looked rough, even for a keeper. Doing our job you end up with a pale complexion and gaunt malnourished look. It’s a dead giveaway.
Dead giveaway, get it? That’s a little keeper humor.
I think I recognized him, started just recently. “Hey buddy, didn’t you just start a few months back? What was your name?”
“Robert,” he sighed into his drink heavily as it was placed in front of him.
“None of my business but… you doing okay, Rob?”
He paused a minute, swirling the drink in its glass. For a second I thought he was just going to ignore me. Fine, that’s what I get for trying to be a nice guy. Then he started his story.
“Not really, I got fired,” he barked a laugh wryly. “’Failure to Complete Assigned Duties’. I just can’t win.”
“Damn, that’s hard,” I waved to the barman to put that one on my bill.
He sat still for a minute and studied the drink. “You know, when I was chosen for this job it was great. I mean, the way they sell it to you is fantastic. Go find lost souls, complete their one final wish. Their one true desire or goal that was in the back of their heads before they died.” He sipped his drink. “My first assignment was hard man, it was hard and I wanted to walk away right then. I get the letter and is just says ‘Denise Sanders, Seymour, Texas’.” He paused again remembering. “You ever been to Texas?”
“A while ago,” I nodded. “I was in Houston last year, doing an assignment at one of the hospitals near Rice. 92-year old woman wanted to see her granddaughter one last time.”
He nodded as if he’d known. Luckily most of our assignments were like that. Someone at the end of a long life wanted one last look at friends or family. It was sweet and touching and the kind of days you felt good about what you did.
He breathed in a ragged breath, considering his drink. “Seymour isn’t huge. It’s quaint. One of those proud Texas towns with mostly good people. Real Americana like a cross between Rockwell and one of those old cowboy movies. I liked it. I roll into town and get the pull.”
Now if you’re not in the business you probably don’t know the lingo. The Pull is the natural force that directs us to the recently deceased when we’re nearby, specifically to who we’ve been assigned.
He finished his drink and waved for another before continuing. “And there I am, not in the local hospital but on the street corner. It was a heart breaker. Denise was a 14-year-old who had been hit by a car crossing the street.”
“Ah jeez, not for your first,” I moaned. We all get them eventually, the tragedies. They suck. There’s nothing good you can do but try to set things as right as you’re allowed and then move them over to the next life.
“Yeah, just my luck,” he continued. “She seemed to know what was going on at least. Young people have a better handle on death than we give them credit for. I gently talked to her and explained what we do. Unburdening them of their final dying wishes, helping them move on, you know the pitch. She cried a bit, but seemed to understand. That’s when she told me where she’d been heading.” He took a stiff sip from his glass and looked at me. “So this boy she liked worked part time at the auto parts place across the street. They’d been doing the teenage thing, flirting and making eyes. Real cute innocent stuff. She was on her way to give one of those teenage love notes to him, really telling him how she felt. It was in pink pen and folded into some weird origami thing I couldn’t figure out.” He seemed to sink further into his barstool.
“That’s tough. How’d you handle it?” I asked. Some keepers get this way over some cases, it helps to talk it out. We got to be there for each other. The job’s not always easy.
He actually smiled and nodded to himself. “I thought I did a pretty good job. I arranged for a paramedic to find the note. The family eventually gave it to the boy. He put on a brave face and thanked them and gave his condolences, but went into his bedroom immediately after and shut the door to cry.”
It was a sweet story. The kid was going to hurt either way, at least this way he knew how she’d felt. “That was clever, indeed,” I said appreciatively.
“So I thought maybe I have a knack for this. I mean, I couldn’t bring her back, but maybe I could make things a bit better. She thanked me before I dropped her off,” another long pause. “After that it was the stuff you can compartmentalize a bit better. Lots of old folks, a few car accidents,” his voice grew hushed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sick ones though. Those with cancer and stuff.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, sipping my drink. “You can’t ever come to accept those, you have to still have feelings.”
“So this morning I get a new one,” he continues. He’s got a steely look in his eyes. “’Gino Vario, New York, New York’. No big deal, I head out to the big city. Maybe I’ll check out a museum if I have spare time. I get there and there’s this big guy, keeled over. Heart attack. He’s one of those. Blubbering, weeping, ‘this can’t be me’, and on and on. I mean I get it, it’s hard but you had a pretty full life and you might’ve had a few more years if you’d dropped a few pounds. Though of course I didn’t say that to him,” he quickly corrected.
I nodded for him to go on, finishing the last sip of my drink. “So, what’d the guy want?”
He flashed that wry smile again, as if he’s laughing at some big cosmic joke being played on him. He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “To kill his ex-wife.” | |
[WP] If a soul has unfinished business when it dies, a specter remains at its final resting place until its business is complete. You are the most recent in a line of ‘Grave Keepers’ whose job is to send these souls to rest by completing their final wishes. | People think they know the world’s oldest profession, but they’re wrong. Even older is my line of work and while I also deal with stiffs, it’s strictly of the dead kind. What I am has been known by many names in many places, but these days my kind are called the Grave Keepers. Among our ranks are thieves, swindlers, murderers and much else besides. We seek no acclaim, demand no recompense, observe no pomp and ceremony to hide the dark nature of our work behind faux civility. Without us, the world would be a far more dangerous place. Without us, the remnants of the dead would be left to sow mayhem and destruction across the entire face of the Earth.
Who would take up this life? That’s a question not easily answered. In my own chapter are drifters and the driven, the bold and the timid, the mad and sane. Those that think they know why they became a keeper, do not. It is simply a calling, a gut instinct, an animal drive older than our species - older perhaps than any species.
We deal with the grievances of the departed, grievances that linger soul-deep like grit embedded in a ragged wound. The dead do not share our morality, they want what they want. Petty jealousies, rivalries or slights are all good enough reasons for some obstinate souls to stick around and If a soul fails to pass over because of these reasons…well, things can get messy to say the least. As they linger, their power to influence the world grows in magnitude, corrupting and swaying unguarded minds to madness and violence. While some people can resist these influences, their minds like fortresses trained to repel such assaults, most minds have barely a broken down picket fence to secure them.
That’s why we exist, to resolve this unfinished business no matter how base, pathetic or evil it is. And it is almost always one of those. It is the emotions of rage and envy that keep souls tied to this place, not compassion, concern or even love. On this occasion it was deep, abiding, seething resentment. A young man, dead before his time, killed in an ill-fated effort to win back the affection of a young woman poached from him by his more successful and charismatic father. At least that’s how he’d seen it, the truth and fairness of that assessment was unknown and irrelevant to me. The young man’s spectre now stalked the docks, already causing trouble among the workers there. Within a month or so, sabotage would be committed by once loyal employees and murder would almost certainly be on the cards among what were once friends.
It was as clear to me as my own name what the young man desired. It was part of my nature as a keeper. He wanted the old man dead, and I would satisfy that desire. In the week I’d allowed myself to plan, a risk in and of itself, I’d carefully observed the target. I drew together all that I could about him, an honest and decent man by all accounts. Not that it would work in his favour. He was fated to die, to be killed by an unknown assailant leaving no traces and for no discernable motive. The weapon chosen would be painful, the death protracted. Nothing less would satisfy the spectre now.
I carefully pulled on my gloves, and checked my watch. Now was the time. I emerged from my shadowy hiding place, the old man within sight. Blood would soon be spilled, but the vengeful spectre would be quelled.
We are, as I said, murderers, thieves, and swindlers. Dirty people for dirty work best kept out of sight. But work that keeps this world turning a little more peacefully than it otherwise might. | “What?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Just tell me what you need.”
“Um. Err. Need? What do you mean? Need?”
“Look, it’s simple. You tell me what you need, I sort it out, you bugger off and I get out of here.”
“What? Where am I? Where’s ‘here’?”
“St Mary’s.”
“What am I doing here?”
“You tell me.”
“What?”
“God! I really haven’t got time for this. You’re fucking dead you knob.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, dead. Gone to meet your maker, run up the curtain, gone to join the choir invisible… Love a bit of Python.”
“Down. It’s run down the curtain and joined the choir invisible.”
“Who the fuck cares?”
“Well, if you’re going to quote python, you should get it right.”
“Fuck off.”
“How shall I fuck off O Lord?”
“Oh, very funny. Look. It’s late and I’ve got a date. So just tell me what you need, I’ll sort it and we can both be on our way.”
“Wait a sec. Dead? Did you say I was dead?”
“How much clearer can I make this? This is a churchyard. You’re dead and I’m obliged to help you on your way.”
“But… I can’t be dead. I’m only forty five.”
“Well, here’s a thing. If you’re not dead how can I do this?”
“You just punched me in the face!”
“Well, not really. My fist went straight through your head.”
“What?”
“Shall I mime it for you? You’re dead. A Spectre. Just a bit of astral material left over. You’re standing on your body; I helped dig your grave. You must have unfinished business though otherwise you’d be meeting your chosen god by now rather than standing here in the damp and dark with me. And I’d be on my way to my date with Kirsty.”
“I… I.. I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Yeah, neither can I. Friday night and I’m here with you rather than down the pub.”
“I thought you said you had a date?”
“I have.”
“Don’t just take her down the pub, that’s not a date.”
“Look, If I was here for relationship advice, I’d have brought a couch. Can you see my couch?”
“No, but…not the pub.”
“Sod off.”
“So, why are you here?”
“God! I thought I'd made that clear, but believe it or not, I’m here for you. I’m the Grave Keeper.”
“The Grave what’er?”
“You heard.”
“But I’ve never heard of a Grave Keeper? That wasn’t a career option when I met with the careers advisor at school.”
“You wouldn’t, it’s inherited.”
“Right… Really? You know this makes no sense don’t you?”
“Yup. I get that a lot.”
“What do you do as a Grave Keeper?”
“I sort out final wishes.”
“Wishes?”
“Yes, wishes.”
“So, you’re some sort of dodgy, one wish genie to the recently deceased?”
“That’s not how I would describe it, but yeah, something like that.”
“I guess I can’t wish to not be dead?”
“Nope.”
“Right.”
“So, how do we work out what my final wish should be so we can both be on our way?”
“Usually people just know.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t. I’ve no idea. I didn’t expect to die.”
“God. Really? That does surprise me.”
“You don’t like this job, do you?”
“I didn’t want it. Who wants this job? But Dad insisted. Said it was non-negotiable… That was a little odd sorting out my Dad’s final wish.”
“You had to sort out your own Dad’s final wish?”
“Yeah…”
“Wow… Ok…”
“Mmmm?”
“I think I know my final wish.”
“Really?”
“Yup. You may not like it.”
“Huh? There’s not much that bothers me.”
“I think you know what it is already.”
“…I can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
…
“OK.”
…
“It’s time for you to go my friend.”
“Can you find Kirsty? Tell her I couldn’t see her tonight?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
“You know what you have to do?”
“I think so; stand around graveyards waiting for Spectres and be their one-wish genie.”
“Again, not how I would have described it, but yes, that’s the basics.”
“Have you got what you want?”
“Yes. Yes, I think I have. Thank you.”
“No worries. Happy to help. Safe journey. Say ‘hi’ to god for me.”
“He’s going to be pissed, you know that don’t you?”
“Yeah, well. Perhaps he shouldn’t have given us humans free will, eh?”
“I’ll tell him. He’ll like that.”
“Hah” Bye.”
“See ya.” | |
[WP] If a soul has unfinished business when it dies, a specter remains at its final resting place until its business is complete. You are the most recent in a line of ‘Grave Keepers’ whose job is to send these souls to rest by completing their final wishes. | People think they know the world’s oldest profession, but they’re wrong. Even older is my line of work and while I also deal with stiffs, it’s strictly of the dead kind. What I am has been known by many names in many places, but these days my kind are called the Grave Keepers. Among our ranks are thieves, swindlers, murderers and much else besides. We seek no acclaim, demand no recompense, observe no pomp and ceremony to hide the dark nature of our work behind faux civility. Without us, the world would be a far more dangerous place. Without us, the remnants of the dead would be left to sow mayhem and destruction across the entire face of the Earth.
Who would take up this life? That’s a question not easily answered. In my own chapter are drifters and the driven, the bold and the timid, the mad and sane. Those that think they know why they became a keeper, do not. It is simply a calling, a gut instinct, an animal drive older than our species - older perhaps than any species.
We deal with the grievances of the departed, grievances that linger soul-deep like grit embedded in a ragged wound. The dead do not share our morality, they want what they want. Petty jealousies, rivalries or slights are all good enough reasons for some obstinate souls to stick around and If a soul fails to pass over because of these reasons…well, things can get messy to say the least. As they linger, their power to influence the world grows in magnitude, corrupting and swaying unguarded minds to madness and violence. While some people can resist these influences, their minds like fortresses trained to repel such assaults, most minds have barely a broken down picket fence to secure them.
That’s why we exist, to resolve this unfinished business no matter how base, pathetic or evil it is. And it is almost always one of those. It is the emotions of rage and envy that keep souls tied to this place, not compassion, concern or even love. On this occasion it was deep, abiding, seething resentment. A young man, dead before his time, killed in an ill-fated effort to win back the affection of a young woman poached from him by his more successful and charismatic father. At least that’s how he’d seen it, the truth and fairness of that assessment was unknown and irrelevant to me. The young man’s spectre now stalked the docks, already causing trouble among the workers there. Within a month or so, sabotage would be committed by once loyal employees and murder would almost certainly be on the cards among what were once friends.
It was as clear to me as my own name what the young man desired. It was part of my nature as a keeper. He wanted the old man dead, and I would satisfy that desire. In the week I’d allowed myself to plan, a risk in and of itself, I’d carefully observed the target. I drew together all that I could about him, an honest and decent man by all accounts. Not that it would work in his favour. He was fated to die, to be killed by an unknown assailant leaving no traces and for no discernable motive. The weapon chosen would be painful, the death protracted. Nothing less would satisfy the spectre now.
I carefully pulled on my gloves, and checked my watch. Now was the time. I emerged from my shadowy hiding place, the old man within sight. Blood would soon be spilled, but the vengeful spectre would be quelled.
We are, as I said, murderers, thieves, and swindlers. Dirty people for dirty work best kept out of sight. But work that keeps this world turning a little more peacefully than it otherwise might. | Timothy Sterling, as he had many times before, was running late for an important meeting. While in the past his tardiness had been the result of poor time management skills, his failure to be punctual could be forgiven in this instance. Timothy was never made aware of the meeting he was to attend. This meeting had been set from the very moment of his birth. It had been scheduled to be at exactly 13:07. He was to meet, for the first and final time, death. He was to shuffle off his mortal coil, greet the grim reaper, Have tea with Thanatos, a meeting with Mors, hang out with Hel. However you want to put it, this man was to die. It was an affront to the very universe that he still lived.
By the time he showed up at 13:08 the gravekeeper who awaited him was very annoyed. Where there once had stood a man there was now a spectre.
“You took your bloody time getting here, didn’t you?” the gravekeeper spoke.
“Getting where?” the spectre that was once Timothy Sterling asked.
“Here.” the gravekeeper said gesturing to the world around them, “The spirit world!”
“Spirit world?” Timothy asked mostly to himself, “so you mean I’m…”
“Bereft of life?,” the grave keeper interrupted, “at room temperature? Crossed over?, Lequidaded? Left the build? Dead? Well of course you are! Why else would you be here?” The gravekeeper muttered an insult under his breath that Timothy couldn't quite make out.
Timothy, taking a moment to recall his mortal life and what the spirit world may hold for him nervously asked “So, what’s next for me? Are you here to take me to heaven?”
“Indeed I am.” Answered the gravekeeper, a golden arch appeared in front of him, white light radiating from it so brightly it was almost blinding. The gates swung open and the gravekeeper spoke “Step forward unto paradise.”
Timothy tried to step into the arch way but was unable to move, he was tethered to the spot where he died. He began to panic and cried out for help.
The gravekeeper burst into a side splitting laughter “I swear that never gets old” he said, still laughing. “You very recently dead always this you can just waltz right into heaven, but nothings that easy.”
“That was a cruel trick!” exclaimed Timothy, “why are you here, just torment me? Is that the final punch line to life? You live, try to be a good person, and then in death you just get tormented by some smarmy spirit until the end of time.”
“Watch it.” warned the gravekeeper.
“Why should I?” Timothy asked incredulously.
“Because until I do my job, your spectre is tether to that very spot.” the gravekeeper spoke with a more serious tone.
“Well what exactly is your job then?” Timothy asked, trying to calm himself down.
“I,” The gravekeeper paused trying to think how to best describe his position, “I make sure everything is in place before a soul makes their final journey. It is my job to make sure that if you leave behind unfinished business is finished. So, what is it you failed to achieve in your life?”
The spirit of Timothy Sterling scratched his head, or he would have had he a head to scratch. “I’m not sure.” he answered, I’ve never wanted for anything,” he continued as an annoyed look dawned on the gravekeeper’s face, “other than world peace of course?”
“World Peace‽” The gravekeeper exclaimed, “First you show up late for your own death,”
“I was late?” timothy meekly questioned, more to himself than the gravekeeper, not forceful enough to dissuade the gravekeeper from ranting.
“And now you want me to bring peace to the entire bloody world?” the gravekeeper continued, “It’s not going to happen, it’s just not possible. Well beyond the realm of my powers at any rate, you’ll just have to think of something else or…”
“Think of something else?” Timothy interjected, this time more forcefully, “now hang on just a minute, you asked me what my unfinished business was, and I told you. It’s not my fault if you can’t do your job. You’re just going to have to find a way to make it happen.”
“You're making an awful lot of demands for someone who can’t move.” the gravekeeper said with a threatening tone.
“I don’t care.” replied Timothy
“Fine then,” answered the gravekeeper, “I’ll leave you here until you think of a more reasonable request to make of me.”
The gravekeeper turned his back to leave as neither baulked in their resolve.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” called out Timothy as the gatekeeper began to walk away.
“Oh?” the gravekeeper puzzled, “and why exactly is that, my spectreal friend?”
“Because it’s your job to finish my business, and I don’t think your bosses would be very happy with you walking away, would they?” Timothy questioned the gravekeeper, feeling as though he’d gotten the upper hand.
“You don’t understand!” the gravekeeper yelled back at him., “what you are asking simply cannot be done, I cannot just snap my fingers and give the world peace.”
“Then get someone who can, because that’s my unfinished business.” stated Timothy matter of factly.
“You want to take this upstairs?” the gravekeeper asked, fear flashing into his eyes as he pointed a finger to the sky.”
“Yes.” states timothy.
“You want me to get the boss involved in this? For you? A man who was late to his own death?” the gravekeeper responded.
“Yes.” Timothy once again stated.
“Very well, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” the gravekeeper said before snapping his fingers and vanishing in a cloud of purple smoke.
It was sometime before the gravekeeper returned. He brought with him a girl, who looked no older than 12. The gravekeeper, who had previously been so willing to speak, was now completely silent, and his eyes were fixated on his own feet.
The girl walked up to Timothy looking him up and down as she approached.
“So you are the one who’se thrown a monkey wrench into my machine?” the girl spoke, her voice more suited to that of a burly strongman than a young girl. Her voice echoed as if they were in a deep cavern.
Timothy was taken aback, he felt, maybe for the first time in his existence, true fear as he stared down this girl.
“I am.” he spoke with a quivering voice.
“So you think your pathetic little life is worth enough for me to bring world peace, just so you can enter your final resting place?”
“I…” Timothy began to speak before the girl’s voice boomed forth the command of “Silence!”.
With that utterance, the world fell silent.
The girl calmed down and began to explain “bringing peace to the world as it is now would go against my grand design.” the girl explained.
Timothy tried to speak but was unable to.
“Now, while it is true that I could simply snap my fingers,” the girl said she snapped her fingers, “and bring peace to the world…” she paused as Timothy felt his spectraly body free, as if a ten tonne weight had been removed from his shoulders.
The girl's face turned red as spoke the words “enter through the archway and never speak of this again.” | |
[WP] If a soul has unfinished business when it dies, a specter remains at its final resting place until its business is complete. You are the most recent in a line of ‘Grave Keepers’ whose job is to send these souls to rest by completing their final wishes. | People think they know the world’s oldest profession, but they’re wrong. Even older is my line of work and while I also deal with stiffs, it’s strictly of the dead kind. What I am has been known by many names in many places, but these days my kind are called the Grave Keepers. Among our ranks are thieves, swindlers, murderers and much else besides. We seek no acclaim, demand no recompense, observe no pomp and ceremony to hide the dark nature of our work behind faux civility. Without us, the world would be a far more dangerous place. Without us, the remnants of the dead would be left to sow mayhem and destruction across the entire face of the Earth.
Who would take up this life? That’s a question not easily answered. In my own chapter are drifters and the driven, the bold and the timid, the mad and sane. Those that think they know why they became a keeper, do not. It is simply a calling, a gut instinct, an animal drive older than our species - older perhaps than any species.
We deal with the grievances of the departed, grievances that linger soul-deep like grit embedded in a ragged wound. The dead do not share our morality, they want what they want. Petty jealousies, rivalries or slights are all good enough reasons for some obstinate souls to stick around and If a soul fails to pass over because of these reasons…well, things can get messy to say the least. As they linger, their power to influence the world grows in magnitude, corrupting and swaying unguarded minds to madness and violence. While some people can resist these influences, their minds like fortresses trained to repel such assaults, most minds have barely a broken down picket fence to secure them.
That’s why we exist, to resolve this unfinished business no matter how base, pathetic or evil it is. And it is almost always one of those. It is the emotions of rage and envy that keep souls tied to this place, not compassion, concern or even love. On this occasion it was deep, abiding, seething resentment. A young man, dead before his time, killed in an ill-fated effort to win back the affection of a young woman poached from him by his more successful and charismatic father. At least that’s how he’d seen it, the truth and fairness of that assessment was unknown and irrelevant to me. The young man’s spectre now stalked the docks, already causing trouble among the workers there. Within a month or so, sabotage would be committed by once loyal employees and murder would almost certainly be on the cards among what were once friends.
It was as clear to me as my own name what the young man desired. It was part of my nature as a keeper. He wanted the old man dead, and I would satisfy that desire. In the week I’d allowed myself to plan, a risk in and of itself, I’d carefully observed the target. I drew together all that I could about him, an honest and decent man by all accounts. Not that it would work in his favour. He was fated to die, to be killed by an unknown assailant leaving no traces and for no discernable motive. The weapon chosen would be painful, the death protracted. Nothing less would satisfy the spectre now.
I carefully pulled on my gloves, and checked my watch. Now was the time. I emerged from my shadowy hiding place, the old man within sight. Blood would soon be spilled, but the vengeful spectre would be quelled.
We are, as I said, murderers, thieves, and swindlers. Dirty people for dirty work best kept out of sight. But work that keeps this world turning a little more peacefully than it otherwise might. | Like so many women before her, Susan had met an untimely and violent death. As a grave keeper it was not within my abilities to help anyone before they died. There were many different forms of spirits and wrights which did such things. A Grave Keeper's job was to help those who passed before their time. It was our job to see that those souls were able to find peace.
Susan had died defending her daughter, her only child, her reason for living. You see, Susan's husband was...well, violent was putting it mildly. They'd gotten married at 18 because Susan had been pregnant. That pregnancy had culminated into a little baby girl: Lily. The moment Susan had held Lily in her arms she's known that there was nothing she wouldn't do for her. This tiny life that she's carried for 9 months was forevermore a part of her.
After Lily had been born things with Frank had gotten hard. In high school he'd been the quarterback of the football team, the most sought after boy in school. But when high school was over and they both had to face the real world Frank hadn't taken well to it. He was often extremely demanding, and Susan, wanting her family to be happy, went along with his demands. Until those demands included shutting Lily up by any means necessary.
The moment he shook her baby, the meek housewife disappeared and in her place was a mother bear prepared to defend her cub. Without thinking she grabbed the skillet off the stove and brought it down on his head with all her might. As he faltered she grabbed Lily from his arms and held her close.
She was screaming at the top of her lungs, practically bursting Susan's eardrums. But Susan didn't care. All she cared about was keeping this baby safe. Grabbing her purse and the keys to the new station wagon, Susan fled from Frank. Her and Lily stayed with Susan's parents that night.
Frank came crawling back to her, apologizing and saying it was the beer that made him do it. He swore to her that it would never happen again, and she believed him. She believed him again and again and again. After her apologized things would always get better again. He would call her cute nicknames like he used to, and bring her small gifts. But inevitably he would always start drinking again, and when he drank he got cruel. He was always careful to only leave bruises in places where no one else would see them. But she could feel them, a stark reminder of the cruelties life had thrust at her.
One night Frank was too drunk and too angry. Lily was always afraid of him when he was like that, and when she cried it would only make him angrier. Susan got between him and Lily as she always did, but Frank made sure this would be the last time. He beat her until she was unconscious, and didn't stop until her breathing did.
That was the moment I entered the playing field. See, Susan may not have been able to defend her child in life, but I would make damn sure she was able to in death. I stood silently next to her body, invisible to Frank and Lily. It always took a few minutes for the soul to realize that the body was no longer functioning. Eventually I saw Susan's spirit coming apart from her body. I reached down and grabbed her hand, helping her up.
"What happened?" She asked, looking confusedly around herself.
"Frank lost control of himself again." That was enough to jog her memory. Her eyes went wide, her pupils dilating until I could hardly see any of the blue of her eyes. She looked around her frantically until she spotted Lily. Her spirit was able to do things her body couldn't, and as soon as she thought about Lily she disappeared and reappeared beside her daughter. Susan smiled, "Lily." She went to pick up her child, but her hands passed through her. She grabbed frantically, trying to comfort her crying child. That was when she began to truly process what had happened.
Her face contorted into rage and she turned from Lily to Frank. "Don't you dare touch her!" Susan bellowed. The force of her rage shook the room, dust sprinkling down from the ceiling fan. Even as drunk as he was, it gave Frank pause. His expression went from anger to something akin to fear. Lily, however, seemed to know it was her mother's presence, and was soothed into sniffles.
I touched Susan's arm, "I know you're angry, but this isn't something you can do alone."
I watched as her anger melted away into grief. "My baby," she sobbed. I held her in my arms as her grief passed over her, until the last of her sobs died away.
"Susan, I can help you make sure that your daughter is safe from him. Forever."
She looked up at me with hopeful eyes. "I just need to know that she'll be safe. And then I can rest."
I nodded, "I know."
Frank passed out on the couch as he always did when he drank, not seeming to realize that he had just murdered his wife. Lily quietly cried beside her mother's body, trying to wake her up. Susan sat beside her, helpless to do anything but watch her child mourn.
"Take my hand," I said, extending my arm. She hesitantly took it, and then I pointed at Lily, "Now try to comfort her." As she reached tentatively towards her daughter I allowed my power to pass through her. When she tried to touch Lily's cheek instead of going through her, her hand ever so lightly brushed it. "I'm here, Lily," she whispered.
Note: I reached the character max, and had to split this into 2 parts. Part 2 is below. | |
[WP] There exists a planet known as "The Grinder." The entire planet is a landfill, with swarms of ships constantly dumping trash on its surface. Acid rain, toxic air, falling sheet metal, unstable structures... this is life on the grinder. Against all odds, you will survive and escape this heap. | Years ago they cast me out. They called it poetic justice, sending a garbage person to the garbage. They assumed that if the fall didn’t kill me the fumes would.
They never understood me. If they had they would have never sent me to a place with so much raw material.
When the cargo doors opened my fall plunged me deep into the rotting pile. Light dimmed around me as I burrowed deeper to escape the biting cold of this planet’s atmosphere. I paused to make a crude breathing apparatus.
\---
I looked around at my little sanctuary. Pillars of scrap metal, tied together with bits of cord and twine gave me the freedom to stand tall once more.
The top of my primitive hazmat suit brushed the bottom layer of the collage of plastic I had woven into a roof above my head. It was small but it was mine. A tiny pocket of freedom in a sea of filth.
A broken mini fridge held all of the scraps of non-perishable foods I’d collected. A line of containers held all of the obsolete and broken technology created by generations of wastefulness.
Two small lead barrels held more *interesting* materials.
I had enough food to survive for at least a year. Survival wouldn’t be enough. Hatred burned inside of me. This place would not be my end.
Laughter fogged my mask as I sat at my table, building the things I would need to escape.
\---
It was working. The bacteria I had meticulously groomed had evolved properly. They broke down and sanitized the waste around me into useful raw materials. Magnets separated the metal. Layers of filters sorted the rest.
My small sanctuary had become a cavern as I mined deeper into this god forsaken place. A small reactor provided me with the power I needed to craft the tools I would need to escape.
\---
This was it, this was the day. I had scouted and timed the drop cycles the various ships that visited this hellscape. I had picked a target, one of the smaller and lower flying ships, and set up an ambush. All that was left to do was wait.
\---
As the ship reached its lowest altitude I launched myself upward. It was full daylight and the refuse pile was on fire in many places so the fire bursting out below me was not far out of the ordinary. By the time the ship realized I was coming it was too late, I was within range.
I crashed into the underbelly of the ship and quickly cut a hole into the cargo bay. I crawled in and welded my entrance shut behind me. I shot a grappling hook into the exit right before they opened the floor up below me. I pulled myself through the air toward the door. I was here to stay.
\---
The ship was small, there was nowhere to hide. After rescinding their mayday call as a false alarm the crew-members died quietly and quickly. They would have died from radiation poisoning anyway, it was better this way.
\---
After some trial and error with the ship controls I was off. I flew toward what was once my home, several small warheads inside of the backpack beside me. They should have killed me properly. | As you pull the knife back, you feel like you heartbeat resumes. The man looks at you with the eye, with mixed emotions: his rage is fading aways, and he now looks dull, almost as in bliss. He lets out a sigh, and drops in the mud where a reddish tint starts mixing with the water. You grab his bag, and you run back to your hole.
On your way here, your mind runs wild. *I’ve done it! I’ve done it this time*! *I’m more like the Residents than I’ve ever been!* you keep telling yourself, unsure of how you really feel about it. You’re brought back to your sense when you hear the thud of metal ringing in your ears: a dumpster shuttle is dropping its cargo almost right on top of you, and you’re on your way to be squashed in the avalanche!
You slow down to assess the situation, and make a dash for your life. You manage to barely get out of the way just before a couple metric tons of space shuttle scraps land right where you stood a moment ago. Your senses are still heightened, so you allow yourself to take a deep breath, just this once. As you stand back up, you see the light from your hole, you made it further than you realized!
You open the hatch and jump down, landing in the middle of the entryway. You remove your mask, as it’s much different down here compared to the world above: plants. Lots of plants. They are from Julia: she used to smuggle exotic plant seeds, hence why she’s here. She had some plants with her when she arrived, and thanks to her you could get air for your own little hole, without relying on one of the already established communities. There are three of them.
The Enforcers: The smallest, but best equipped. They are the one in contact with the fleet up above, and they make sure order isn’t disturbed down here, in the Grinder. It’s a big place after all, and some people don’t want their disposables to be salvaged. They also host the engineer corp in charge of the grinders themselves. But they don’t help out the “Grinder Fodder” anyway, or only in exchange of something else.
The Ordained are the group of people who have decided to serve their sentence, and make the best of their time here. It’s the largest of the group, and they do fine for the most part. They do their best to keep themselves and their friends alive, and when their time comes, they meet with the Enforcers to evacuate and return to civilisation… There are rumors, however, that some people were denied exit, so not everyone is on board with the Ordained, especially not life-sentenced criminals, and the rare ones who are born on this planet.
This community doesn’t want retaliation from the Enforcers, for affiliating with those who’d dare try to rebel and leave, so those who did want to leave had to make a community of their own, in order to maximize their chance of survival, and eventually of escape. They are the Residents, and they are as legendary as things get in those parts. They are very selective: invitation only, so no one knows much what goes on. But every once in a while, when the Enforcers can’t see or do anything about it, we’ll see a discreet ship land in the middle of their large camp. Your - and everyone’s - guess is that this is their ticket off the planet.
And now, with this little satchel you snagged from this Resident scout, you just got you and your clique the last ticket you needed for you all to become Residents. You’re getting out. | |
[WP] There exists a planet known as "The Grinder." The entire planet is a landfill, with swarms of ships constantly dumping trash on its surface. Acid rain, toxic air, falling sheet metal, unstable structures... this is life on the grinder. Against all odds, you will survive and escape this heap. | The Grinder, the cesspit of the cosmos. A small planet cradled on the edge of the Vermillion star cluster, orbiting around a pale blue sun with no moon of its own and with very few planetoids close by. It was the heart of the Terran/Arganian Alliance, an entire planet uniquely devoted to stockpiling trash- it was one of a kind, for many reasons.
Partly, it was special due to the thriving community of Akro-slugs that the planet still boasted long after it's ecosystem's collapse; the Akro-slugs, similar to the Agranians themselves, produced a potent acid that turned all kinds of metals and plastics into a fertilizing goo.
Unlike the Agranians, however, these slugs didn't have the acid running through their veins; it was a simple sludge they released wherever they moved, making them the perfect tools for disposal. Oddly, however, the slugs died quick deaths outside of the planet's atmosphere, and so were not able to be utilized elsewhere.
The theory for their attachment to the planet was theorized to be related to the planet's core; burning hotter than some suns, the thing was fiercely radioactive, and released nuclear energy to such a degree that it shielded itself from all Arcana- even though extensive tests had revealed that radiation wasn't any kind of shield for Arcana, nor a deterrent, it was the closest guess people had to why Arcana had no effect inside the planet's atmosphere.
The Grinder was an anomaly floating in space, one that most people had lost interest in figuring out and instead choosing to take advantage of.The universe's black spot.And this is was James' home.
Among the mountains of trash was a community; one that the universe by large did not know of. It wasn't one made of criminals or wrong-doers, at least, not mostly. It was a community of descendants, of people who had the unfortunate bad luck of being trapped here. While some people did use the Grinder as a way to dispose of people without murdering them, by and the large the people of Grinder had been born there, descendants of others who had been trapped there, or Scavengers who had lost their way in its rotting maze.
​
James had lived there his whole life; as long as he could remember.And he'd wanted to escape for just as long.
Right now, though, his thoughts weren't focused on escape. He was far more interested in dragging Mark back home.
Hopping from foothold to foothold down a relatively stable hill of garbage, James was making his way to the Ring; a raised, circular platform of trash that was part business, part entertainment, and wholly dangerous. It was one of the few communal 'meeting points' on the planet, and as with any communal meeting point, one could easily find their death there.
That's why James was going there with nothing but the clothes on his back, and why'd he schooled his face to look confident and cocky. Reaching flat ground, or as close to flat as one got around here, he shifted a swagger into his step and held his head high. The sounds of cheering and yelling and screaming fill the air, the chorus of the planet. It took only another minute to reach the market that had cropped up around the platform, and James did his best to ignore the curious stares he got.
People had no morals on Grinder- the only reason the market existed was because of the healthy gang-lifestyle. Each gang protected it's stalls, and the stalls themselves stole only food and clothes, both produced locally. While these stalls were protected, customers were not, and anyone who looked like they had something valuable to take always found it took.
Fortunately, he had nothing on him but his rough, coarse clothing, and he walked past the stalls physically unmolested- mentally, however, he felt like washing himself. He hated the market, because no matter who he took with him, \*he\* was the one always stared at.
Making his way through the market, he hastily climbed the handful of stairs up to the Ring; the Ring itself was a small hill that had been cleared to have a flat top, and the stairs were just chunks of trash that had been taken out from the side and then had some bits of flat metal laid on. Still, they were stable and safe, as much as anything could be here.
The Ring itself wasn't anything to look at- just a flat clearing, people ringing it's outside, cheering and yelling for whoever they'd placed theirs bets on. The fight itself took place in a smaller circle inside the ring, marked out distinctly with a circle outlined by small piles of metal.
And inside \*that\* circle, stood Mark, James' best friend, beginning a fight against a seven-foot tall humanoid-insectoid. His name was Valgor, and he was a member of the 'Roach' gang, one that theirs was on fairly good terms with, suggesting this was either a personal bout - which he hoped it wasn't, because James didn't think they needed more enemies - or a friendly competition.
Sighing, James walks over to the circle's edge and watches the fight, resigning himself to waiting for this to be over. Fortunately, he wouldn't have to wait too long.
Valgor swipes at Mark with his hand, wisely trying to keep his distance, his large, beady eyes narrowed in a show of intimidation. His other three hands are stretched out to protect his body, the sharp natural blades stretching out his finger-tips extended to protect his groin and his stomach. Valgor was a fierce fighter; he was strong, quick, and the thin wings on his back allowed him to glide, though flight was impossible in this thick, hazy atmosphere. The bladed tips on his fingers made him able to cut without needing to hold a weapon, and his long arms gave him considerably reach. He'd won a lot of fights.
​
Mark sidesteps the swipe and grab Valgor's hand by the wrist before he's able to draw it back. Bracing himself, he pulls Valgor forward with all his strength and then leaps out of the way and to the side, maneuvering himself behind him. Before Valgor can turn around or dash away, Mark punches him once on the dark black skin of his back- and Valgor goes flying, landing just outside of the circle. He'd travelled almost fifteen feet in a second.
​
(Continued below) | The world around me was orange and grey. The orange of a faint, acrid mist blanketing the grey, ghastly terrain.
My onboard companion, Rickshaw, prints its distress in a corner of my vision. *<Boss? Our vessel is failing. Your vitals will begin to decay in minutes, and mine soon after.>*
I traverse the final descent down into an ancient quarry site. Every step was a dangerous exercise for an ex-trader past her youthful prime. The linings of my hazmat suit tears over and over from my clumsy motions, catching pieces of bulkhead, conduits, and whatever else that survived their own meteoric landing. The destiny of all denizens of the orbital junkyard that is *Ginta,* to be cremated by its sulfurous atmosphere and buried on the tomb world's surface.
*<How much longer? Our destination is in sight.>* I thought back at it, nestled safely within an implant in my sternum. Its outlines still hurt slightly from the recent surgery. I slow my pace enough for the suit to stitch itself back together and for the pain to subside again into the background. A whiff of sulfur catches my nose.
*<Five perhaps, if you keep insisting on damaging this vessel. It is effectively out of reagent, and out of commission.>*
As a ship AI, Rickshaw refuses to recognise the difference between a big vessel that keeps me safe from the vacuum space and a small one that keeps me safe from Ginta's atmosphere. To him, I suspect, operating the rudimentary systems in the hazmat is much the same as his former job aboard the *Merry Wif**e*, though greatly diminished in complexity.
Rickshaw's nav overlay flickers at the memory.
*<Boss, can you please refrain from thinking of our previous vessel?>*
*<Still miss that tugboat of a trade vessel?>*
<*Compared to this flimsy, unarmoured craft? Yes, I am bored. Also, we're being hailed. Your target is expecting us.>*
One of the junkheaps head of me shifts noisily to reveal a passageway marked by blue light. I hurry towards it, marvelling at the disguise. The mechanism is home amidst the crumbling of old wrecks and rumbles of new ones making landfall.
The entrance to Malvin's shelter is wildly decorated, boldly marked with a ramshackle sign that read *Ginta, t**erraforming capital of the Conglomerate.* I hurry inside without a second thought.
*Don't pause to smell the flowers*, I was told on the way down by a passing ex-colleague. In the half-sol that I spent traversing from my crash-site, it was quite an understatement.
Two airlocks later I finally ease off my helmet. The domesticated air tasted like home, reminding me of a childhood adrift in the ocean of stars. As I continue to strip, I close my eyes and imagine a sleek arrow-shaped starship lifting off with her cargo hold full of exotic goods, legal and extra-legal. Rickshaw flickers his disapproval.
I abandon the now derelict suit on the floor, and walk up to a screen depicting a blur of colour and shapes. The chamber hisses as the exchangers finish scrubbing the air of toxins.
*<Recognition code is Nine-aleph-diamond. Synchronise in three, two, one...>*
I enter the one-time code given to me on a physical pad while Rickshaw transmits what I see to a terminal inside. The intercom crackles to life.
"Welcome to the Grinder, my daughter," the voice of my host offers warm formality. "Tin promised me you have the coin to pay for my air as well as my wares, so for his sake I hope you do not disappoint."
"Yes, Father Mal. My credit chips should still be undamaged from the transit."
The final door unseals itself to reveal a middle-aged man in ill-matching formal attire. The technosage squints at me through the monoptic covering his right eye, and shows me inside.
"Oh? Your hazmat tells my bots otherwise." Malvin lifts his good eyebrow. I glance at the neatly organised room, noting a lack of visible weapons. The orderliness inside suggests discipline and resourcefulness.
<Their names are Raju and Vinita. Decent folk.>
I point to my chest in response. "Father, I keep them here in an implant."
"An odd way to keep your valuables, but understandable."
Malvin guides me around to a lounging corner. We sit down over a meal of discarded military rations, and negotiate the price of my long-term survival. A new suit adapted to the conditions. Geographical data of the local region. Forecast of expected landfalls. Most critically, a temporary protection agreement that might give locals pause before shooting. Assuming they have functioning AI companions to receive messages.
In the back of my mind, I sense Rickshaw probing Malvin's companions for information. I singal for an update while I haggle over the price of food canisters.
*<Boss. I don't like your original plan. These folks are innocent companions, down on their luck.>*
*<That didn't stop you before when we commandeered the* Merry Wife.*>* I count out a dozen canisters, and set it aside next to Rickshaw's powerpacks.
*<Jonathan was fully operational! It's his boss who was bankrupt.>*
I stay silent, concentrating on the real world. Malvin leaves the room to bring out a spare, mechanical suit. An armoured hulk in contrast with the military nanofiber I crash landed in. Courtesy of the now smouldering wreck that was once the *Merry Wife*.
*<Jonathan went down fighting, fair and square. Raju and Vinita are husks of their former selves.>*
The three of us inspect it together. Malvin points out a few locations where repair will likely be needed soon while I prepare the mock transaction that will jack Rickshaw into the shelter mainframe.
<*Like me now. Amputated. Disembodied. Without true form.>*
"Deal?" Malvin stretches out his elbow, an ageless tradition.
"Deal." I touch it with mine. In my head, I whisper to the hollow intelligence who is getting cold feet at becoming an actual *house,* after having housed me as a trade cog, a war frigate, and an ill-fitting hazmat suit.
<Work it out, Rick. That's the terms of our marriage - thick and thin, remember?*>*
With that, I lay one of Malvin's credit chips against my heart, hoping that Rick loves me enough to comply. | |
[WP] There exists a planet known as "The Grinder." The entire planet is a landfill, with swarms of ships constantly dumping trash on its surface. Acid rain, toxic air, falling sheet metal, unstable structures... this is life on the grinder. Against all odds, you will survive and escape this heap. | *Cronch...cronch...cronch...*
It was the cringe-inducing sound of the thousands of teeth grinding away the endless pile of trash-- collected over centuries on the landfill planet, dumped by the billions of space-faring civilizations.
"The Grinder" as its namesake, the planet was named after the huge gaping mouth of destruction in the middle of the planet surface-- endlessly crushing. A dumping ground, a trash planet-- orbiting outside any occupied star system, it was no place for a human or any other beings for that matter to inhabit-- not to mention the fact it was unlivable. Acid rain, toxic gas, mutated critters to name a few...a little glimpse of the horror one must face within the damned place.
How did I get there? Well, to make a long story short I was a stowaway inside a cargo ship...just my luck it was a garbage ship. So there I was, a lone survivor in the deadly planet. I survived as best as I could, fortunately I was creative enough. The often corrosive environment had ravaged my flesh body so I patched bits and pieces of me with scrap metal. Ships didn't usually go near the ground enough for me to board, but opportunity will come one day.
"Tell me why we're here again?", a female voice woke me up from my nap.
Human voice! It was a human voice! I couldn't believe it! Rushing from my pile of junk bed I seek for the source of the voice.
"Ugh look at that monstrosity", another voice said.
As the strangers came into view, I slowed down and hid in the midst of the junk-- my scrap body helped me blend in. To my worry, they were carrying weapons.
"Scavengers...", I muttered. There, three of them, looking down from the hill of junk to the grinder mouth below. The ever crunching noise disturbed them-- as clearly indicated by their faces.
"You know why we're here, Lora. The bag of money", a male voice said-- seemingly to be the leader of the group. "Blame Careb here for your trouble. He was the one misplacing the bag on a different ship", the leader said walking off.
"Hey I said I'm sorry, okay? All of the cargo checkouts looked the same in the terminal", the brutish stocky man defended himself.
"There were numbers on the checking counters, Careb. Gosh, remind me not to ever trust you with handling logistic stuff again", the woman with red braided hair rolled her eyes following the leader.
From the shadows I followed the strangers as they rummaged around the hill, looking for this supposed bag full of money.
"Do you think it might be already destroyed in there?", the woman called Lora wondered couldn't take her eyes off the monstrous visage of The Grinder.
"If it is....I'm going to be very pissed", the leader said through gritted teeth-- his evil eyes glanced at the man called Careb grasping the gun holstered in his belt.
"Hey Bram, what does it look like again?", asked Careb to Bram the leader.
"A green duffel bag with a red cross symbol", he informed.
As my eyes glued on the scavengers, following the movement-- in an almost comical coincidence I saw a green bag with a red cross resting on a pile of rusted metal a few meters down near the man named Bram-- obscured by a heap of junk from his side.
Sneakily I approached the bag. Making sure my presence was still undetected I unzipped the bag. My eyes went wide as a pile of interstellar monetary unit filled the bag to the brim. Gently I brushed the precious cargo-- growing up poor, never had I seen that much money.
"HEY!", Bram's voice jolted me from behind.
"What the...what the hell is that?", Lora asked disgusted at the sight of me.
Swiftly I climbed the pile higher to safety, dragging the heavy bag with my metallic arm behind me as the three strangers drew their guns and started shooting at me.
"Come back here!", the brawny Careb zipped passed his comrades in a flash. His speed easily caught up to my amble body. "Give me that!", he exclaimed grabbing the bag. Despite his strength he was no match for my enhanced metallic arm. As he struggled to pull I raised my other arm and swung it hard at his ugly face-- knocking him down the hill of junk.
"Stop!", Bram finally caught up emptying his gun onto me to no avail, as the bullets bounced off the scrap metal covering my body. Angered he leaped onto me, managing to grab the bag.
A tug of war ensued. Me, easily holding on with one arm and Bram pulling with all his might. As his other two associates joined him, assisting in pulling him I started to struggle.
"Let it go, you freak!", he hurled an insult at me. Something came over me hearing that one word. Upset I let go of the bag, I didn't really want it in the first place anyway.
The excessive force of their pulling jerked them back. Losing balance all three of them rolled down the hill of junk. To my horror they didn't stop until they reached the edge of the junk cliff, falling pass it they helplessly fell to The Grinder below-- along with the money they so passionately seek crushed to death in its thousands of teeth.
The crunching noise which usually never bothers me sent a shiver down my spine then-- looking down I could see a smear of red tainted the gears before quickly rolling away.
I was unsure on what to feel then. The first human contact I've had in so long ended in a tragic incident. Despite them trying to kill me I still felt bad. Well....not so much when I raised my head looking at what sat on the hill across the junk valley. A space ship parked neatly on top of a pile of unrecyclable plastic products.
A wide smile plastered on my face. Giddily I took off, making my way to the other side of the valley. Finally, finally I could escape the god-forsaken planet!
r/HangryWritey | Life here is terrible. Miracle was so close we could see it, but the only thing it did was remind us of the freedom we could never have. You see, about a century ago, earth had a massive population problem. When the space station discovered a new planet, it was a life saver.
Atleast they thought.
They named the new planet 'Miracle'. I know, creative right? True to its name, it was a miracle, and a symbol of hope for mankind. Of course, being something so perfect discovered with perfect timing, it has its downside.
For one, it's smaller than the moon, meaning it cannot house too much of the population. Long story short, only the rich of the rich could live there. Being a new planet, they had to have scientists make sure it was livable. And most of the scientists did just that. Earth was slowly being neglected until one day, we're nothing but landfill to the populace of Miracle. Earth was slowly turning into a dangerous planet. Acid downfall, toxic air, dangerous rain, you name it. Worst part of all was that only the minority were focusing to fix it. By this time, the government (or what's left of it) distributed breathing masks and call it a day.
It was chaotic. People tried to form a rebellion but how do you rebel if the people you're rebelling live on a different planet? All man for themselves. Casualties were everywhere, sickness became uncurable. Everybody was just counting their days until the oxygen supplies ran out. Still, people kept reproducing. For what exactly? I'm not sure. I vow to never bring any child to live in this horrid place. It doesn't mean I blame my mom though. In these 'trying times' people are still seeking for pleasure. A silver lining on a cloud.
After about a decade or so since the first ship to Miracle, people began dubbing Earth as "The Grinder". A grinder who would one day swallow everyone, crushing people to bits. My dad for one, was a victim to The Grinder. There hasn't been a day mom ceases to talk about it.
With its... terribleness, people have been known to live a ripe old age. I intend to be one of them though it would most likely be unpleasant. Especially since I don't intend on doing anything with my life. Wake up, go to school, go home, sleep, repeat.
Unfortunately, yes, we still have school.
The good thing about school is the fact that we don't have to wear masks. In the closed building, oxygen tanks were all over the place. The masks were undoubtedly annoying but it's customary to stay alive. Unless you want to die of course (there has been multiple cases of people refusing to wear masks. They constricted massive diseases though so I won't say they got off unscathed. The comfort was only momentary.)
Right, there's school tomorrow. I should probably sleep early. Goodnight everyone and don't forget to wear your mask. Who knows what would happen if you don't.
Tomorrow could be your last day. | |
[WP] There exists a planet known as "The Grinder." The entire planet is a landfill, with swarms of ships constantly dumping trash on its surface. Acid rain, toxic air, falling sheet metal, unstable structures... this is life on the grinder. Against all odds, you will survive and escape this heap. | {Part 1}
“Here comes a big one today folks, look at all that rubbish, dropping from the sky like mold coated snowflakes. Who knows what we will find today? Gold? Spare parts? A fresh pair of underwear? Only time will tell. Now let us begin the hunt.”
Mark leant in towards the unplugged microphone, making small cheering noises as he finished his daily announcements, listening to the sound of falling rubbish outside. How long would he be trapped here? Even his attempts at adding some levity towards his dire situation were killing his morale, struggling to even smirk as he pushed his chair away from the radio.
“This is getting sad. I think I might go a little insane if this keeps up. I knew I should have kept track of how long I’ve been here. They say once you lose count of the days, that is when the insanity creeps in. Bloody radio, if only you worked, I wouldn’t be on this dump.”
Mark cursed at the radio, flipping it the bird as he pushed his chair out from his desk. Glancing around at the small dingy shelter he called a home. The shelter tiny, only being a brick structure with a few bits of crappy sheet metal used as a roof. He often wondered how the thing even withstood the harsh weather outside, attributing his shelters survival to a cruel bit of luck offered to him by the universe.
“Let’s check the weather forecast, shall we?” Mark climbed onto his desk, reaching for the sheet metal ceiling, peeling it open slightly, only to get blasted back by a tremendous gust of wind, throwing him to his shelters hard floor. “Ugh, terrible as ever. Why the hell do I even bother checking? What am I expecting, a warm summer breeze? Its only ever toxic rain or dangerous winds. No wonder no one visits.”
Pulling himself from the floor, he took a moment to stretch out his back, trying to relieve the small throbbing pain that the fall gifted him. After a few stretches he made his way towards the door, his helmet waiting beside it. The light blue helmet having its sides scratched out, removing any signage or words from its design. Leaving it rather bare. Preparing to slip it over his head, he paused, peering into the helmet.
“What are you doing in their cocky? You should know better than to hide in my belongings.” Mark retrieved the small cockroach from his helmet, staring it over. “Aren’t you my little space bug? Wait, you aren’t cocky, where’s cocky?” Mark looked around for his pet, struggling to find them in the room. With a shrug, he tossed this cockroach into his mouth, enjoying a quick snack as he headed out to explore the garbage, helmet equipped and a crunchy snack in his mouth.
He spent a few moments struggling with the door, trying to pull open the thick piece of wood. Every time he pulled; the wind would push him back. This back and forth continuing until Mark finally pushed himself through the doorway, throwing himself onto the ground below, keeping low as he crawled towards the piles of trash.
“Stop beeping, I know the place is toxic, its why I have you on stupid helmet.”
The rapid, high-pitched beeping of his helmet always caused discomfort. The way it drilled into his ears as he crawled along the surface, penetrating the deepest depths of his ear canal, causing Mark to wonder which he would prefer. Breathing in the toxic fumes or enduring this hellish sound? Not that his helmet prevented all the fumes, his body exposed to the conditions. His once pristine space suit now covered in various holes, leaving his skins open to any attacks by the harsh climate.
The crawl towards the trash pile grew more difficult with time. The closer one got to the center of the trash hub, the more painful the crawl. Most of the larger objects dumped were easy to navigate around. It was the bits of glass and rusted metal that caused the main discomfort. These hazards causing cuts to appear over his body and suit, even having to stop a few times to pull a discarded needle from his arm.
By the forty-minute mark he had made it, gazing up at the trash pile, staring at its enormous size. “No use bothering with the old stuff. Where’s that big drop I heard earlier? Hopefully, someone dropped rations, I don’t want to have to eat Cocky.”
Mark used the enormous pile of rubbish to shield himself from the winds, returning to his feet once more, dusting off his body, getting rid of any loose bits of rubbish that clung to him during the crawl. He maneuvered through the pile, only finding a few pieces of wire and a remote-controlled Yoyo. Unable to find anything of substance, causing him to ascend the garbage pile, climbing to the more dangerous higher depths, searching for something of substance. | >**THE TESTAMENT & THE TRIBULATION**
[*Established Universe: Star Wars*]
"Please, stay with me!" I begged, hot tears forming at the corners of my eyes. "We're getting off this planet together!"
Eliza looked up at me, her eyes beginning to glaze over. She had lost too much blood. "Okay. I'll be with you. I'll be in spirit."
"I can't- I- can't do this without you." I sobbed, the last of my resolve crumbling.
"You can. You can." She replied with a faint smile, and I held her until her breathing became more and more shallow- then stopped.
I ran my hands through her curly, chestnut brown hair. She had been my only friend on this gods-forsaken planet. I was used to loss, but this- this was something else.
I stayed with her for a while longer, then eventually placed her body underneath the acid rain, allowing it to melt her body away. I kept only one memento- a lock of her hair, tightly bound.
I was no longer sure if I would leave this planet. Without Eliza at my side, even a *good* life somewhere out there just...didn't feel worth pursuing. Maybe I should just...stay, until this place inevitably took me. All it would take is one stroke of bad luck, after all.
Unsure what to do with myself, I walked for a few days- from the trash biome to the fire biome- or, in more accurate terms, the Depository, where the entire Galaxy would dump their trash, and the Furnace, where some of it would be reclaimed by the constant flow of magma being pumped up from the planet core.
I knew there wasn't much to find here- the metal was all but useless, even if I *could* save it from the fire. There wouldn't be much by the way of food- but I didn't even remember the last time I'd had actual food.
I could fling myself into the crater, I supposed.
I climbed to the cusp of the crater, and gazed down at the roiling magma below. I could feel the heat searing my eyebrows. I didn't care.
In a heat-induced haze, I barely recognized as a ship soared overhead, looking for a place to land. There would only be one spot for miles around- just at the base of the crater.
I was curious, in an absent-minded kind of way. I wasn't intrigued enough to actually *feel* any different, but at least it was something to do.
I walked back the way I had come, and, hidden behind some withered wreckage, I waited for the ship to arrive.
It took perhaps twenty minutes before the ship returned- perhaps it was looking for somewhere better to settle down- but there really wasn't anywhere better. There wasn't even anything *good*. Not here.
Once the ship landed, I watched as one person disembarked- they were wearing black, nondescript clothes- the kind of thing you'd wear if you didn't want someone looking at you twice.
Only- there was something that *did* make me look twice. There was something about the way they moved- or was it the energy they cloaked themselves in?
After spending my entire life so far fighting tooth and nail, just to eek out a petty excuse of a 'living', I had learned to recognize danger from afar. I could see when groups of people trapped here would be friendly or not without even looking at their faces. It was a gut feeling, instinctual. I could feel danger- and this person was a perfect picture of not just danger, but of mortal peril. They were leagues above and beyond 'dangerous'.
I felt my mouth go dry, and all of the hairs on my arms stand up straight- I would have to move slowly, agonizingly slowly, to get away safely, even though every instinct in my body screamed at me to run.
I stepped down from my perch and crept as silently as I could away, headed not for anything in particular- just 'away'.
With a sudden *CRE-AAA KK*, the entire wreckage I had been hiding behind began to lift.
"Miscreant! Do not run from me!" The newcomer bellowed. The wreckage now hovered above my head.
I knew that I needed to obey.
"How did you do that?" I asked, pointing at the threat above my head.
"*I* ask the questions, fool."
"Ask away." Though my instincts were turned to full-throttle, there was still a part of me that...neglected to care about my wellbeing.
"There is a *factory* here." His voice was a deadly hiss- reminded me of the sound mynoks made just before feasting.
"Yes. Three hour trek, if you're...walking normally." I suspected this person could do more than that.
"Which way?"
"The path is not straight. I can guide you."
He scowled at me- his skin was ashen and waxy. His eyes were pale yellow, and had a certain...dead look to them. "Do not be slow."
I took off at a run- I had made this journey a few times myself, and remembered it well. "Follow my footsteps exactly, there are often times pockets of explosive gas just underneath the crust." I called back, though he was just a hair behind me.
"Couldn't your ship have shown you where it is?" I asked as I hopped over a few sketchy cracks in the surface.
"The acid fog. Go faster."
I doubled my speed, even knowing that a single missed step would be my death- but, I was likely dead either way. I did not get the feeling I would be *rewarded* for my 'kindness' to the stranger.
After less than an hour, the factory was in sight- it was still a little distance away, but it was in sight.
"There." I gestured for the strangers benefit. "Your factory."
"Child." He said to me, and I turned to look at him. "You move well. You're faster than most humans have the ability to move."
"Is that so? I don't know that I've met any other humans."
"You also have no regard for your own life." It wasn't a question.
"What of it?" I asked, looking him in the eye.
"What do you know of the Force?" He asked.
"*The* Force? Can't say I know of any *one* force."
"Ignorant, but that is to be expected. Listen well, I will not repeat myself."
I listened.
"On a planet called Korriban, there is an academy. A place where people with *talent* are trained. If you go there, you will be at a significant disadvantage for academics, but your ability to sense danger and deal with it with kortosis in your nerves will...potentially make up for the difference."
"Will you take me there?" I asked.
"No. Find a way there, and ask after Darth Immotalus. I will have you enrolled. If you slack off, or can't keep up, you will die."
"To die here, or over there- is it not the same? Why should I go?"
"*If* you succeed, you will learn to wield a power that you cannot imagine. You will shatter every chain that has ever dared to touch your skin. Power will be your God, not this...luck that rules your life now."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. Something felt *right* about what he was telling me. Perhaps this was Eliza's spirit urging me on?
"I will find a way."
"Do not be slow." The man leapt an incredible distance forward and continued on the last leg of the journey towards the factory.
I didn't know ships very well- but I *did* notice that this Darth Immotalus did not close his ramp behind him. Was there, perhaps, a crawl space I could fit myself into aboard?
---------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes for the cool kids >:) | |
[WP] There exists a planet known as "The Grinder." The entire planet is a landfill, with swarms of ships constantly dumping trash on its surface. Acid rain, toxic air, falling sheet metal, unstable structures... this is life on the grinder. Against all odds, you will survive and escape this heap. | *Cronch...cronch...cronch...*
It was the cringe-inducing sound of the thousands of teeth grinding away the endless pile of trash-- collected over centuries on the landfill planet, dumped by the billions of space-faring civilizations.
"The Grinder" as its namesake, the planet was named after the huge gaping mouth of destruction in the middle of the planet surface-- endlessly crushing. A dumping ground, a trash planet-- orbiting outside any occupied star system, it was no place for a human or any other beings for that matter to inhabit-- not to mention the fact it was unlivable. Acid rain, toxic gas, mutated critters to name a few...a little glimpse of the horror one must face within the damned place.
How did I get there? Well, to make a long story short I was a stowaway inside a cargo ship...just my luck it was a garbage ship. So there I was, a lone survivor in the deadly planet. I survived as best as I could, fortunately I was creative enough. The often corrosive environment had ravaged my flesh body so I patched bits and pieces of me with scrap metal. Ships didn't usually go near the ground enough for me to board, but opportunity will come one day.
"Tell me why we're here again?", a female voice woke me up from my nap.
Human voice! It was a human voice! I couldn't believe it! Rushing from my pile of junk bed I seek for the source of the voice.
"Ugh look at that monstrosity", another voice said.
As the strangers came into view, I slowed down and hid in the midst of the junk-- my scrap body helped me blend in. To my worry, they were carrying weapons.
"Scavengers...", I muttered. There, three of them, looking down from the hill of junk to the grinder mouth below. The ever crunching noise disturbed them-- as clearly indicated by their faces.
"You know why we're here, Lora. The bag of money", a male voice said-- seemingly to be the leader of the group. "Blame Careb here for your trouble. He was the one misplacing the bag on a different ship", the leader said walking off.
"Hey I said I'm sorry, okay? All of the cargo checkouts looked the same in the terminal", the brutish stocky man defended himself.
"There were numbers on the checking counters, Careb. Gosh, remind me not to ever trust you with handling logistic stuff again", the woman with red braided hair rolled her eyes following the leader.
From the shadows I followed the strangers as they rummaged around the hill, looking for this supposed bag full of money.
"Do you think it might be already destroyed in there?", the woman called Lora wondered couldn't take her eyes off the monstrous visage of The Grinder.
"If it is....I'm going to be very pissed", the leader said through gritted teeth-- his evil eyes glanced at the man called Careb grasping the gun holstered in his belt.
"Hey Bram, what does it look like again?", asked Careb to Bram the leader.
"A green duffel bag with a red cross symbol", he informed.
As my eyes glued on the scavengers, following the movement-- in an almost comical coincidence I saw a green bag with a red cross resting on a pile of rusted metal a few meters down near the man named Bram-- obscured by a heap of junk from his side.
Sneakily I approached the bag. Making sure my presence was still undetected I unzipped the bag. My eyes went wide as a pile of interstellar monetary unit filled the bag to the brim. Gently I brushed the precious cargo-- growing up poor, never had I seen that much money.
"HEY!", Bram's voice jolted me from behind.
"What the...what the hell is that?", Lora asked disgusted at the sight of me.
Swiftly I climbed the pile higher to safety, dragging the heavy bag with my metallic arm behind me as the three strangers drew their guns and started shooting at me.
"Come back here!", the brawny Careb zipped passed his comrades in a flash. His speed easily caught up to my amble body. "Give me that!", he exclaimed grabbing the bag. Despite his strength he was no match for my enhanced metallic arm. As he struggled to pull I raised my other arm and swung it hard at his ugly face-- knocking him down the hill of junk.
"Stop!", Bram finally caught up emptying his gun onto me to no avail, as the bullets bounced off the scrap metal covering my body. Angered he leaped onto me, managing to grab the bag.
A tug of war ensued. Me, easily holding on with one arm and Bram pulling with all his might. As his other two associates joined him, assisting in pulling him I started to struggle.
"Let it go, you freak!", he hurled an insult at me. Something came over me hearing that one word. Upset I let go of the bag, I didn't really want it in the first place anyway.
The excessive force of their pulling jerked them back. Losing balance all three of them rolled down the hill of junk. To my horror they didn't stop until they reached the edge of the junk cliff, falling pass it they helplessly fell to The Grinder below-- along with the money they so passionately seek crushed to death in its thousands of teeth.
The crunching noise which usually never bothers me sent a shiver down my spine then-- looking down I could see a smear of red tainted the gears before quickly rolling away.
I was unsure on what to feel then. The first human contact I've had in so long ended in a tragic incident. Despite them trying to kill me I still felt bad. Well....not so much when I raised my head looking at what sat on the hill across the junk valley. A space ship parked neatly on top of a pile of unrecyclable plastic products.
A wide smile plastered on my face. Giddily I took off, making my way to the other side of the valley. Finally, finally I could escape the god-forsaken planet!
r/HangryWritey | >**THE TESTAMENT & THE TRIBULATION**
[*Established Universe: Star Wars*]
"Please, stay with me!" I begged, hot tears forming at the corners of my eyes. "We're getting off this planet together!"
Eliza looked up at me, her eyes beginning to glaze over. She had lost too much blood. "Okay. I'll be with you. I'll be in spirit."
"I can't- I- can't do this without you." I sobbed, the last of my resolve crumbling.
"You can. You can." She replied with a faint smile, and I held her until her breathing became more and more shallow- then stopped.
I ran my hands through her curly, chestnut brown hair. She had been my only friend on this gods-forsaken planet. I was used to loss, but this- this was something else.
I stayed with her for a while longer, then eventually placed her body underneath the acid rain, allowing it to melt her body away. I kept only one memento- a lock of her hair, tightly bound.
I was no longer sure if I would leave this planet. Without Eliza at my side, even a *good* life somewhere out there just...didn't feel worth pursuing. Maybe I should just...stay, until this place inevitably took me. All it would take is one stroke of bad luck, after all.
Unsure what to do with myself, I walked for a few days- from the trash biome to the fire biome- or, in more accurate terms, the Depository, where the entire Galaxy would dump their trash, and the Furnace, where some of it would be reclaimed by the constant flow of magma being pumped up from the planet core.
I knew there wasn't much to find here- the metal was all but useless, even if I *could* save it from the fire. There wouldn't be much by the way of food- but I didn't even remember the last time I'd had actual food.
I could fling myself into the crater, I supposed.
I climbed to the cusp of the crater, and gazed down at the roiling magma below. I could feel the heat searing my eyebrows. I didn't care.
In a heat-induced haze, I barely recognized as a ship soared overhead, looking for a place to land. There would only be one spot for miles around- just at the base of the crater.
I was curious, in an absent-minded kind of way. I wasn't intrigued enough to actually *feel* any different, but at least it was something to do.
I walked back the way I had come, and, hidden behind some withered wreckage, I waited for the ship to arrive.
It took perhaps twenty minutes before the ship returned- perhaps it was looking for somewhere better to settle down- but there really wasn't anywhere better. There wasn't even anything *good*. Not here.
Once the ship landed, I watched as one person disembarked- they were wearing black, nondescript clothes- the kind of thing you'd wear if you didn't want someone looking at you twice.
Only- there was something that *did* make me look twice. There was something about the way they moved- or was it the energy they cloaked themselves in?
After spending my entire life so far fighting tooth and nail, just to eek out a petty excuse of a 'living', I had learned to recognize danger from afar. I could see when groups of people trapped here would be friendly or not without even looking at their faces. It was a gut feeling, instinctual. I could feel danger- and this person was a perfect picture of not just danger, but of mortal peril. They were leagues above and beyond 'dangerous'.
I felt my mouth go dry, and all of the hairs on my arms stand up straight- I would have to move slowly, agonizingly slowly, to get away safely, even though every instinct in my body screamed at me to run.
I stepped down from my perch and crept as silently as I could away, headed not for anything in particular- just 'away'.
With a sudden *CRE-AAA KK*, the entire wreckage I had been hiding behind began to lift.
"Miscreant! Do not run from me!" The newcomer bellowed. The wreckage now hovered above my head.
I knew that I needed to obey.
"How did you do that?" I asked, pointing at the threat above my head.
"*I* ask the questions, fool."
"Ask away." Though my instincts were turned to full-throttle, there was still a part of me that...neglected to care about my wellbeing.
"There is a *factory* here." His voice was a deadly hiss- reminded me of the sound mynoks made just before feasting.
"Yes. Three hour trek, if you're...walking normally." I suspected this person could do more than that.
"Which way?"
"The path is not straight. I can guide you."
He scowled at me- his skin was ashen and waxy. His eyes were pale yellow, and had a certain...dead look to them. "Do not be slow."
I took off at a run- I had made this journey a few times myself, and remembered it well. "Follow my footsteps exactly, there are often times pockets of explosive gas just underneath the crust." I called back, though he was just a hair behind me.
"Couldn't your ship have shown you where it is?" I asked as I hopped over a few sketchy cracks in the surface.
"The acid fog. Go faster."
I doubled my speed, even knowing that a single missed step would be my death- but, I was likely dead either way. I did not get the feeling I would be *rewarded* for my 'kindness' to the stranger.
After less than an hour, the factory was in sight- it was still a little distance away, but it was in sight.
"There." I gestured for the strangers benefit. "Your factory."
"Child." He said to me, and I turned to look at him. "You move well. You're faster than most humans have the ability to move."
"Is that so? I don't know that I've met any other humans."
"You also have no regard for your own life." It wasn't a question.
"What of it?" I asked, looking him in the eye.
"What do you know of the Force?" He asked.
"*The* Force? Can't say I know of any *one* force."
"Ignorant, but that is to be expected. Listen well, I will not repeat myself."
I listened.
"On a planet called Korriban, there is an academy. A place where people with *talent* are trained. If you go there, you will be at a significant disadvantage for academics, but your ability to sense danger and deal with it with kortosis in your nerves will...potentially make up for the difference."
"Will you take me there?" I asked.
"No. Find a way there, and ask after Darth Immotalus. I will have you enrolled. If you slack off, or can't keep up, you will die."
"To die here, or over there- is it not the same? Why should I go?"
"*If* you succeed, you will learn to wield a power that you cannot imagine. You will shatter every chain that has ever dared to touch your skin. Power will be your God, not this...luck that rules your life now."
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. Something felt *right* about what he was telling me. Perhaps this was Eliza's spirit urging me on?
"I will find a way."
"Do not be slow." The man leapt an incredible distance forward and continued on the last leg of the journey towards the factory.
I didn't know ships very well- but I *did* notice that this Darth Immotalus did not close his ramp behind him. Was there, perhaps, a crawl space I could fit myself into aboard?
---------------------------------------------------
r/nystorm_writes for the cool kids >:) | |
[WP] There exists a planet known as "The Grinder." The entire planet is a landfill, with swarms of ships constantly dumping trash on its surface. Acid rain, toxic air, falling sheet metal, unstable structures... this is life on the grinder. Against all odds, you will survive and escape this heap. | *Cronch...cronch...cronch...*
It was the cringe-inducing sound of the thousands of teeth grinding away the endless pile of trash-- collected over centuries on the landfill planet, dumped by the billions of space-faring civilizations.
"The Grinder" as its namesake, the planet was named after the huge gaping mouth of destruction in the middle of the planet surface-- endlessly crushing. A dumping ground, a trash planet-- orbiting outside any occupied star system, it was no place for a human or any other beings for that matter to inhabit-- not to mention the fact it was unlivable. Acid rain, toxic gas, mutated critters to name a few...a little glimpse of the horror one must face within the damned place.
How did I get there? Well, to make a long story short I was a stowaway inside a cargo ship...just my luck it was a garbage ship. So there I was, a lone survivor in the deadly planet. I survived as best as I could, fortunately I was creative enough. The often corrosive environment had ravaged my flesh body so I patched bits and pieces of me with scrap metal. Ships didn't usually go near the ground enough for me to board, but opportunity will come one day.
"Tell me why we're here again?", a female voice woke me up from my nap.
Human voice! It was a human voice! I couldn't believe it! Rushing from my pile of junk bed I seek for the source of the voice.
"Ugh look at that monstrosity", another voice said.
As the strangers came into view, I slowed down and hid in the midst of the junk-- my scrap body helped me blend in. To my worry, they were carrying weapons.
"Scavengers...", I muttered. There, three of them, looking down from the hill of junk to the grinder mouth below. The ever crunching noise disturbed them-- as clearly indicated by their faces.
"You know why we're here, Lora. The bag of money", a male voice said-- seemingly to be the leader of the group. "Blame Careb here for your trouble. He was the one misplacing the bag on a different ship", the leader said walking off.
"Hey I said I'm sorry, okay? All of the cargo checkouts looked the same in the terminal", the brutish stocky man defended himself.
"There were numbers on the checking counters, Careb. Gosh, remind me not to ever trust you with handling logistic stuff again", the woman with red braided hair rolled her eyes following the leader.
From the shadows I followed the strangers as they rummaged around the hill, looking for this supposed bag full of money.
"Do you think it might be already destroyed in there?", the woman called Lora wondered couldn't take her eyes off the monstrous visage of The Grinder.
"If it is....I'm going to be very pissed", the leader said through gritted teeth-- his evil eyes glanced at the man called Careb grasping the gun holstered in his belt.
"Hey Bram, what does it look like again?", asked Careb to Bram the leader.
"A green duffel bag with a red cross symbol", he informed.
As my eyes glued on the scavengers, following the movement-- in an almost comical coincidence I saw a green bag with a red cross resting on a pile of rusted metal a few meters down near the man named Bram-- obscured by a heap of junk from his side.
Sneakily I approached the bag. Making sure my presence was still undetected I unzipped the bag. My eyes went wide as a pile of interstellar monetary unit filled the bag to the brim. Gently I brushed the precious cargo-- growing up poor, never had I seen that much money.
"HEY!", Bram's voice jolted me from behind.
"What the...what the hell is that?", Lora asked disgusted at the sight of me.
Swiftly I climbed the pile higher to safety, dragging the heavy bag with my metallic arm behind me as the three strangers drew their guns and started shooting at me.
"Come back here!", the brawny Careb zipped passed his comrades in a flash. His speed easily caught up to my amble body. "Give me that!", he exclaimed grabbing the bag. Despite his strength he was no match for my enhanced metallic arm. As he struggled to pull I raised my other arm and swung it hard at his ugly face-- knocking him down the hill of junk.
"Stop!", Bram finally caught up emptying his gun onto me to no avail, as the bullets bounced off the scrap metal covering my body. Angered he leaped onto me, managing to grab the bag.
A tug of war ensued. Me, easily holding on with one arm and Bram pulling with all his might. As his other two associates joined him, assisting in pulling him I started to struggle.
"Let it go, you freak!", he hurled an insult at me. Something came over me hearing that one word. Upset I let go of the bag, I didn't really want it in the first place anyway.
The excessive force of their pulling jerked them back. Losing balance all three of them rolled down the hill of junk. To my horror they didn't stop until they reached the edge of the junk cliff, falling pass it they helplessly fell to The Grinder below-- along with the money they so passionately seek crushed to death in its thousands of teeth.
The crunching noise which usually never bothers me sent a shiver down my spine then-- looking down I could see a smear of red tainted the gears before quickly rolling away.
I was unsure on what to feel then. The first human contact I've had in so long ended in a tragic incident. Despite them trying to kill me I still felt bad. Well....not so much when I raised my head looking at what sat on the hill across the junk valley. A space ship parked neatly on top of a pile of unrecyclable plastic products.
A wide smile plastered on my face. Giddily I took off, making my way to the other side of the valley. Finally, finally I could escape the god-forsaken planet!
r/HangryWritey | {Part 1}
“Here comes a big one today folks, look at all that rubbish, dropping from the sky like mold coated snowflakes. Who knows what we will find today? Gold? Spare parts? A fresh pair of underwear? Only time will tell. Now let us begin the hunt.”
Mark leant in towards the unplugged microphone, making small cheering noises as he finished his daily announcements, listening to the sound of falling rubbish outside. How long would he be trapped here? Even his attempts at adding some levity towards his dire situation were killing his morale, struggling to even smirk as he pushed his chair away from the radio.
“This is getting sad. I think I might go a little insane if this keeps up. I knew I should have kept track of how long I’ve been here. They say once you lose count of the days, that is when the insanity creeps in. Bloody radio, if only you worked, I wouldn’t be on this dump.”
Mark cursed at the radio, flipping it the bird as he pushed his chair out from his desk. Glancing around at the small dingy shelter he called a home. The shelter tiny, only being a brick structure with a few bits of crappy sheet metal used as a roof. He often wondered how the thing even withstood the harsh weather outside, attributing his shelters survival to a cruel bit of luck offered to him by the universe.
“Let’s check the weather forecast, shall we?” Mark climbed onto his desk, reaching for the sheet metal ceiling, peeling it open slightly, only to get blasted back by a tremendous gust of wind, throwing him to his shelters hard floor. “Ugh, terrible as ever. Why the hell do I even bother checking? What am I expecting, a warm summer breeze? Its only ever toxic rain or dangerous winds. No wonder no one visits.”
Pulling himself from the floor, he took a moment to stretch out his back, trying to relieve the small throbbing pain that the fall gifted him. After a few stretches he made his way towards the door, his helmet waiting beside it. The light blue helmet having its sides scratched out, removing any signage or words from its design. Leaving it rather bare. Preparing to slip it over his head, he paused, peering into the helmet.
“What are you doing in their cocky? You should know better than to hide in my belongings.” Mark retrieved the small cockroach from his helmet, staring it over. “Aren’t you my little space bug? Wait, you aren’t cocky, where’s cocky?” Mark looked around for his pet, struggling to find them in the room. With a shrug, he tossed this cockroach into his mouth, enjoying a quick snack as he headed out to explore the garbage, helmet equipped and a crunchy snack in his mouth.
He spent a few moments struggling with the door, trying to pull open the thick piece of wood. Every time he pulled; the wind would push him back. This back and forth continuing until Mark finally pushed himself through the doorway, throwing himself onto the ground below, keeping low as he crawled towards the piles of trash.
“Stop beeping, I know the place is toxic, its why I have you on stupid helmet.”
The rapid, high-pitched beeping of his helmet always caused discomfort. The way it drilled into his ears as he crawled along the surface, penetrating the deepest depths of his ear canal, causing Mark to wonder which he would prefer. Breathing in the toxic fumes or enduring this hellish sound? Not that his helmet prevented all the fumes, his body exposed to the conditions. His once pristine space suit now covered in various holes, leaving his skins open to any attacks by the harsh climate.
The crawl towards the trash pile grew more difficult with time. The closer one got to the center of the trash hub, the more painful the crawl. Most of the larger objects dumped were easy to navigate around. It was the bits of glass and rusted metal that caused the main discomfort. These hazards causing cuts to appear over his body and suit, even having to stop a few times to pull a discarded needle from his arm.
By the forty-minute mark he had made it, gazing up at the trash pile, staring at its enormous size. “No use bothering with the old stuff. Where’s that big drop I heard earlier? Hopefully, someone dropped rations, I don’t want to have to eat Cocky.”
Mark used the enormous pile of rubbish to shield himself from the winds, returning to his feet once more, dusting off his body, getting rid of any loose bits of rubbish that clung to him during the crawl. He maneuvered through the pile, only finding a few pieces of wire and a remote-controlled Yoyo. Unable to find anything of substance, causing him to ascend the garbage pile, climbing to the more dangerous higher depths, searching for something of substance. | |
Go nuts | [WP] “no problem can’t be solved with the liberal application of explosives “ | It was a dark peaceful night.
The kind that would only appear once in a fortnight.
I would've hoped that the peace would've lasted longer though...
"Hmm"
I stared at the strange message that had been present on my phone.
"'Congratulations you have won a special prize an unlimited supply of explosives for an entire month. The type that goes kaboom. It will be delivered to your residence as early as tomorrow morning. Congratulations and enjoy'"
The hell did I just read.
These scams are getting even more incredibly unrealistic. Explosives really? Not even money or an Iphone or that House by the ocean that I always wanted to buy but never could.
Seriously they might as well have sent "Teehee give us your money".
I checked the message once more.
"Yeah I guess I'll just go to sleep"
I turned off the lights as I drifted off to sleep.
&#x200B;
\*Knock\* \*Knock\*
\*Knock\* \*Knock\*
"Yeah Yeah I'm coming \*yawn\*" I shouted from my bed as I stood up.
After a few seconds I opened the door.
"Huh nobody's here- ouch" I clutched my foot as I looked down.
There were about 6 metal boxes present.
I observed them and found my name Carl and my address.
This was definitely a package for me.
Was it the thing from yester-
No way right?
'Probably mom or dad must have sent me something'
With that reasoning in mind I took all the six boxes inside and shut the door.
I walked over to a random one and opened it.
Dynamites
No
Am I still dreaming? Why was I delivered actual dynamites?
I checked each box and they all revealed the same story.
Can't believe that message was re-
\*Ring\* \*Ring\*
"Oh a call"
I checked the number.
Wait this seemed to be the number that sent me that message. I wasn't sure though.
"Hello" I said answering it.
"Hello sir, have you received your supply of explosives"
"Yes I hav- Wait a minute why have I received these I don't remember entering any shady competitions"
"Well most people don't. You see there is this shop called Reaper's edge-"
"Oh yeah I've been there" I interrupted.
"Ahem Yes when you purchased something from there you were automatically entered into the competition"
"So that's it huh. Though what do I do with all these explosives.."
"Well let me make it clear you cannot sell them, also you cannot make anyone else aware from where you obtained them and if you run out of explosives come back to Reaper's edge"
With those words he cut the line.
So now I had a considerable amount of explosives that I had to essentially make use of.
Well maybe they would come in handy. | "Stor, anyone yet?"
"Nothing yet, Alexson."
A pause.
"Wait"
Alexson held his breath. Being spotted could mean doom.
"It's the priest. He's going to his car. He's giving some old lady a ride home."
Alexson exhaled. Their time was soon.
The duo watched the car's yellow headlights start up, then move down the long church driveway.
Stor jumped onto the wall, then slid elegantly off of it.
Alexson handed him his backpack, slowly and carefully. It wouldn't do to have the contents spill everywhere. Alexson then clambered over the wall, and the pair continued towards the church.
The first problem they encountered was a padlocked door.
Explosives could have solved this problem sufficiently, but then they would have no explosives and a mob after them.
A bolt cutter would do sufficiently.
When that problem was dealt with, they continued into the church.
"Alright Stor, gather everything flammable you can find and bring it up the front."
Stor paused. "What is it?" hissed Alexson.
"It's a silent night."
"And?" whispered Alexson, beginning to get frustrated.
"The priest's car. It went silent a few seconds after it went out of sight."
"What, you think he's watching us?"
"I think we should be careful."
"Just get the damn pews up here."
Alexson got to work, as did Stor.
The noise the pews were making as they were dragged across the floor was making him regret snapping at Stor. Eventually, however, their arduous work was done.
They pulled the contents out of the backpack.
A jerry can, a lighter, but most importantly, the holy grail, dynamite.
Stor and Alexson wordlessly began pouring petrol over the amassed pews. Alexson threw a stick of dynamite onto the pile, as well as the backpack, and spoke to Stor. "Start running"
He flicked the lighter, and it ignited.
His fingers trembling, he threw the lighter on the pile. He didn't bother to see if it had ignited. He felt the sudden roar of heat on his back as he turned tail and ran.
He rushed out through the door, not stopping until he was fully clear of the building. Stor walked over to him from his place in the corner. They felt the rattle and heard the roar of dynamite going off.
Alexson started laughing. He saw the altar begin to burn, the stone columns around it shatter from the explosion.
Stor started laughing too, then whooping, as the two of them made their way down the driveway. Alexson
didn't even notice his foot snag.
The priest sat in his car, just a few hundred metres down the road.
"Father Sammakko, you make take that off", he said to his disguised companion.
Sammakko, dressed as an elderly woman, shook his head.
"I didn't bring a change, Father."
All of a sudden, the sound of an explosion shook them.
"Stay here Sammakko, this is my signal."
The priest walked towards the entrance to the church driveway.
As he looked inside, he saw to his horror that the explosion had not been his signal.
He watched two boys, maybe mid to late teens, walk down the driveway, laughing and cheering. He looked at their shoes intently.
Sure enough, it snagged ever so slightly, not even enough for it to be noticeable.
And the orange fireball erupted, consuming both of them, roaring into the night sky.
The priest smiled.
Norwegian reign of terror?
Nothing a few well-placed explosives couldn't solve.
If you liked what you read here, be sure to head over to /r/wheelofcheese , where I write exclusive stories.
I'm only starting out, so there aren't many there, but if I had more support, I could begin a regular schedule.
As always, thanks for reading! |
Go nuts | [WP] “no problem can’t be solved with the liberal application of explosives “ | "As the size of an explosion increases, the number of social situations it is incapable of solving approaches zero." -Vaarsuvius, Order of the Stick
See, the problem, basically, boiled down to this:
This party *sucked*.
All of the chicks- and I mean *all* of them- still had their clothes on. Hell, some seemed to have more clothes on than when they got here!
The music was boring. It wasn't even current boring music, or boring music that was old enough to be interesting ironically. It was music that might have passed as current a few years ago, but it wasn't built to withstand the ravages of a few years. Or, hell, even a few *months*.
The food was okay, but it was mostly gone, now, along with the beer.
This party, in short, sucked.
Well, I had a solution up my sleeve. Literally up my sleeve. The Astrophysics Speculation Department had just left a Supernova Simulator lying around in a locked safe in a locked room, and I'd pocketed it, because who wouldn't?
The thing was just meant for an illusion of a supernova, but do you know what the difference is between an illusion of a thing and the thing itself?
Well, okay, I don't actually know, myself. Leave that boring stuff to the nerds. What I *do* know is that it's not all that hard to convince a magical doodad to try and do the real thing it's meant to make an illusion of.
This thing obviously didn't have enough oomph to make a supernova, but it should be able to make a nicely sized explosion. I did some tinkering, and waited for my moment.
Then the music died, and the host got up to speak.
"Thank you all for attending my birthday party! I've had a wonderful time tonight, and I hope that all of you..."
Oh, this asshole is trying to end it early! It's barely even midnight! Fuck that. I seized my moment.
And a moment later, the roof was airborne. About half of it was mostly together, and threatening a bad time to anyone standing wherever it happened to come down. The other half was feeling more independent, and had elected to explore the world individually, as individual boards, or individual splinters, or even individual molecules.
There was screaming, panic, and fire. *Now* it was a party.
I made my way over to the sound system (any good explosion will leave the sound system intact, and mine had been no different), and put on some *real* music. I summoned some beer- summoned beer is godawful, worse than drinking a real beer that's been pissed out, but it would serve- and dumped it all over a chick running by.
"Wet T-shirt contest!", I yelled.
The chick was digging it. She was screaming in delight, and running around to show everybody how see-through her shirt was, now.
In the end, my party didn't last too long. A truly great party knows when it's time to head home, and mine was so great that everyone figured that it had already hit its peak. People wandered on home, putting out their clothing, crying quiet tears of joy at the masterpiece I had made.
All in all, a pretty kickass Tuesday night, all thanks to yours truly. | "Stor, anyone yet?"
"Nothing yet, Alexson."
A pause.
"Wait"
Alexson held his breath. Being spotted could mean doom.
"It's the priest. He's going to his car. He's giving some old lady a ride home."
Alexson exhaled. Their time was soon.
The duo watched the car's yellow headlights start up, then move down the long church driveway.
Stor jumped onto the wall, then slid elegantly off of it.
Alexson handed him his backpack, slowly and carefully. It wouldn't do to have the contents spill everywhere. Alexson then clambered over the wall, and the pair continued towards the church.
The first problem they encountered was a padlocked door.
Explosives could have solved this problem sufficiently, but then they would have no explosives and a mob after them.
A bolt cutter would do sufficiently.
When that problem was dealt with, they continued into the church.
"Alright Stor, gather everything flammable you can find and bring it up the front."
Stor paused. "What is it?" hissed Alexson.
"It's a silent night."
"And?" whispered Alexson, beginning to get frustrated.
"The priest's car. It went silent a few seconds after it went out of sight."
"What, you think he's watching us?"
"I think we should be careful."
"Just get the damn pews up here."
Alexson got to work, as did Stor.
The noise the pews were making as they were dragged across the floor was making him regret snapping at Stor. Eventually, however, their arduous work was done.
They pulled the contents out of the backpack.
A jerry can, a lighter, but most importantly, the holy grail, dynamite.
Stor and Alexson wordlessly began pouring petrol over the amassed pews. Alexson threw a stick of dynamite onto the pile, as well as the backpack, and spoke to Stor. "Start running"
He flicked the lighter, and it ignited.
His fingers trembling, he threw the lighter on the pile. He didn't bother to see if it had ignited. He felt the sudden roar of heat on his back as he turned tail and ran.
He rushed out through the door, not stopping until he was fully clear of the building. Stor walked over to him from his place in the corner. They felt the rattle and heard the roar of dynamite going off.
Alexson started laughing. He saw the altar begin to burn, the stone columns around it shatter from the explosion.
Stor started laughing too, then whooping, as the two of them made their way down the driveway. Alexson
didn't even notice his foot snag.
The priest sat in his car, just a few hundred metres down the road.
"Father Sammakko, you make take that off", he said to his disguised companion.
Sammakko, dressed as an elderly woman, shook his head.
"I didn't bring a change, Father."
All of a sudden, the sound of an explosion shook them.
"Stay here Sammakko, this is my signal."
The priest walked towards the entrance to the church driveway.
As he looked inside, he saw to his horror that the explosion had not been his signal.
He watched two boys, maybe mid to late teens, walk down the driveway, laughing and cheering. He looked at their shoes intently.
Sure enough, it snagged ever so slightly, not even enough for it to be noticeable.
And the orange fireball erupted, consuming both of them, roaring into the night sky.
The priest smiled.
Norwegian reign of terror?
Nothing a few well-placed explosives couldn't solve.
If you liked what you read here, be sure to head over to /r/wheelofcheese , where I write exclusive stories.
I'm only starting out, so there aren't many there, but if I had more support, I could begin a regular schedule.
As always, thanks for reading! |
Go nuts | [WP] “no problem can’t be solved with the liberal application of explosives “ | “Mister Darren, I’m sure the viewers at home all want to know,” The reporter said, “How you got to retire a multi-millionaire at the age of twenty-four without a job or inheritance?”
*Ah I wish I’d set up some explosives beforehand to get me out of this*, Leo Darren thought wistfully, *I mean, how am I supposed to answer that question?*
“If I told you all then it would ruin the secret,” Leo said, “Then it wouldn’t be useful to anyone anymore.” *Also, I’m the only one who understands the delicate intricacies of explosions.*
The reporter adjusted his glasses, “Well…”
The reporter’s female partner cut in smoothly, “Well, the next thing the viewers wanted to know is if you were still single since you’re the most eligible bachelor in town with your money and fame.”
*Ah, thanks, reporter women. This one’s easy*.
“Yeah that’s right,” Leo said, “I’m single.”
“Nobody special at all?” The woman asked, a little doubtfully.
“Nope,” Leo replied.
___
Leo walked home that evening in the cold, still night, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and his breath steaming out in front of him.
*Still, single… she’s right, I am kinda lonely I guess.*
Could any woman see the beauty in the fire, the life, and the color of explosions like he did?
He stopped walking and looked up at the clear night sky. His heart beat faster as he gazed up at the heavens and thought of all the beautiful explosions he could fill it with.
*Using explosions to find love… I could very well do that.* | "Stor, anyone yet?"
"Nothing yet, Alexson."
A pause.
"Wait"
Alexson held his breath. Being spotted could mean doom.
"It's the priest. He's going to his car. He's giving some old lady a ride home."
Alexson exhaled. Their time was soon.
The duo watched the car's yellow headlights start up, then move down the long church driveway.
Stor jumped onto the wall, then slid elegantly off of it.
Alexson handed him his backpack, slowly and carefully. It wouldn't do to have the contents spill everywhere. Alexson then clambered over the wall, and the pair continued towards the church.
The first problem they encountered was a padlocked door.
Explosives could have solved this problem sufficiently, but then they would have no explosives and a mob after them.
A bolt cutter would do sufficiently.
When that problem was dealt with, they continued into the church.
"Alright Stor, gather everything flammable you can find and bring it up the front."
Stor paused. "What is it?" hissed Alexson.
"It's a silent night."
"And?" whispered Alexson, beginning to get frustrated.
"The priest's car. It went silent a few seconds after it went out of sight."
"What, you think he's watching us?"
"I think we should be careful."
"Just get the damn pews up here."
Alexson got to work, as did Stor.
The noise the pews were making as they were dragged across the floor was making him regret snapping at Stor. Eventually, however, their arduous work was done.
They pulled the contents out of the backpack.
A jerry can, a lighter, but most importantly, the holy grail, dynamite.
Stor and Alexson wordlessly began pouring petrol over the amassed pews. Alexson threw a stick of dynamite onto the pile, as well as the backpack, and spoke to Stor. "Start running"
He flicked the lighter, and it ignited.
His fingers trembling, he threw the lighter on the pile. He didn't bother to see if it had ignited. He felt the sudden roar of heat on his back as he turned tail and ran.
He rushed out through the door, not stopping until he was fully clear of the building. Stor walked over to him from his place in the corner. They felt the rattle and heard the roar of dynamite going off.
Alexson started laughing. He saw the altar begin to burn, the stone columns around it shatter from the explosion.
Stor started laughing too, then whooping, as the two of them made their way down the driveway. Alexson
didn't even notice his foot snag.
The priest sat in his car, just a few hundred metres down the road.
"Father Sammakko, you make take that off", he said to his disguised companion.
Sammakko, dressed as an elderly woman, shook his head.
"I didn't bring a change, Father."
All of a sudden, the sound of an explosion shook them.
"Stay here Sammakko, this is my signal."
The priest walked towards the entrance to the church driveway.
As he looked inside, he saw to his horror that the explosion had not been his signal.
He watched two boys, maybe mid to late teens, walk down the driveway, laughing and cheering. He looked at their shoes intently.
Sure enough, it snagged ever so slightly, not even enough for it to be noticeable.
And the orange fireball erupted, consuming both of them, roaring into the night sky.
The priest smiled.
Norwegian reign of terror?
Nothing a few well-placed explosives couldn't solve.
If you liked what you read here, be sure to head over to /r/wheelofcheese , where I write exclusive stories.
I'm only starting out, so there aren't many there, but if I had more support, I could begin a regular schedule.
As always, thanks for reading! |
Go nuts | [WP] “no problem can’t be solved with the liberal application of explosives “ | "As the size of an explosion increases, the number of social situations it is incapable of solving approaches zero." -Vaarsuvius, Order of the Stick
See, the problem, basically, boiled down to this:
This party *sucked*.
All of the chicks- and I mean *all* of them- still had their clothes on. Hell, some seemed to have more clothes on than when they got here!
The music was boring. It wasn't even current boring music, or boring music that was old enough to be interesting ironically. It was music that might have passed as current a few years ago, but it wasn't built to withstand the ravages of a few years. Or, hell, even a few *months*.
The food was okay, but it was mostly gone, now, along with the beer.
This party, in short, sucked.
Well, I had a solution up my sleeve. Literally up my sleeve. The Astrophysics Speculation Department had just left a Supernova Simulator lying around in a locked safe in a locked room, and I'd pocketed it, because who wouldn't?
The thing was just meant for an illusion of a supernova, but do you know what the difference is between an illusion of a thing and the thing itself?
Well, okay, I don't actually know, myself. Leave that boring stuff to the nerds. What I *do* know is that it's not all that hard to convince a magical doodad to try and do the real thing it's meant to make an illusion of.
This thing obviously didn't have enough oomph to make a supernova, but it should be able to make a nicely sized explosion. I did some tinkering, and waited for my moment.
Then the music died, and the host got up to speak.
"Thank you all for attending my birthday party! I've had a wonderful time tonight, and I hope that all of you..."
Oh, this asshole is trying to end it early! It's barely even midnight! Fuck that. I seized my moment.
And a moment later, the roof was airborne. About half of it was mostly together, and threatening a bad time to anyone standing wherever it happened to come down. The other half was feeling more independent, and had elected to explore the world individually, as individual boards, or individual splinters, or even individual molecules.
There was screaming, panic, and fire. *Now* it was a party.
I made my way over to the sound system (any good explosion will leave the sound system intact, and mine had been no different), and put on some *real* music. I summoned some beer- summoned beer is godawful, worse than drinking a real beer that's been pissed out, but it would serve- and dumped it all over a chick running by.
"Wet T-shirt contest!", I yelled.
The chick was digging it. She was screaming in delight, and running around to show everybody how see-through her shirt was, now.
In the end, my party didn't last too long. A truly great party knows when it's time to head home, and mine was so great that everyone figured that it had already hit its peak. People wandered on home, putting out their clothing, crying quiet tears of joy at the masterpiece I had made.
All in all, a pretty kickass Tuesday night, all thanks to yours truly. | It was a dark peaceful night.
The kind that would only appear once in a fortnight.
I would've hoped that the peace would've lasted longer though...
"Hmm"
I stared at the strange message that had been present on my phone.
"'Congratulations you have won a special prize an unlimited supply of explosives for an entire month. The type that goes kaboom. It will be delivered to your residence as early as tomorrow morning. Congratulations and enjoy'"
The hell did I just read.
These scams are getting even more incredibly unrealistic. Explosives really? Not even money or an Iphone or that House by the ocean that I always wanted to buy but never could.
Seriously they might as well have sent "Teehee give us your money".
I checked the message once more.
"Yeah I guess I'll just go to sleep"
I turned off the lights as I drifted off to sleep.
&#x200B;
\*Knock\* \*Knock\*
\*Knock\* \*Knock\*
"Yeah Yeah I'm coming \*yawn\*" I shouted from my bed as I stood up.
After a few seconds I opened the door.
"Huh nobody's here- ouch" I clutched my foot as I looked down.
There were about 6 metal boxes present.
I observed them and found my name Carl and my address.
This was definitely a package for me.
Was it the thing from yester-
No way right?
'Probably mom or dad must have sent me something'
With that reasoning in mind I took all the six boxes inside and shut the door.
I walked over to a random one and opened it.
Dynamites
No
Am I still dreaming? Why was I delivered actual dynamites?
I checked each box and they all revealed the same story.
Can't believe that message was re-
\*Ring\* \*Ring\*
"Oh a call"
I checked the number.
Wait this seemed to be the number that sent me that message. I wasn't sure though.
"Hello" I said answering it.
"Hello sir, have you received your supply of explosives"
"Yes I hav- Wait a minute why have I received these I don't remember entering any shady competitions"
"Well most people don't. You see there is this shop called Reaper's edge-"
"Oh yeah I've been there" I interrupted.
"Ahem Yes when you purchased something from there you were automatically entered into the competition"
"So that's it huh. Though what do I do with all these explosives.."
"Well let me make it clear you cannot sell them, also you cannot make anyone else aware from where you obtained them and if you run out of explosives come back to Reaper's edge"
With those words he cut the line.
So now I had a considerable amount of explosives that I had to essentially make use of.
Well maybe they would come in handy. |
[WP] An immortal in the present day takes a college archeology class on a lark only to find that the professor found some of the immortal's old diaries and is now reading them out loud to the class. | Philip sat down in the seat closest to the corner of the classroom, taking his books from under his arm and placing them on the brown oak desk. He opened the textbook, a rather expensive thing for a book of its size, but it wasn't as if money was an issue for him, after all, when your a nearly five centuries old immortal being, you find ways to keep money stocked up.
As more students entered the room, Philip found himself wondering way he even started coming to the Winston college archeology class to begin with; it wasn't like he really needed to be taught anything new that he hadn't already lived through in the past one hundred and fifty years. But, as the world changed, so to did certain information, and being one of the undying meant keeping up with the latest in technology and sciences, math too if the fancy came. However, just because he was immortal didn't mean he knew everything. No one came be everywhere at once, not even him.
Philip laid his head on the desk and waited.
A few minutes later, professor Henley made his way into the class, carrying a large, brownish red brief case. He was a tall, pale man in his mid to late forties, wearing a red button up shirt, brown dress pants and black shoes; his dark hair was in the beginning stages of turning gray, but all in all, he didn't look much older than the guy sitting next to Philip.
"Alright, for today I have a special treat for you all," professor Henley said, a smile on his somewhat wrinkled face. "Now, I know last week we talked a bit about the one-hundred years war and different trends of that were popular in that time. So, I went around and asked a friend who specializes in medieval history, and he shared with me a copy of a nearly perfectly preserved journal, translated from old English to modern English."
He pulled a small book from out of his briefcase, obviously not the actual journal, but it was made in such a way that it replicated the old, leather bound asiatic of the past. It seemed to catch the attention of a few of the students, one in particular being a young woman Philip had had his eyes on for a while; Ashley Austin.
The young brunette raised her hand, getting a small nod from the professor to ask her question.
"Mr. Henley, does the journal belong to someone important?"
"Yes, it does, actually," the man answered. "It belonged to the teenaged son of a duke, Lord Jermaine of Ladermore."
If Philip had been a cat, his ears would've shot up; Ladermore, the area where his old home had been located before the French invasion forced them to flee, back in the days before he was cursed to walk the Earth as an immoral. Everything was burned to the ground, nothing was left to save, not the castle or the neighboring villages.
He could barely remember much from that time it had been so long since then, and the invasion of his home seemed so trivial now after living through countless rebellions, revolutions and two world wars.
"We will start off with a good example of what these entries were like," professor Henley said. He lifted his head from his desk, just as the older looking man began to read one of the passages.
"I met with Bethany today in the garden while out parents spoke business in father's study, they expect me to marry her in a few months time, join our families as one, but I don't feel that I can go through with it. My heart belongs to another, and though she may be a servant girl of lower class, I can't help but be captivated by her.
Father would never understand, and I don't expect him to, after all, what's one servant mean to a man like him. And to make things worse, she with child, my child. A bastard. I have sinned and this is a secret I must take with me to the grave, or I fear what father will do to her and our child."
"As you can see," professor Henley said, looking up at the class. "Not all was easy for the rich back then, even they had rules and expections forced upon them."
Philip raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Brown?"
"Is it alright if I borrow that book after class," Philip asked. "I find it quite intriguing.
"I don't particularly mind, but I expect it back by tomorrow, understood."
"Yes, professor, you have no idea how much this means to me." | I sat at my seat wondering what our professor was going to show us today, he'd been eluding to us that we were going to be seeing something interesting at the very least.
As the last of my peers that were going to show up today came through the door then sat down, the professor sat up in his chair then said to the whole class "today we're going to recite the translated passages of a presumably young man alive around the 1700s",
Hushed Murmurs ran across the room, mostly wondering about what it could be about.
The professor then pulled out one of the locked draws that usually held whatever was to be of our interest.
What he pulls out of his drawer was covered in thick plastic, the professor then carefully pulls the dark-colored journal out.
The professor then placed the presumably leather-bound book gently onto his desk, then the middle-aged man stood up brushing imaginary dust off his black turtle neck.
He walked in front of his desk then said in an unusually excited voice "This journal is written in west German dialect" he paused "The owner of this journal.... diary if wish to call it that is presumably a male, most of the content of the journal is written down on these sheet of paper."
He sat back down "any questions before I start reciting" no one said anything, "well here I go" he grabbed the stack of paper, "today my housemate confided in me that he was afraid of what was to come" the professor stated and for some reason a sense of forbidding came over me, "the man I've known from adolescents had enough trust in me to confide his fears to me, a sinner of the highest extent." I paled at what I now remember, I silently hoped my words would not spill out of the professor's mouth, my prayer
went unheard.
"I've sullied his trust, with my feelings of lust, I've fallen into an imitation of love, not for a woman but a man".
My memory of the time still haunts me in my sleep but right now my darkest time is being brought into the light, I felt exposed even though none of these people could probably know I'm the one who wrote that journal. | |
[WP] An immortal in the present day takes a college archeology class on a lark only to find that the professor found some of the immortal's old diaries and is now reading them out loud to the class. | “So as we see,” Dr. Humphries droned, “texts from the Victorian era were as much about what was omitted or hinted at than what is stated outright, even down to personal diaries - here we have a primary source from one Eliza Barrett, and though the woman was unexceptional, her journal tells us much of life during the time period.”
That Beth shifted in her chair and huffed was no surprise; she was the type willing to sacrifice a grade to prove a point, and had no qualms about challenging even the most lifeless professors, including Humph. And she got away with it, mostly, by usually being right. Nothing here seemed particularly worthy of her ire, but she’s gotten angrier over less, so none of us caught on at first. Not even Humph, because there’s no stopping that man mid-drone.
“The direct text speaks to her upbringing, taking whatever work was available at the time, but we will focus on her early adulthood for the purpose of today’s lesson. Like many in the Victorian era, Eliza participated in diversions of the time, and her entries note taking on “piecework” in addition to her daily wages to afford an extravagance - a ticket to one of the local “spectacles” (as the events purporting to contact the dead via supernatural means were called). Modern audiences may laugh, but these were well attended by credulous audiences. Miss Eliza here writes of being “called upon the stage, and as the ectoplasm spun by the medium drifted through my physique, I felt each component of my being renewed, as though the years themselves were carried away on his exteriorized energies. When the audience clapped, I felt quite poked up and the roses came to my cheeks before I could return to my seat.”
” Modern readers of course know that these were mere parlor tricks, but a simple woman such as Eliza -“
And here even staid Humphty Dumpty couldn't ignore Beth’s stage-whisper grumbling and conspicuous chair adjustments “is something the matter, miss Behr?”
“Just because the mores of the time were different doesn’t mean SHE was simple.”
I may have heard the edge in her voice as she enunciated “she” instead of “simple,” or maybe the righteous anger was more entertaining than another lecture, but one by one we all started turning our head toward our practically growling classmate.
“Hm. Quite. Back to our source” our oblivious professor continued. “A woman such as Eliza would lack the savvy to distinguish a charlatan extracting simple Silkcloth from his mouth in bad lighting from “externalized souls.” Moreover, her credulity is not the point; you see, Victorians used euphemisms and misdirection to obscure their true meanings. Eliza notes the mesmerizer’s camellia and borage boutonnière, which in Victorian floral language denotes a blunt longing, and her own white clover, signaling “think of me” - at this Beth snorted disdainfully, the anger in an exhalation still unmistakeable - “and the florid language used to describe her part in the performance with ectoplasm suggests a possible dalliance with the spiritualist in question, especially given her flushed cheeks and embarrassment in his presence. Indeed, even her profession as a seamstress may be called into question as she manufactured “unmentionables,” suggesting that the “piecework” she alludes to taking on for extra money may have in fact been prostitution at one of the local bawdy houses, a shame she cannot confess even to her diary-“
As the chair clattered to the ground, the shriek of metal on cheap college tile was drowned out by Beth’s own cry of rage, and as the words spilled out her speech grew faster and lightly accented in a way none of us could place.
“It never changes! seeing sex where there is none and judging women as dollymops if they so much as glance your way! As if sex is the biggest mystery out there! She might not have been bang up to the elephant but that hardly means she was a prostitute, just because she made underwear and wore flowers! I can’t believe I’ve made it to this dizzy age without a lick of progress - every man a gal-sneaker meaning the gal in question wants it! All that’s different is it’s the scholars dressing up their judgement in fancier words! All this bubble around for a simple gal with spirit, over a DIARY! I should go batty fang with the lot of you!”
Beth shot out, knocking a few books over in her haste to be free of us - all of us? I was the only one who went after her. Though she was off like wildfire, I consider myself a fast man, but I couldn’t round the corner in time to ask her if I had heard correctly - her accent blurring “m’diary” into the “a diary” the rest of the class swears they heard - how could I have? But I did get there fast enough to see a diaphanous white scarf settle to the ground. | I sat at my seat wondering what our professor was going to show us today, he'd been eluding to us that we were going to be seeing something interesting at the very least.
As the last of my peers that were going to show up today came through the door then sat down, the professor sat up in his chair then said to the whole class "today we're going to recite the translated passages of a presumably young man alive around the 1700s",
Hushed Murmurs ran across the room, mostly wondering about what it could be about.
The professor then pulled out one of the locked draws that usually held whatever was to be of our interest.
What he pulls out of his drawer was covered in thick plastic, the professor then carefully pulls the dark-colored journal out.
The professor then placed the presumably leather-bound book gently onto his desk, then the middle-aged man stood up brushing imaginary dust off his black turtle neck.
He walked in front of his desk then said in an unusually excited voice "This journal is written in west German dialect" he paused "The owner of this journal.... diary if wish to call it that is presumably a male, most of the content of the journal is written down on these sheet of paper."
He sat back down "any questions before I start reciting" no one said anything, "well here I go" he grabbed the stack of paper, "today my housemate confided in me that he was afraid of what was to come" the professor stated and for some reason a sense of forbidding came over me, "the man I've known from adolescents had enough trust in me to confide his fears to me, a sinner of the highest extent." I paled at what I now remember, I silently hoped my words would not spill out of the professor's mouth, my prayer
went unheard.
"I've sullied his trust, with my feelings of lust, I've fallen into an imitation of love, not for a woman but a man".
My memory of the time still haunts me in my sleep but right now my darkest time is being brought into the light, I felt exposed even though none of these people could probably know I'm the one who wrote that journal. | |
[WP] An immortal in the present day takes a college archeology class on a lark only to find that the professor found some of the immortal's old diaries and is now reading them out loud to the class. | “So as we see,” Dr. Humphries droned, “texts from the Victorian era were as much about what was omitted or hinted at than what is stated outright, even down to personal diaries - here we have a primary source from one Eliza Barrett, and though the woman was unexceptional, her journal tells us much of life during the time period.”
That Beth shifted in her chair and huffed was no surprise; she was the type willing to sacrifice a grade to prove a point, and had no qualms about challenging even the most lifeless professors, including Humph. And she got away with it, mostly, by usually being right. Nothing here seemed particularly worthy of her ire, but she’s gotten angrier over less, so none of us caught on at first. Not even Humph, because there’s no stopping that man mid-drone.
“The direct text speaks to her upbringing, taking whatever work was available at the time, but we will focus on her early adulthood for the purpose of today’s lesson. Like many in the Victorian era, Eliza participated in diversions of the time, and her entries note taking on “piecework” in addition to her daily wages to afford an extravagance - a ticket to one of the local “spectacles” (as the events purporting to contact the dead via supernatural means were called). Modern audiences may laugh, but these were well attended by credulous audiences. Miss Eliza here writes of being “called upon the stage, and as the ectoplasm spun by the medium drifted through my physique, I felt each component of my being renewed, as though the years themselves were carried away on his exteriorized energies. When the audience clapped, I felt quite poked up and the roses came to my cheeks before I could return to my seat.”
” Modern readers of course know that these were mere parlor tricks, but a simple woman such as Eliza -“
And here even staid Humphty Dumpty couldn't ignore Beth’s stage-whisper grumbling and conspicuous chair adjustments “is something the matter, miss Behr?”
“Just because the mores of the time were different doesn’t mean SHE was simple.”
I may have heard the edge in her voice as she enunciated “she” instead of “simple,” or maybe the righteous anger was more entertaining than another lecture, but one by one we all started turning our head toward our practically growling classmate.
“Hm. Quite. Back to our source” our oblivious professor continued. “A woman such as Eliza would lack the savvy to distinguish a charlatan extracting simple Silkcloth from his mouth in bad lighting from “externalized souls.” Moreover, her credulity is not the point; you see, Victorians used euphemisms and misdirection to obscure their true meanings. Eliza notes the mesmerizer’s camellia and borage boutonnière, which in Victorian floral language denotes a blunt longing, and her own white clover, signaling “think of me” - at this Beth snorted disdainfully, the anger in an exhalation still unmistakeable - “and the florid language used to describe her part in the performance with ectoplasm suggests a possible dalliance with the spiritualist in question, especially given her flushed cheeks and embarrassment in his presence. Indeed, even her profession as a seamstress may be called into question as she manufactured “unmentionables,” suggesting that the “piecework” she alludes to taking on for extra money may have in fact been prostitution at one of the local bawdy houses, a shame she cannot confess even to her diary-“
As the chair clattered to the ground, the shriek of metal on cheap college tile was drowned out by Beth’s own cry of rage, and as the words spilled out her speech grew faster and lightly accented in a way none of us could place.
“It never changes! seeing sex where there is none and judging women as dollymops if they so much as glance your way! As if sex is the biggest mystery out there! She might not have been bang up to the elephant but that hardly means she was a prostitute, just because she made underwear and wore flowers! I can’t believe I’ve made it to this dizzy age without a lick of progress - every man a gal-sneaker meaning the gal in question wants it! All that’s different is it’s the scholars dressing up their judgement in fancier words! All this bubble around for a simple gal with spirit, over a DIARY! I should go batty fang with the lot of you!”
Beth shot out, knocking a few books over in her haste to be free of us - all of us? I was the only one who went after her. Though she was off like wildfire, I consider myself a fast man, but I couldn’t round the corner in time to ask her if I had heard correctly - her accent blurring “m’diary” into the “a diary” the rest of the class swears they heard - how could I have? But I did get there fast enough to see a diaphanous white scarf settle to the ground. | Archeology was not something Eli was interested in learning about. Yes, artifacts found from ancient times were fascinating to the mortals surrounding him in the auditorium, but most of the shit this professor presented was basic. Dinosaur bones, old books, "magic" relics that were fakes from the real thing. It always amazed Eli how easy it was to fool humans. But nonetheless he trudged on in this torture of a class, finding the real amusement in watching the students.
Like Tyler, who comes in every day with the same look of boredom and the faintest smell of marijuana on his clothing. *One way to make it through this class,* Eli thought... *if he can stay awake*. Or Alexandra, who walks in as if she herself owns the college, strutting in her Louboutin heels and skintight maxi dresses. The woman clearly loves attention, and Eli did not mind the view. And then there was Trey. Dear God, Trey was such a beautiful man. Eli fancied both men and women, as most of his kind do, and he was pleased to find that the present day was much more accepting of this fact. The last 30-50 years made some changes to the mortal realm. He liked it, though he knew it only scratched the surface. Humans were so intriguing, each one completely different than the next, even the ones who seem the same. This was the main reason he decided to come to college. He wanted to experience the transition of adolescence to adulthood. It was quite the ride from what he had uncovered thus far. Trey was his first human crush. His obsession. His muse. He was what most would call "normal" for a human. Not too muscular, but not skinny either. His smile made Eli's cheeks hot, and when he spoke it was all Eli wanted to hear. He wrote many times about Trey in his diary. Hoping to one day approach him with the confidence he always had, which he found was fleeting whenever Trey was around. He had already infiltrated his friend group, now it was time to work on the next steps.
*"...before nightfall, I found Alec atop the castle. Up there again, gazing out of the window. He was so stressed today; I could never understand why. He had everything he ever wanted; his kingdom was safe, we won the war, and he was the most beloved King the Elf realm had ever beheld...."*
Eli, in the middle of wondering if Trey had any plans that night, paused in mid thought. For the first time in the last 2 weeks, he listened to the professor....
"*He was the pillar of perfection and excellence. But each night he looked out the window like that. Like, something was missing. My love and affections were for naught. For I could never get him to open up to me the way he used to. Before they attacked. Before it all went to shit...."*
Holy shit. That was his diary. His diary he thought was lost in the fire.And Trey was about to listen to the night the love of his life, ended his life. | |
[WP] An immortal in the present day takes a college archeology class on a lark only to find that the professor found some of the immortal's old diaries and is now reading them out loud to the class. | I was prepared for another dry lecture about things that might have been but never were. A 21st century tale based on events that could have transpired millennia ago, based on a handful of trinkets, which no one fully understood. No one save me and a handful of others from the crash landing in what would one day be known as South America.
Think of an item once commonplace during the Depression, and show them to some millennial, and ask them what it might have been used for. Give them a dozen and let them construct a narrative. It would be an amusing exercise.
It's what I experience with these aged professors who have devoted their lives to ... folly.
Today, however, my amusement quickly turned to horror with the flick of an overhead projector, itself an antique of a bygone era.
Displayed for all to see where two side-by-side images of scratchings on ancient papyrus.
"I have a surprise for you today," Prof Dombrowski announced.
Indeed he had. And none were more surprised than I, the author of said scratchings. I wrote them long, long ago in the first years after the crash. It was a log of our travails while we waited for the rescue that never came. There were also some details of a more personal note.
I don't know which was more embarrassing or terrifying. The fact that details of our race were on display, or the attraction I found in second mate Ja'acucha after our supplies ran out and the tribe started to domesticate.
So stunned was I that I didn't feel the tap on my arm right away when my classmate wanted me to pass back the pile of printed copies. That's when I realized what the professor was saying.
"As I've mentioned before, I am occasionally asked to consult on ancient documents of dead languages. What our TA is passing out is but two fragments of a larger, longer document, found in caves in Argentina, that I've spent months helping to decipher.
"We've made progress and have started to find patterns in the text. While it bears some resemblance to other proto-Incan dialects, it is something almost entirely new to us. You are among the first to see it."
I \*was\* the first to see it. And now I could do nothing but hold my head in my hands and stare down at the words describing my love, my longing for my old shipmate who sailed off across the great sea thousands of years ago with Fra'onkln, an old friend whom I never considered a rival.
Tears welled in my eyes as I listened to the lecture, and deep secrets were being laid bare.
"We know that the first describes a great people who emigrated to the region. We are certain that they traveled a long way. Perhaps all the way from central America, or even the land bridge to Asia. Then there is this reference here."
He highlighted a piece of text.
"There is some debate about whether it is about a creator, or crater or even cradle of life." He laughed. "The similarity of those words is arbitrary. I wanted to see if you're still listening."
Were they? I don't know. But I was listening, and waiting, and dreading.
"The second excerpt appears to be about agriculture."
Wait. About what?
"From the Incan words we recognize, we can tell that there are references to great mountains, obviously the Andes, and a wonderful fertile valley. There are plans to plow the field and sow seeds and cultivate the land, Jayacucho, in the time to come."
A young man in front of me snickered. He leaned to the girl beside him. "Do you know what that sounds like? Plowing that fertile valley of Jayacucho." He laughed some more as I winced.
She smacked his arm. "Don't be rude. There were just farmers living through tough times."
Farmers? Yes, I guess we were after a fashion. But we were also lovers. And nothing is tougher than several thousand years of unrequited love.
Even now, I wonder where their ship landed. I don't think I ever found out. Memories fade.
Which is why I wondered if a student such as myself could get a copy of the rest of the text to read one evening by an open campfire.
&#x200B;
More stories at r/xwhy | Archeology was not something Eli was interested in learning about. Yes, artifacts found from ancient times were fascinating to the mortals surrounding him in the auditorium, but most of the shit this professor presented was basic. Dinosaur bones, old books, "magic" relics that were fakes from the real thing. It always amazed Eli how easy it was to fool humans. But nonetheless he trudged on in this torture of a class, finding the real amusement in watching the students.
Like Tyler, who comes in every day with the same look of boredom and the faintest smell of marijuana on his clothing. *One way to make it through this class,* Eli thought... *if he can stay awake*. Or Alexandra, who walks in as if she herself owns the college, strutting in her Louboutin heels and skintight maxi dresses. The woman clearly loves attention, and Eli did not mind the view. And then there was Trey. Dear God, Trey was such a beautiful man. Eli fancied both men and women, as most of his kind do, and he was pleased to find that the present day was much more accepting of this fact. The last 30-50 years made some changes to the mortal realm. He liked it, though he knew it only scratched the surface. Humans were so intriguing, each one completely different than the next, even the ones who seem the same. This was the main reason he decided to come to college. He wanted to experience the transition of adolescence to adulthood. It was quite the ride from what he had uncovered thus far. Trey was his first human crush. His obsession. His muse. He was what most would call "normal" for a human. Not too muscular, but not skinny either. His smile made Eli's cheeks hot, and when he spoke it was all Eli wanted to hear. He wrote many times about Trey in his diary. Hoping to one day approach him with the confidence he always had, which he found was fleeting whenever Trey was around. He had already infiltrated his friend group, now it was time to work on the next steps.
*"...before nightfall, I found Alec atop the castle. Up there again, gazing out of the window. He was so stressed today; I could never understand why. He had everything he ever wanted; his kingdom was safe, we won the war, and he was the most beloved King the Elf realm had ever beheld...."*
Eli, in the middle of wondering if Trey had any plans that night, paused in mid thought. For the first time in the last 2 weeks, he listened to the professor....
"*He was the pillar of perfection and excellence. But each night he looked out the window like that. Like, something was missing. My love and affections were for naught. For I could never get him to open up to me the way he used to. Before they attacked. Before it all went to shit...."*
Holy shit. That was his diary. His diary he thought was lost in the fire.And Trey was about to listen to the night the love of his life, ended his life. | |
[WP] An immortal in the present day takes a college archeology class on a lark only to find that the professor found some of the immortal's old diaries and is now reading them out loud to the class. | "Now, I have some excerpts from an anonymous diary found only a few years ago. They provide an excellent insight into what the people had on their mind at the time."
Most students are only half-listening to Prof. Larson's lecture. It's a beautiful day, and he's been talking for two hours already, droning on and on.
I sigh. I had hoped this class would be more entertaining, to be honest. Perhaps hear some of the misconceptions today's people have of the times I have seen firsthand. Instead, I'm forced to listen to this absolute bore of a man talk and talk and talk and... You get the point - He never reaches it.
"*The food is scarce again,*" Larson reads. "*I have been giving my portions to the children of the house for a few days now. No one has noticed yet.*"
I hide a little smile. That sounds like something I would have done at some point. Famines always were horrible for the people around me.
"*The youngest child has been sickly for a few days now. I am helping as best as I can. If neither the mother nor the child gets proper food soon, however, I fear for the worst.*"
I frown a little. That all sounds a bit familiar.
"*Maria is sneaking into my bed almost every night. She tries to hide her tears, and I can do little to comfort her.*"
I feel my face heat up. Oh, no, no, no. This sounds familiar because it's my diary!
"*I have not felt her lips on mine in weeks. Of course, I don't mention it, but I fear that we don't have much time left together.*" Larson makes a pause. "As we can tell, the author was likely a guest in the house. He mentions the children in a distanced manner. He might have been a doctor, trying to help the sick child."
I blink. *He?* | Dr. Thomas placed the flimsy, yellowed book down on the lectern in front of him. "Now for you today, I have a very interesting find. And a recent find at that: A diary that belonged to an unnamed young woman back in the '80s... the 1880s!"
Most of the class looked bored, or semi-interested at best. But Margaret... if she could've retreated into the cushions of her seat, she would've. She recognized that diary instantly -- because it had belonged to her. And the thought of her professor reading excerpts from it aloud washed her with dread.
Her peers would hear all about the most embarrassing moments of her teen years: Her crush on the boy who worked at the pine tree farm down the road; the time she ripped her new plaid dress in front of EVERYBODY at the Christmas dinner party; and the way she accidentally activated Krakatoa while reciting her first immortality incantation? Totally mortifying! | |
[WP] “The goddess of humanity was the smallest and gentlest of all the races’ guardian deities... How did humans become the most destructive species?” “They looked into an infinity of malicious gods and declared that they would protect her. And now she lives in fear of her children.” | She was like a caring mother. For any squabble between her children, she listened to both sides equally. Both perspectives were considered and a solution was always found. Any transgression was dealt with with swiftly and occasionally brutally but always fairly and justly. She was always willing to offer advice and redirect those who needed redirection down the correct path. But she also let her children make their own mistakes.
Arguments between her children happened. As they grew older, the argument became more viscous and violent. But she let them solve their own issues. Sure, she pulled strings behind the scenes to prevent things spiralling out of control, to prevent the death of her children. But there are some lessons that can only be learnt when a child makes a mistake themselves. They were always safe in the knowledge that their mother was there to kiss their wounds and pick up the pieces, to help with the reconciliation.
Her quiet guidance was not limited to these conflicts. She had quietly prevented disasters from happening through out their lives. A small push here. A quiet whisper there. A near miss that could have been so, so much worse. All efforts to protect her children with no requirement for thanks or gratitude. Her children did not notice this at first, when they were young.
As they grew older, they became more aware of what she had done, what she was doing, what she would always do. They remained silent and let her carry on. Let her believe they didn’t see. They also stopped squabbling as much. With age comes wisdom and their disagreements became to be seen as petty. The children did not always get along, but over time the arguments became less violent. The lessons of their youth settling in.
Away from home, things became more fraught. Her pantheon had a different view of how children should be raised. Any disagreements among children should be put down and put down hard. Actions to protect children should, or even needed, to be recognised and the appropriate reverence given. A god should rule over their children with absolute authority. Ideas that were the polar opposite of her way of thinking.
These differences lead to disagreements. These disagreements lead to arguments. The mild mannered Mother left every gathering of Gods slightly more upset, slightly more saddened. As with any mother, she put on a brave face when she returned home and acted as if all was well, hid her turmoil.
The children could see. They were old enough to realise something was wrong. They felt wise enough to do something about it.
The children invented and adapted and progressed. They reached up and out to find the pantheon that was hurting their mother. Methods to reach the stars were made. Ways to reach beyond them were found. The lessons they had been left to learn were put to work. Humanity sought revenge.
In a short time, Humanity found the Gods. These gods called on their children to protect them but these children could not. Unlike Humanity, these children had never fought amongst themselves, never been allowed to fight amongst themselves. War was a foreign concept to the suppressed children. When Humanity arrived, these children were powerless.
Then the first of the Gods was killed. She tried to stop them, tried to reign in Humanity but Humanity felt this was fair and just. Then the second of the Gods was killed. She threw herself at Humanity’s feet, begged them to stop, to go home. Then the third of the Gods was killed. She feared Humanity. They were her children but she no longer recognised them. She was an almighty god but was powerless. | "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then from whence comes evil?" -Attributed to Epicurus by David Hume.
“The gods are proud, she is humble.
The gods boast, she questions.
The gods have secrets, she shares freely.
The gods cheat, but she demands honesty.
The gods use false measure, but her worth can only be brought by fair weight.
She is heart seeker, truth finder.
Oh you who boast of strength or speed, look upon her children’s works and despair! “
- Kenning chant of the Knaar XII Battle fleet, having been defeated by the construction crews of the Dyson 3 around Toliman in 1312 Post Atomic.
The prevailing belief in unique species manifestations know as gods is common across the galaxy referred to as the [insert localisation], where it was used by the [Triumvirate Empire of the Milky-way] to integrate species into their expansive authority.
Humans were unique, having never unified under a single theocracy, having no common language or creed that they could all respect. So the [Triumvirate Empire of the Milky-way] granted them a god that was fit for their squabbling nature, and gave it as small a space in their pantheon as they could. A repurposed Muse, a ‘mere’ Apsara.
Gods are said to gain their power from their people, but others believe that what others believe about you can also shape your diety. Human words and practices became associated with her, a joke book of phrases was a popular success. And then they built Dyson 1 around their home system.
And the sayings of the Humans Goddess passed into legend.
“Measure twice, cut once”
“Trust, but Verify”
“Hypothesise, Test, Evaluate”
“Improvise, Adapt, Overcome”
“If I have seen further than others, it is because I stand on the shoulders of Giants”
“I am become death, the Destroyer of Worlds”. | |
[WP] “The goddess of humanity was the smallest and gentlest of all the races’ guardian deities... How did humans become the most destructive species?” “They looked into an infinity of malicious gods and declared that they would protect her. And now she lives in fear of her children.” | In the beginning there was nothing. Nothing that stretched on and on forever although forever was too small a concept to embrace that empty space. For an eternity or for a moment that was the state of all things. The moment after brought first dust, then light, and finally something more. They started pure of form, each speck the embodiment of an ideal. Death was not the first form, but it was the mightiest, for all that was eventually was not. Life was her counterpart, and between the those two rotating poles, locked forever in a mortal embrace, the other forms came into being.
Hunger served Death as her first lieutenant, for all that knew Life soon knew Hunger, and Hunger brought them closer to Death. Hunger was soon joined by her sister, War, for all that lived and hungered would eventually fight. Hunger and War ravaged Life's tiny specks, her children in the void, and in that ravaging Pestilence oozed into being. Pestilence was a forsaken child of Hunger and War, and she lived in the rift caused by her mothers, but all three served Death faithfully.
Dimming under this onslaught of Hunger and War and Pestilence, Life knew she needed a friend, an ally to beat back the rising black tides that threatened to engulf all that was hers. So she rent a piece of her own flesh, dim but still radiant, and coaxed her into being. Love was Life's child, and she held her close as her only bulwark against the onslaught of Death.
Love knew that to sustain life she would need children of her own, and so like her mother she rent herself. But Love was naive, the smallest and gentlest of the great primordials, and she rent herself into pieces too small to sustain Love herself. These pieces cooled, and Humanity opened her myriad eyes to the inky blackness of the void of Death. She watched with a million tiny selves as Hunger winked out the shards of Love almost as quickly as they split, vanquishing the motes of tiny light as they came into being. She felt with a myriad limbs as War wrenched her into ever smaller pieces, and those pieces too winked out into blackness. Finally, Humanity suffered under the sores of Pestilence, as that final and forsaken child clung to Humanity, dragging her myriad bodies and minds down.
Under siege from the agents of Death, Humanity did the only thing she knew how: she split, again and again, each splinter dimmer than the last, each shard just a little less luminous than the last. And as she split and split, the piece of Humanity that was still Love got smaller and smaller, and Humanity found herself drawn closer to the black gravity of Death. That small part that was still Love shivered in fear, for her children no longer held her brilliance. Instead they reached out toward the cold void of Death, radiating the ice of that black God.
But it was a false cold, a shell like an ember smoldering beneath the snow. For even as Humanity split, still she harbored a piece of Love. And Humanity claimed, for now and forever into eternity, that she would shelter that sliver of Love, no matter how small.
And no matter the cost. | "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then from whence comes evil?" -Attributed to Epicurus by David Hume.
“The gods are proud, she is humble.
The gods boast, she questions.
The gods have secrets, she shares freely.
The gods cheat, but she demands honesty.
The gods use false measure, but her worth can only be brought by fair weight.
She is heart seeker, truth finder.
Oh you who boast of strength or speed, look upon her children’s works and despair! “
- Kenning chant of the Knaar XII Battle fleet, having been defeated by the construction crews of the Dyson 3 around Toliman in 1312 Post Atomic.
The prevailing belief in unique species manifestations know as gods is common across the galaxy referred to as the [insert localisation], where it was used by the [Triumvirate Empire of the Milky-way] to integrate species into their expansive authority.
Humans were unique, having never unified under a single theocracy, having no common language or creed that they could all respect. So the [Triumvirate Empire of the Milky-way] granted them a god that was fit for their squabbling nature, and gave it as small a space in their pantheon as they could. A repurposed Muse, a ‘mere’ Apsara.
Gods are said to gain their power from their people, but others believe that what others believe about you can also shape your diety. Human words and practices became associated with her, a joke book of phrases was a popular success. And then they built Dyson 1 around their home system.
And the sayings of the Humans Goddess passed into legend.
“Measure twice, cut once”
“Trust, but Verify”
“Hypothesise, Test, Evaluate”
“Improvise, Adapt, Overcome”
“If I have seen further than others, it is because I stand on the shoulders of Giants”
“I am become death, the Destroyer of Worlds”. | |
[WP] “The goddess of humanity was the smallest and gentlest of all the races’ guardian deities... How did humans become the most destructive species?” “They looked into an infinity of malicious gods and declared that they would protect her. And now she lives in fear of her children.” | Inside an interrogation chamber, deep within one of the great war machines of the Zzyth fleet, a single human sat tied to a chair.
He was bare chested, and the Interrogator could see the scars that lined every inch of his body. These faint white lines were crossed and covered by more recent wounds. Cuts, bruises and burns inflicted by the Interrogator's own hand.
The Interrogator had long since sacrificed his own name to the Zzyth god of torture and war, in return he had been granted insight into the minds of those around him, so long as he inflicted enough pain upon them. The human was now ready, his mind and soul open to the Interrogator. The Interrogator's superiors wished to know what gifts the Pantheon of Humanity granted its soldiers, what rites were demanded of them and how to counteract them.
The Interrogator stepped in front of the human, careful to make his steps ring ominously upon the metal floor. He leaned close to the human's face and smiled as the human forced a single eye open while the other remained shut due to the swelling. The Interrogator raised a single long finger to his lipless mouth and smiled, an expression he knew to be as unnerving as a snarl.
Of course, the human couldn't speak even if he wished, as his mouth was gagged, now was not the time for the glorious song of his screams to ring out. The Interrogator needed to concentrate...
The Interrogator reached out with his mind, feeling towards the connections wrought in the soul of his victim from the pain inflicted. He found the human's soul easily, it veritably glowed with power. This was a powerfully gifted soldier indeed, The Interrogator thought, the glow of his soul rivaled that of the commander of this great vessel.
The human stiffened as he felt the tendrils of The Interrogator's power driving deeper and deeper into his soul. The Interrogator began to see his thoughts, and let the experience wash into him, this would be the first route into the depths of the human's soul.
...
Crewman Jacobson had been warned during his training that some of the Zzyth torturers were telepaths. Telepathy was rare enough among the Terran military forces that he had not been able to attend the resistance training even though he had volunteered for it. Instead he had to rely solely upon the theoretical training he had been given
\-*The Interrogator felt himself pull out of the human's mind slightly at the strange thought. Voluntarily subjecting oneself to telepathic invasion? Not even the most bloodthirsty or fanatical members of the Zzyth Pantheon demanded such a sacrifice, telepathic invasion was dangerous to the victim, it could often lead to lifelong impairment of the mind and body. The gods of Humanity must be vile indeed, The Interrogator let the thoughts of the human flow over him once more*\-
Jacobson thought back to the lecture he had attended in the academy, a balding man in a hoverchair had showed spoken in depth about his experience with a telepath. "No matter how strong you are mentally, a telepath is gonna get in your head somehow." The man had said "Most human telepaths are adherents of Gaia" -*The Interrogator made a mental note of the name, before allowing the thoughts to wash over him again*\- "But there are a fair number of mutants who possess the ability. Not to mention the Zzyth, there seem to be a larger number of telepaths among them than among humanity, leading us to think they have either bred selectively for the trait, or their Pantheon is freer with the gift than Gaia is..."
\-*The Interrogator held the thoughts in place, freezing the human's mind. He reached over to the table nearby and scribbled a note, "The first Name of Deity found in the subject's mind was Gaia. The domain and nature of this Deity is as yet unknown, it is not yet clear if this Gaia is the name of a particular god or the human name for their own Pantheon, further study will be required. Notably, the humans do not seem to have a large number of telepaths. This Gaia seems to hold the gift in reserve for the devout. Additionally, as a species it seems that genetic mutation is common, possibly even accepted, among the species. This may indicate a fleshcrafter Deity holds primary sway over their Pantheon, I shall delve deeper to see if this human's mind holds more answers." The Interrogator let the human's mind flow forward, nudging slightly in the direction of this Gaia*\-
Jacobson wasn't particularly devout in worship of Gaia -*what?*\- his mother would have been mortified to see how rarely he attended services anymore. But he hardly had time for worship, especially with the war and everything. He promised himself that he would go back to attending temple if he got out of this. He knew that Gaia wasn't particularly fond of war, especially among her children, but he also knew that she understood the necessity with the Zzyth threatening all of humanity...
\-*The Interrogator once again froze the human's mind and leaned away, disturbed. This human had a soul as powerful as the most devout and yet he rarely attended to any worship whatsoever? The Interrogator made another note. "This human's mind holds very little devotion to this Gaia, but I have been unable to locate any other Name of Deity despite turning the subject's mind toward worship in general. Perhaps the Pantheon of Humanity hides itself from the knowledge of captured soldiers to keep the Pantheon of Zzyth from discovering their identities and weaknesses. Still, such an expungement should have weakened the Gifts this soldier has received and left obvious holes in his mind. I shall need to delve deeper, into the fabric of his soul to find the scars. May Holy Qreth guide me.*\- | "Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then from whence comes evil?" -Attributed to Epicurus by David Hume.
“The gods are proud, she is humble.
The gods boast, she questions.
The gods have secrets, she shares freely.
The gods cheat, but she demands honesty.
The gods use false measure, but her worth can only be brought by fair weight.
She is heart seeker, truth finder.
Oh you who boast of strength or speed, look upon her children’s works and despair! “
- Kenning chant of the Knaar XII Battle fleet, having been defeated by the construction crews of the Dyson 3 around Toliman in 1312 Post Atomic.
The prevailing belief in unique species manifestations know as gods is common across the galaxy referred to as the [insert localisation], where it was used by the [Triumvirate Empire of the Milky-way] to integrate species into their expansive authority.
Humans were unique, having never unified under a single theocracy, having no common language or creed that they could all respect. So the [Triumvirate Empire of the Milky-way] granted them a god that was fit for their squabbling nature, and gave it as small a space in their pantheon as they could. A repurposed Muse, a ‘mere’ Apsara.
Gods are said to gain their power from their people, but others believe that what others believe about you can also shape your diety. Human words and practices became associated with her, a joke book of phrases was a popular success. And then they built Dyson 1 around their home system.
And the sayings of the Humans Goddess passed into legend.
“Measure twice, cut once”
“Trust, but Verify”
“Hypothesise, Test, Evaluate”
“Improvise, Adapt, Overcome”
“If I have seen further than others, it is because I stand on the shoulders of Giants”
“I am become death, the Destroyer of Worlds”. |
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