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[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Well, even I know that this is backwards. But what do you want from me ? Gold is more enticing to me than maintaining appropriate roles. Although, I do agree that messing with the status quo doesn’t do anyone much good, it’ll be chaos before you know it.
For one thing, I was not aware they knew we could talk. They being humans, and we being, well, dragons. We do not talk in the traditional sense, but dragons contain an ancient and powerful form of magic. We have lost the art, for the most part, but we are still able to perform some of our old tricks. We communicate, as you would put it, telepathically. There was a time when most humans knew this, when we co-existed in relative peace, before dragons became the enemy.
In my opinion, humans did not accidently forget that we were able to communicate. You see, dragons have always had somewhat of an affinity for gold. Humans soon noticed this, and they wanted all of our gold for themselves. Humans never do things by halves; of course they needed all of it. It is simply easier to convince men and women to despise and hunt something when you believe it is a beast, incapable of speech.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when we started kidnapping princesses, probably about the time that they started to slaughter us. Eye for an eye, that sort of thing. At first, we simply wanted to trade, we’ll give you back your wife or daughter when you return our gold. Yet again, we underestimated the extraordinary greed of man.
Apologies, I became side-tracked. In a cruel twist of fate, a deranged Princess Ophelia has kidnapped the brave knight Sir. Eldard, it falls to me to retrieve him safely. Brave is quite the relative term, Eldard killed my cousin and crippled my sister. But they offered me much gold to retrieve him, their only stipulation was alive, he won’t miss a limb or two.
So here I stand, or rather crouch, in the forest surrounding Princess Ophelia’s tower. Yes, in an effort to be even more of a cliché, she is keeping the brave knight in an isolated tower, on an Island in the heart of her kingdom. This is where I came in, in the depth of the night I can travel fairly well undetected. And anyway, if I was revealed, it would probably be in everyone’s best interest if they just allowed me to continue on my way. I don’t make a habit of killing or maiming. If I’m honest, I actually haven’t ever killed a human, but then I am young, at least by my kind’s standards. I prey on cattle and sheep in the farmlands around my home, rotating between the different farms and never taking more than I need. The bones scattered around my cave (yes, we live in caves) I retrieve from battlefields. There is never a shortage of those, these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not strictly speaking, a pacifist. I have inherited from my ancestor’s, a certain fire in the belly, every pun intended.
I’m doing it again, sorry. I guess part of me is stalling, I may not be a pacifist, but I do not relish violence either. The Princess is young and beautiful, I’m told. Her Kingdom has been at war with the knight’s for many years, and things have begun to go South. In an act of desperation, the Princess and her loyal followers kidnapped Eldard and are holding him to ransom. They do not want gold however, she simply wishes for the war to end. It won’t work, I saw the look in the King’s eyes when he spoke to me. She should’ve asked for gold, I would have.
With a flap of my powerful wings, I surge from the forest and towards the dark tower. Now, as you probably know, I don’t generally fit through human-sized doors. I notice a large window on the far-side of the tower. I can hear her heartbeat. She’s sleeping. She’s alone. I should act now. She’s a woman, barely out of her teens, small and weak. I am a dragon, to call it child’s play would be both inaccurate and an understatement. And yet, something stays my talon. I do not usually become involved in the petty affairs of humans, but something about her plight, the sheer desperation. I can see her thoughts; she has lost three brothers to this war, and a father now lies stricken. I know of her pain, I too have lost those I loved, and the man I lost them to sleeps in this very tower.
For first time in my life, I am considering abandoning a quest for gold. What am I doing ? Am I really considering this ? My whole life, I have been told never to engage with humans. They are savages just want your gold and your hide. Yet, she feels, gentle. I reach out to her.
“Ophelia, I would say do not panic, but I would probably panic too, in your position. I have been sent here by King Rasmos to retrieve the knight. I know he is here.”
The girl sat bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide with panic and she frantically scanned the room, looking for the source of the deep, rich voice.
“Who’s there ? Where are you ? Show yourself, I’m armed.”
I do the dragon equivalent of a smile.
“No you’re not. Princess, I do not mean to alarm you, so forgive me if I do not reveal myself to you. Know this though, I mean you no harm.”
The King had offered me a sizeable bonus to take care of the Princess and her followers as well.
“Forgive me if I do not believe that, all of Rasmos’ men are brutes. I am calling for my guards. I cannot allow you to leave here, now that you know of our location.”
“Luckily for you, I am not one of Ramsos’ men. Listen to me Ophelia, I can help you. The King promised me much to retrieve Eldard, but you see, I can read the King. He is a greedy and unscrupulous man. I do not believe he will make good on his offer. I know too of the pain and loss that comes with war. Give me the knight and I will return him from whence he came.”
“No ! I cannot allow that, he is our only leverage. This war must end, too many lives have already been lost.”
“That is the way of men, Ophelia. If it is not this, they will find other reasons to kill and maim one another. I did ask your permission to take the knight, but I do not require it. Know this though, the King will never give in to your demands, not simply for the knight. I propose a trade, give me the knight and I will return with more leverage, in the form of his sons.”
“Why would I ever trust you ?”
I knew then, what I must do.
“Close your eyes Ophelia, and see my true form, see my heart. You see, my kind cannot lie to those pure of heart and intention. Do you trust me now ?”
“I... How did you do that ? What are you ?”
“I am one who has also suffered at the hand of Rasmos’ men. I will return.”
With that, I turned my attention to the sleeping knight. I could easily have extracted him from his prison, with more tact, but I am a dragon, after all. I tear open the roof and unleash all my fury into the room, not waking him nearly as gently as I did the Princess. Reaching out a talon, I pluck him from his bed and take off into the night.
“Where are you taking me Dragon ?”
There was no fear in his voice, only disdain, as if it insulted him to be in my presence.
“I am taking you home, knight. Be still, the King sent me.”
He relaxed then and sat in smug silence.
We flew all through the night and come dawn, we returned to his realm. Locating the palace, I called out with my mind to the king, asking him to come to his balcony to greet us.
Then, I begin to fly up, higher and higher I fly. I would return Eldard to the King, I would return him from the Heavens to which he sent my brethren.
I can feel his fear as I open my talon. Feel the fear my kin felt when you slaughtered them, you savage.
I killed my first human today. I am a dragon, after all.
| “But baaaaabe,” Azernoth whined, casting his out arms wide and sinking back into the scarlet cushions of his favorite balcony chair, “I want to watch the game!” His seeing glass, nestled between the merlons of the eastern tower’s parapet, fell askew on its tripod. In the distance the cries of merry men could be heard in the courtyard as they prepared for what was to be one of the greatest football matches of the year.
The sound was overtaken as the clinking of cobbled heels upon stone grew louder. A woman, lifting her long, flowing pink dress above her ankles, quickly descended down upon her husband. She had a duster in one hand, which she brandished menacingly at Azernoth. “Not until you’ve swept the living quarters clean, you won’t!” she barked. “Never mind all of the other chores you keep ignoring. When will you ever grow up and help me keep this place clean!?”
Azernoth raised his hands in mock defense as the duster, wielded by Princess Anielia, dove repeatedly towards his head. “But babe, I spent all of yesterday cleaning up after Sir Oinksalot! I deserve a break!”
“You didn’t clean up after him,” she shouted in exasperation, “you took him out of his pen and scrubbed him down so that you could eat him.” She pointed the duster off to the left, where, sure enough, the good Sir was now rotating on a spit above a small fire with an apple in his mouth.
Before Azernoth could respond, a giant thud impacted against the tower, shaking it. Anielia sighed, cursing under her breath. She already knew what the noise meant, and it would only be a complication in her quest to get her husband to do his weekly housework. Letting out a deep breath, she turned and took a step back into the tower. Across the room, perched upon the other balcony, a dragon attempted to poke its head in through the balcony door.
A large, dopey voice filled the chamber. “Hi Anielia, can Azernoth come out and play today!” The dragon, a green zweibeiner, grinned madly from ear to ear.
“No, Leerkopf, he cannot come out and play today. He has many chores he needs to do. Maybe tomorrow he can play with you, but not today.”
Azernoth, sensing a solution to his predicament, rose up from his chair. “Please, babe! I promised him yesterday that I would play with him! You wouldn’t want me to break a promise, now would you?”
“Oh, pretty please! Pretty please with sugar on top!” The dragon bellowed.
“See, just look at that face!” Azernoth pleaded. Leerkopf scaly face contorted into an expression resembling that of a sad puppy.
“No!” Anielia bellowed, grabbing her husband by the shirt and dragging him into the room. In a swift movement she slammed the door behind him and locked it, pulling the key out. She then turned on Leerkopf, pushed his head out the door, slamming it shut while withdrawing the key. “He doesn’t leave until he does his chores! I’ve had enough of this!”
With that she thrust the duster into Azernoth’s hands. “I’ll free you when you’ve finished your chores. Until then, I’m locking you in the tower!”
“But babe!”
“No buts! By the gods, you’re like a child! A spoiled child!”
With that she stormed down the stairwell, slamming the door behind her. The sound of the lock turning echoed throughout the chamber. A voice drifted in from behind the balcony door. “She seems really mad today, Az, maybe I should just come back again tomorrow.”
“No!” Azernoth shouted, “You can’t leave me here! You’ve got to rescue me. Rescue me from the princess!”
“I don’t know, Az…”
“Please, buddy? I’ll let you eat part of Oinky if you set me free!”
This seemed to catch the dragon’s attention. “Aw man, you know I always wanted to eat him! But I don’t wanna be yelled at by Anielia…she’s scary…”
“If you rescue me, buddy, we can go far away from here! To a place where there are no chores, and we can eat Sir Oinksalot and any of his relatives anytime we want! We can watch football, drink mead, and make the bards sing for us whenever we please!”
“Okay, Az, I’ll break you out!”
*******
“And so,” the man said, resting the book upon his lap, “the dragon took to the skies and, with a great burst of flame from its mouth, burned the door away and freed the noble knight from the princess’s cruel trap. They flew far, far away, to a magical land where beer flowed from the taps, football was played at all hours, and no one had to do a single chore, ever. The end.”
A tiny girl of no more than six, tucked within her blankets, looked up at her father in the soft glow of the lamplight.
“I don’t think that’s how it happened.” She said.
“Of course it is!” the father grinned, reaching out and ruffling the little girl’s long, blonde hair.
“No,” another voice broke in, coming from the doorway, “I think she’s right. I don’t think that’s what happened, at all.”
The father cursed under his breath. The little girl began to smile.
Crossing the space between them, the mother, removing her hands from the pockets in her pink hoodie, laid them upon her husband’s shoulders. A golden retriever followed after her, with a big dopey grin on its face. She leaned in, her long blond hair falling upon his head, tickling his ear.
“Tell her about the one with the knight who, having failed to do his chores slept all alone on his couch that night, with only his dimwitted dragon to keep him company.”
| |
[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Well, even I know that this is backwards. But what do you want from me ? Gold is more enticing to me than maintaining appropriate roles. Although, I do agree that messing with the status quo doesn’t do anyone much good, it’ll be chaos before you know it.
For one thing, I was not aware they knew we could talk. They being humans, and we being, well, dragons. We do not talk in the traditional sense, but dragons contain an ancient and powerful form of magic. We have lost the art, for the most part, but we are still able to perform some of our old tricks. We communicate, as you would put it, telepathically. There was a time when most humans knew this, when we co-existed in relative peace, before dragons became the enemy.
In my opinion, humans did not accidently forget that we were able to communicate. You see, dragons have always had somewhat of an affinity for gold. Humans soon noticed this, and they wanted all of our gold for themselves. Humans never do things by halves; of course they needed all of it. It is simply easier to convince men and women to despise and hunt something when you believe it is a beast, incapable of speech.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when we started kidnapping princesses, probably about the time that they started to slaughter us. Eye for an eye, that sort of thing. At first, we simply wanted to trade, we’ll give you back your wife or daughter when you return our gold. Yet again, we underestimated the extraordinary greed of man.
Apologies, I became side-tracked. In a cruel twist of fate, a deranged Princess Ophelia has kidnapped the brave knight Sir. Eldard, it falls to me to retrieve him safely. Brave is quite the relative term, Eldard killed my cousin and crippled my sister. But they offered me much gold to retrieve him, their only stipulation was alive, he won’t miss a limb or two.
So here I stand, or rather crouch, in the forest surrounding Princess Ophelia’s tower. Yes, in an effort to be even more of a cliché, she is keeping the brave knight in an isolated tower, on an Island in the heart of her kingdom. This is where I came in, in the depth of the night I can travel fairly well undetected. And anyway, if I was revealed, it would probably be in everyone’s best interest if they just allowed me to continue on my way. I don’t make a habit of killing or maiming. If I’m honest, I actually haven’t ever killed a human, but then I am young, at least by my kind’s standards. I prey on cattle and sheep in the farmlands around my home, rotating between the different farms and never taking more than I need. The bones scattered around my cave (yes, we live in caves) I retrieve from battlefields. There is never a shortage of those, these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not strictly speaking, a pacifist. I have inherited from my ancestor’s, a certain fire in the belly, every pun intended.
I’m doing it again, sorry. I guess part of me is stalling, I may not be a pacifist, but I do not relish violence either. The Princess is young and beautiful, I’m told. Her Kingdom has been at war with the knight’s for many years, and things have begun to go South. In an act of desperation, the Princess and her loyal followers kidnapped Eldard and are holding him to ransom. They do not want gold however, she simply wishes for the war to end. It won’t work, I saw the look in the King’s eyes when he spoke to me. She should’ve asked for gold, I would have.
With a flap of my powerful wings, I surge from the forest and towards the dark tower. Now, as you probably know, I don’t generally fit through human-sized doors. I notice a large window on the far-side of the tower. I can hear her heartbeat. She’s sleeping. She’s alone. I should act now. She’s a woman, barely out of her teens, small and weak. I am a dragon, to call it child’s play would be both inaccurate and an understatement. And yet, something stays my talon. I do not usually become involved in the petty affairs of humans, but something about her plight, the sheer desperation. I can see her thoughts; she has lost three brothers to this war, and a father now lies stricken. I know of her pain, I too have lost those I loved, and the man I lost them to sleeps in this very tower.
For first time in my life, I am considering abandoning a quest for gold. What am I doing ? Am I really considering this ? My whole life, I have been told never to engage with humans. They are savages just want your gold and your hide. Yet, she feels, gentle. I reach out to her.
“Ophelia, I would say do not panic, but I would probably panic too, in your position. I have been sent here by King Rasmos to retrieve the knight. I know he is here.”
The girl sat bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide with panic and she frantically scanned the room, looking for the source of the deep, rich voice.
“Who’s there ? Where are you ? Show yourself, I’m armed.”
I do the dragon equivalent of a smile.
“No you’re not. Princess, I do not mean to alarm you, so forgive me if I do not reveal myself to you. Know this though, I mean you no harm.”
The King had offered me a sizeable bonus to take care of the Princess and her followers as well.
“Forgive me if I do not believe that, all of Rasmos’ men are brutes. I am calling for my guards. I cannot allow you to leave here, now that you know of our location.”
“Luckily for you, I am not one of Ramsos’ men. Listen to me Ophelia, I can help you. The King promised me much to retrieve Eldard, but you see, I can read the King. He is a greedy and unscrupulous man. I do not believe he will make good on his offer. I know too of the pain and loss that comes with war. Give me the knight and I will return him from whence he came.”
“No ! I cannot allow that, he is our only leverage. This war must end, too many lives have already been lost.”
“That is the way of men, Ophelia. If it is not this, they will find other reasons to kill and maim one another. I did ask your permission to take the knight, but I do not require it. Know this though, the King will never give in to your demands, not simply for the knight. I propose a trade, give me the knight and I will return with more leverage, in the form of his sons.”
“Why would I ever trust you ?”
I knew then, what I must do.
“Close your eyes Ophelia, and see my true form, see my heart. You see, my kind cannot lie to those pure of heart and intention. Do you trust me now ?”
“I... How did you do that ? What are you ?”
“I am one who has also suffered at the hand of Rasmos’ men. I will return.”
With that, I turned my attention to the sleeping knight. I could easily have extracted him from his prison, with more tact, but I am a dragon, after all. I tear open the roof and unleash all my fury into the room, not waking him nearly as gently as I did the Princess. Reaching out a talon, I pluck him from his bed and take off into the night.
“Where are you taking me Dragon ?”
There was no fear in his voice, only disdain, as if it insulted him to be in my presence.
“I am taking you home, knight. Be still, the King sent me.”
He relaxed then and sat in smug silence.
We flew all through the night and come dawn, we returned to his realm. Locating the palace, I called out with my mind to the king, asking him to come to his balcony to greet us.
Then, I begin to fly up, higher and higher I fly. I would return Eldard to the King, I would return him from the Heavens to which he sent my brethren.
I can feel his fear as I open my talon. Feel the fear my kin felt when you slaughtered them, you savage.
I killed my first human today. I am a dragon, after all.
| "King me."
I looked at the board. I handed her a white piece, grinning as she took it from me. My claws could barely pick the pieces up, let alone stack them on top of each other.
Here I was, a dragon without a hostage, trying to free a knight from a princess. And what did I have to do in order to free him?
"Hup hup hup! Your turn!"
Play checkers.
Granted, it was the Queen of the West, fiercest fire magician in the world. Her fireballs engulfed entire nations, she scorched the entire Blackforest wood! She even tamed the troll caves in the north.
And she was only four.
Yes, this small blond child, cute dimples, high pitched voice and bright orange dress was a nation destroying, fire burning, kidnapping genius.
"Uhhh... here... to here.. to here... to...here... king me!" I said triumphantly.
She stack a black piece onto mine. Her grin was spun upside down. She took a hard look at the board, staring it down, thinking it would give her an answer.
Did I mention she had mastered the four Master languages? Not even the champion scribes of old knew even *one* of them, let alone four.
"Hup, hup, hup...hup...hrmm... hup!" She had taken another four of my pieces. My chances at winning were fast burning up.
It was my turn to stare the board down. I had three pieces left, one king and two additional pieces, pawns in a game of... checkers...
*Oh the odd things in life.* | |
[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Itzqa was five hundred forty seven years old. Still young, as dragons go. But even for his age, Itzqa was small, and a human child could scarcely feel his weight if he stood on the child's palm. Yet Itzqa was filled with curiosity, and loved to explore the human world despite how weak and vulnerable he was.
So it was that one day, while exploring a forest, Itzqa happened upon a man sleeping while fishing in a stream. His face was covered in hair, his body was covered in armor, and at his belt there was a sword. To Itzqa he looked quite silly, and the small creature burst out laughing.
Hearing the laughter, the man awoke, and saw the laughter was coming from the dragon. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your whiskers!" the dragon replied, "They look so silly on you! Wherever did you get them?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a carp and I ate it whole, but its whiskers became stuck, and they are still on my face to this day."
The dragon continued to laugh. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your skin!" the dragon replied, "It looks so silly on you! Wherever did you get it?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a bass and I ate it whole, but its skin became stuck, and it is still on my body to this day."
The dragon continued to laugh. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your tail!" the dragon replied, "It looks so silly on you! Wherever did you get it?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a swordfish and I ate it whole, but its nose became stuck in my throat, and I pulled it out and now I carry it with me to this day."
The dragon was so amused by this that he walked over to the man and lay beside him. Before long, the man had caught plenty of fish, and the dragon had started a fire, and together, the two ate to their heart's content. So pleased were they by this arrangement that they agreed to travel together, the dragon named Itzqa, and the man, whose name was Ogi.
As Itzqa and Ogi walked, they came to a bridge. "Here", Ogi said to Itzqa, "Come, let me carry you so that you do not slip and fall, so that we may continue our journey together."
And Itzqa did as he was asked and the pair traveled safely across the bridge.
As Itzqa and Ogi walked further, they came to a stretch of sand and rocks littering the path. "Here", Itzqa said to Ogi, "Come, let me walk before you so that I may frighten away all of the snakes and spiders who might bite at you, so that we may continue our journey together."
And Ogi did as he was asked and the pair traveled safely across the sand and rocks.
Finally, the pair came to a castle. Without fear, they approached, and were welcomed into the castle as guests. They were brought to a table with food, and asked to regale the king and his daughter with tales of their journeys.
The two guests spoke of lands far away and great adventures, and as they spoke, the princess became more and more enamored with Ogi, until she declared that she could not live another day without him, and pleaded with her father to allow her to keep Ogi.
The king was a kind man, but he had a soft spot for his daughter's whims, and so he did as she asked, and ordered the guards to lock Ogi in a dungeon, to be released only when he fell in love with the princess and declared that he would never leave. Itzqa protested, but neither the princess nor the king could be swayed.
At this moment, Itzqa produced an egg of such magnificent colors that it appeared to be covered in jewels, and suddenly, the princess wanted nothing more than to possess this as well. However, just when the princess was about to ask her father to demand that the egg be given to her, Itzqa swallowed the egg whole.
"If you wish to possess the egg," Itzqa told her, "I can produce another, but I will not give it to you unless you free Ogi". But though the princess was greedy and wanted the egg, she refused to give up her prisoner.
"Very well then," Itzqa said, "Let us play a game. We shall compete in three contests: A contest of skill, a contest of wisdom, and a contest of beauty. If I win all three, then you must free Ogi. If not, you shall have the egg".
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "I accept! For there is no way a small lizard such as yourself could ever defeat me!"
So Itzqa declared that, for their first contest, the contest of skill, the dragon and the princess would both fill a balloon with their breath, and whichever was able to lift their balloon higher would win.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "With your tiny mouth, you'll never be able to fill a balloon!"
So Itzqa and the princess took their balloons and started blowing. And at first, the princess did indeed seem as though she was sure to win. Her balloon kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger! But no matter how hard she blew, the balloon would not lift off of the ground.
Meanwhile, the balloon Itzqa blew into filled slowly, but the fire in his belly filled the balloon with warm air that gradually sent it floating skyward until it could no longer be seen.
"You may have won this time," the princess said, angrily, "but I'll defeat you in the next contest!"
For the second contest, the contest of wisdom, Itzqa declared that the two were to be brought a pile of sand and each was to guess how many grains of sand their pile contained, with whoever guessed most closely to be declared the winner.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "With your little clawed fingers, you'll never be able to sift through the sand to see how much there is!"
So the two of them were each brought a large pile of sand. Immediately, the princess began to walk around her pile, peeking at it from every angle, measuring it with various devices. Finally, she declared that her pile contained ten thousand, seven hundred thirty six grains of sand. Then, a hundred soldiers were summoned to count every last grain of sand, and when they were done, they confirmed that the final count was seven hundred thirty *five* grains of sand.
When it came time for Itzqa to act, the dragon poured fire from its mouth over the pile of sand, covering it from every angle until the entire pile of sand had melted into liquid. Then, he got to work blowing on the pile to cool it. When it was done, Itzqa guessed that the pile now contained exactly *one* grain of sand, and sure enough, the sand had re-formed into one solid piece.
"Grrrrr! You may have won this time," the princess said, angrily, "but I'll defeat you in the last contest!"
For the last contest, the contest of beauty, Itzqa declared that Ogi would be allowed to choose to bestow a kiss on one of them, and whoever received the kiss would be declared the winner.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "A man as handsome as Ogi would surely never lower himself to kiss a disgusting lizard like you, and I am the most beautiful girl in the land! There is no doubt that he will choose me!"
And truly, the princess *was* a beauty to behold, and it was said that there was no other who could compare to her feminine charms. But when Ogi was told to choose between the two of them, and Ogi was forced to decide between the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but one who had only ever treated him badly, and a scaly little dragon, but one who had only ever shown him respect and kindness, he did not for a moment hesitate to kiss Itzqa, whereupon Itzqa suddenly transformed into a handsome prince whose blond hair glowed with the radiance of the sun and fair features seemed as though they were painted by the most skilled artists.
"Because of your devotion," Itzqa explained to Ogi, "I have become human. Because I love you, and always wish to be by your side."
"I love you as well," said Ogi, "and it is also my wish that we never be parted."
But the princess would not accept defeat, and screamed that she demanded to be given the egg, and neither Itzqa nor Ogi were to be allowed to leave until she could dine on a dragon's-egg omelet.
Compelled to comply with her wishes, Itzqa produced an egg, every bit as beautiful as before, but warned the princess not to eat it, for it could only ever enhance the inner beauty of the one who consumed it.
"Then I shall be even more beautiful still!" the princess declared, and had her servants prepare the egg as an omelet, which she then greedily ate. However, no sooner had she done this than her hair began to lose its color, her teeth started falling out, her clothes began to rot off of her flesh, and her skin began to emit a foul odor.
"I tried to warn you," Itzqa said to the princess, "that a dragon's egg only enhances the inner beauty of the one who eats it. But inside, you are foul and ugly, and as such you are now equally so on the outside as well."
And so, for the rest of her miserable days, the princess caused disgust in the eyes of anyone who saw her or came near her. Meanwhile, Itzqa and Ogi spent the rest of their days happy in each others' arms, and continued to travel the world together.
The end. | "King me."
I looked at the board. I handed her a white piece, grinning as she took it from me. My claws could barely pick the pieces up, let alone stack them on top of each other.
Here I was, a dragon without a hostage, trying to free a knight from a princess. And what did I have to do in order to free him?
"Hup hup hup! Your turn!"
Play checkers.
Granted, it was the Queen of the West, fiercest fire magician in the world. Her fireballs engulfed entire nations, she scorched the entire Blackforest wood! She even tamed the troll caves in the north.
And she was only four.
Yes, this small blond child, cute dimples, high pitched voice and bright orange dress was a nation destroying, fire burning, kidnapping genius.
"Uhhh... here... to here.. to here... to...here... king me!" I said triumphantly.
She stack a black piece onto mine. Her grin was spun upside down. She took a hard look at the board, staring it down, thinking it would give her an answer.
Did I mention she had mastered the four Master languages? Not even the champion scribes of old knew even *one* of them, let alone four.
"Hup, hup, hup...hup...hrmm... hup!" She had taken another four of my pieces. My chances at winning were fast burning up.
It was my turn to stare the board down. I had three pieces left, one king and two additional pieces, pawns in a game of... checkers...
*Oh the odd things in life.* | |
[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Well, even I know that this is backwards. But what do you want from me ? Gold is more enticing to me than maintaining appropriate roles. Although, I do agree that messing with the status quo doesn’t do anyone much good, it’ll be chaos before you know it.
For one thing, I was not aware they knew we could talk. They being humans, and we being, well, dragons. We do not talk in the traditional sense, but dragons contain an ancient and powerful form of magic. We have lost the art, for the most part, but we are still able to perform some of our old tricks. We communicate, as you would put it, telepathically. There was a time when most humans knew this, when we co-existed in relative peace, before dragons became the enemy.
In my opinion, humans did not accidently forget that we were able to communicate. You see, dragons have always had somewhat of an affinity for gold. Humans soon noticed this, and they wanted all of our gold for themselves. Humans never do things by halves; of course they needed all of it. It is simply easier to convince men and women to despise and hunt something when you believe it is a beast, incapable of speech.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when we started kidnapping princesses, probably about the time that they started to slaughter us. Eye for an eye, that sort of thing. At first, we simply wanted to trade, we’ll give you back your wife or daughter when you return our gold. Yet again, we underestimated the extraordinary greed of man.
Apologies, I became side-tracked. In a cruel twist of fate, a deranged Princess Ophelia has kidnapped the brave knight Sir. Eldard, it falls to me to retrieve him safely. Brave is quite the relative term, Eldard killed my cousin and crippled my sister. But they offered me much gold to retrieve him, their only stipulation was alive, he won’t miss a limb or two.
So here I stand, or rather crouch, in the forest surrounding Princess Ophelia’s tower. Yes, in an effort to be even more of a cliché, she is keeping the brave knight in an isolated tower, on an Island in the heart of her kingdom. This is where I came in, in the depth of the night I can travel fairly well undetected. And anyway, if I was revealed, it would probably be in everyone’s best interest if they just allowed me to continue on my way. I don’t make a habit of killing or maiming. If I’m honest, I actually haven’t ever killed a human, but then I am young, at least by my kind’s standards. I prey on cattle and sheep in the farmlands around my home, rotating between the different farms and never taking more than I need. The bones scattered around my cave (yes, we live in caves) I retrieve from battlefields. There is never a shortage of those, these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not strictly speaking, a pacifist. I have inherited from my ancestor’s, a certain fire in the belly, every pun intended.
I’m doing it again, sorry. I guess part of me is stalling, I may not be a pacifist, but I do not relish violence either. The Princess is young and beautiful, I’m told. Her Kingdom has been at war with the knight’s for many years, and things have begun to go South. In an act of desperation, the Princess and her loyal followers kidnapped Eldard and are holding him to ransom. They do not want gold however, she simply wishes for the war to end. It won’t work, I saw the look in the King’s eyes when he spoke to me. She should’ve asked for gold, I would have.
With a flap of my powerful wings, I surge from the forest and towards the dark tower. Now, as you probably know, I don’t generally fit through human-sized doors. I notice a large window on the far-side of the tower. I can hear her heartbeat. She’s sleeping. She’s alone. I should act now. She’s a woman, barely out of her teens, small and weak. I am a dragon, to call it child’s play would be both inaccurate and an understatement. And yet, something stays my talon. I do not usually become involved in the petty affairs of humans, but something about her plight, the sheer desperation. I can see her thoughts; she has lost three brothers to this war, and a father now lies stricken. I know of her pain, I too have lost those I loved, and the man I lost them to sleeps in this very tower.
For first time in my life, I am considering abandoning a quest for gold. What am I doing ? Am I really considering this ? My whole life, I have been told never to engage with humans. They are savages just want your gold and your hide. Yet, she feels, gentle. I reach out to her.
“Ophelia, I would say do not panic, but I would probably panic too, in your position. I have been sent here by King Rasmos to retrieve the knight. I know he is here.”
The girl sat bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide with panic and she frantically scanned the room, looking for the source of the deep, rich voice.
“Who’s there ? Where are you ? Show yourself, I’m armed.”
I do the dragon equivalent of a smile.
“No you’re not. Princess, I do not mean to alarm you, so forgive me if I do not reveal myself to you. Know this though, I mean you no harm.”
The King had offered me a sizeable bonus to take care of the Princess and her followers as well.
“Forgive me if I do not believe that, all of Rasmos’ men are brutes. I am calling for my guards. I cannot allow you to leave here, now that you know of our location.”
“Luckily for you, I am not one of Ramsos’ men. Listen to me Ophelia, I can help you. The King promised me much to retrieve Eldard, but you see, I can read the King. He is a greedy and unscrupulous man. I do not believe he will make good on his offer. I know too of the pain and loss that comes with war. Give me the knight and I will return him from whence he came.”
“No ! I cannot allow that, he is our only leverage. This war must end, too many lives have already been lost.”
“That is the way of men, Ophelia. If it is not this, they will find other reasons to kill and maim one another. I did ask your permission to take the knight, but I do not require it. Know this though, the King will never give in to your demands, not simply for the knight. I propose a trade, give me the knight and I will return with more leverage, in the form of his sons.”
“Why would I ever trust you ?”
I knew then, what I must do.
“Close your eyes Ophelia, and see my true form, see my heart. You see, my kind cannot lie to those pure of heart and intention. Do you trust me now ?”
“I... How did you do that ? What are you ?”
“I am one who has also suffered at the hand of Rasmos’ men. I will return.”
With that, I turned my attention to the sleeping knight. I could easily have extracted him from his prison, with more tact, but I am a dragon, after all. I tear open the roof and unleash all my fury into the room, not waking him nearly as gently as I did the Princess. Reaching out a talon, I pluck him from his bed and take off into the night.
“Where are you taking me Dragon ?”
There was no fear in his voice, only disdain, as if it insulted him to be in my presence.
“I am taking you home, knight. Be still, the King sent me.”
He relaxed then and sat in smug silence.
We flew all through the night and come dawn, we returned to his realm. Locating the palace, I called out with my mind to the king, asking him to come to his balcony to greet us.
Then, I begin to fly up, higher and higher I fly. I would return Eldard to the King, I would return him from the Heavens to which he sent my brethren.
I can feel his fear as I open my talon. Feel the fear my kin felt when you slaughtered them, you savage.
I killed my first human today. I am a dragon, after all.
| It had started with a scream. Jeremiah, like a good knight, had followed the scream, and barged into the room where it originated. What he found was his betrothed, Lillian, with her skirts hiked up and the princess on her knees.
They dueled, and while Jeremiah really was a good knight, Princess Verona was simply better. Not only that, but they weren't even physically fighting. According to a maid and butler that had been watching everything whilst in the closet, Verona had challenged Jeremiah to a dancing duel.
In their words, Verona had requested to dance, and Jeremiah had taken out his sword. She had laughed at him immediately and began to “release the grooviest moves ever seen” (the maid) and “shook those hips like newly-made jelly just prodded” (the butler). Also according to them, when Jeremiah had danced, Verona had said “Is he having a seizure?” to which Lillian had replied “He's like that in bed, too.” At that point, Jeremiah had apparently burst into tears. The maid and butler had ran to get assistance, and when a train of guards and curious onlookers went up the tower ten minutes later, they were gone.
All three of them.
Dingles, frankly, didn't care. Dingles just wanted to leave his job, and maybe settle down with another nice dragon and live in a clan again. But no, Dingles had been caught as a child and then raised to do these stupid, menial, dangerous tasks. Nobody wanted to face Princess Verona, for even the people that could fight her wanted no royal blood on their hands. Either that, or they rightfully feared for their lives.
But a dragon? Nobody cared if a hunting-dragon died. Dingles was a nodragon. Replaceable. Around his neck was a collar, enchanted and impossible to take off—and the worst part was that if he did not complete the task within the timeframe given, it would kill him. If he went to join a dragon clan, they would laugh at him. And in truth, there was nothing Dingles hated more than true solitude. So he kept it on, and kept doing their jobs.
This was the worst job Dingles had ever done. Generally he just chased down thieves or bandits or maybe helped a kitten down from a tree. But to face the fearsome warrior and pro-dancer herself... Dingles shuddered to himself, and he blinked a few times to shake the terror away. His large, bright eyes swept across the ferns. Recent travelers had said they had seen someone similar to Lillian, collecting berries off bushes in Fervvel Forest, so he had come here and had been searching for a clue.
Despite all of that, it was still a surprise when Dingles came across the lady herself. Lillian was, as the rumors said, beautiful. She had dark, smooth skin, and pale blue eyes, framed with long lashes. Her hair was a glorious raven river, spilling past her elbows to her hips. Upon seeing Dingles, her pretty gaze glazed over, berry-stained lips rounded. She blinked, and her lovely mouth opened.
“Aw, shit,” Lillian said. She turned away, skirts rustling with the motion. “VERONA!” And the lady sprinted off.
Dingles groaned, and began to thunder after her. He would not fly well in the forest, with all the trees, so he was reduced to lumbering after the girl. To make it worse, she was outpacing him. He was about to turn away when the princess came into sight.
She was dressed in a simple dress with short sleeves. When she reached out to touch Lillian's face, he saw the definition in her arms. Princess Verona was clearly tanned by the sun, but all it did was make her skin fair rather than porcelain white.
“Dragon-sir,” Princess Verona said, icy and courteous. “I believe I do understand why you are here.”
“I am here to take back Jeremiah,” Dingles said, voice holding a note of frustration.
Verona's green eyes flashed. “I apologize, but you cannot take him. If you truly want to, we must duel.”
Dingles groaned. Perhaps solitude would be better. “Alright, alright.”
Verona gave him a serious look, and drew her sword out of the ornate sheath upon her hips. That was when a dark-haired man came running in. He was panting, and ran a hand over his face.
“Lillian, the soup is burning,” he said. Lillian gasped and Verona touched her arm, a clear signal that it was alright to leave. As she left, the man stood up straighter and finally noticed Dingles. He gave Verona a questioning look, but suddenly his expression was stricken.
“Don't worry, Jeremiah.”
“Please don't fight over me! Oh, gods. Verona!” Jeremiah turned to Dingles. “I'm Jeremiah. I...I...I can explain.”
“Please do,” Dingles said.
“Alright,” Jeremiah said, “So, uhm, it turns out Verona and Lillian are in love. And uhm, in truth, I...I didn't mind, but, uhm, she said we should duel...”
“I didn't know you back then,” Verona reminded him, and gave him a friendly smile which he returned.
“And, uhm, we did, and uhm, I mean...There was a moment of badness between us, but...We resolved it.”
“He cried and it was kind of cute,” Verona informed. “He was quite kind and embarrassed. I immediately regretted my words and my decisions.”
“T-thank you. Anyways, in truth, I...I didn't want to be married, yet. I felt so awkward around Lillian, and in bed it was so weird, but maybe that was because she was a, well, lesbian.” At that, Verona looked at Dingles and transmitted a clear message: It wasn't 'cause Lillian was a lesbian. “I told Verona this, and I told her that...to be honest, I didn't want to be a knight, either.”
Dingles stared at him. “What?”
“I want to be a priest,” Jeremiah admitted. “Ah, it's just that my brother said I had the makings of a knight, but I've come to realize my true feelings.”
“Wouldn't he look good in white?” Lillian said, approaching out from the bushes. She smelled of a rich stew. “Anyways, that's the story.”
Dingles pressed his hands against his eyelids, feeling a headache beginning. Finally, he took them away and studied his talons. A long silence hung between them, punctuated only by Jeremiah mumbling “I'm hungry” and a soft noise that seemed to be someone patting his head in comfort.
“I have to take Jeremiah,” Dingles said, voice resigned.
“No! Please. I like being with them, and they promised to take me to a clergy near the castle.” Jeremiah looked at him, eyes sad. “Please.”
“I was ordered by your father to—”
“My father just thinks I've disappeared! I will send him a letter as soon as we're in the next city, I promise you. He will not punish you.”
“It's not that,” Dingles said, exasperated. “My collar. If I don't return you in a month, I'm dead.”
Verona's face lit up. “I'll take it off.” Dingles was about to protest, but Verona was already stepping to him, and in heartbeat she was there, her fingers around the steel.
“You can't,” Dingles said.
“I can,” Verona said, confident and gentle and beautiful, and Dingles realized why Lillian loved her. At that exact moment, the steel came apart, and Dingles' eyes widened, his claws pressing softly against the scales there. It was off. His chain, his boundary, his limit—it was gone. He could do anything, now. No dragon would laugh at him; he could not be punished.
“How?” he asked, stunned. Verona grinned, brilliant and full of light.
“I'm the Princess,” she said, “I have higher power than the masters that caught you.” She watched him for a moment as tears welled up in his eyes. “Would you like to come with us?”
Dingles looked up, confused. “What?”
“Come with us to the castle. On the way there, maybe you can find a place you want to go. You don't have anywhere to go right now after all, right?” Dingles nodded, and a shadow passed over Verona's face. “I mean, you don't have to come with us,” she added hastily, “I'm not trying to force you—”
“No, I do,” said Dingles, the words trembling with emotion. In that moment, his heart felt suddenly soothed and softened, and all was fine.
And then, Jeremiah's stomach rumbled.
The knight—no, soon-to-be-priest—blushed, and Lillian and Verona looked at another and laughed. After a brief moment, Dingles joined in.
When the laughter died, they went to eat. | |
[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Well, even I know that this is backwards. But what do you want from me ? Gold is more enticing to me than maintaining appropriate roles. Although, I do agree that messing with the status quo doesn’t do anyone much good, it’ll be chaos before you know it.
For one thing, I was not aware they knew we could talk. They being humans, and we being, well, dragons. We do not talk in the traditional sense, but dragons contain an ancient and powerful form of magic. We have lost the art, for the most part, but we are still able to perform some of our old tricks. We communicate, as you would put it, telepathically. There was a time when most humans knew this, when we co-existed in relative peace, before dragons became the enemy.
In my opinion, humans did not accidently forget that we were able to communicate. You see, dragons have always had somewhat of an affinity for gold. Humans soon noticed this, and they wanted all of our gold for themselves. Humans never do things by halves; of course they needed all of it. It is simply easier to convince men and women to despise and hunt something when you believe it is a beast, incapable of speech.
I couldn’t tell you exactly when we started kidnapping princesses, probably about the time that they started to slaughter us. Eye for an eye, that sort of thing. At first, we simply wanted to trade, we’ll give you back your wife or daughter when you return our gold. Yet again, we underestimated the extraordinary greed of man.
Apologies, I became side-tracked. In a cruel twist of fate, a deranged Princess Ophelia has kidnapped the brave knight Sir. Eldard, it falls to me to retrieve him safely. Brave is quite the relative term, Eldard killed my cousin and crippled my sister. But they offered me much gold to retrieve him, their only stipulation was alive, he won’t miss a limb or two.
So here I stand, or rather crouch, in the forest surrounding Princess Ophelia’s tower. Yes, in an effort to be even more of a cliché, she is keeping the brave knight in an isolated tower, on an Island in the heart of her kingdom. This is where I came in, in the depth of the night I can travel fairly well undetected. And anyway, if I was revealed, it would probably be in everyone’s best interest if they just allowed me to continue on my way. I don’t make a habit of killing or maiming. If I’m honest, I actually haven’t ever killed a human, but then I am young, at least by my kind’s standards. I prey on cattle and sheep in the farmlands around my home, rotating between the different farms and never taking more than I need. The bones scattered around my cave (yes, we live in caves) I retrieve from battlefields. There is never a shortage of those, these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not strictly speaking, a pacifist. I have inherited from my ancestor’s, a certain fire in the belly, every pun intended.
I’m doing it again, sorry. I guess part of me is stalling, I may not be a pacifist, but I do not relish violence either. The Princess is young and beautiful, I’m told. Her Kingdom has been at war with the knight’s for many years, and things have begun to go South. In an act of desperation, the Princess and her loyal followers kidnapped Eldard and are holding him to ransom. They do not want gold however, she simply wishes for the war to end. It won’t work, I saw the look in the King’s eyes when he spoke to me. She should’ve asked for gold, I would have.
With a flap of my powerful wings, I surge from the forest and towards the dark tower. Now, as you probably know, I don’t generally fit through human-sized doors. I notice a large window on the far-side of the tower. I can hear her heartbeat. She’s sleeping. She’s alone. I should act now. She’s a woman, barely out of her teens, small and weak. I am a dragon, to call it child’s play would be both inaccurate and an understatement. And yet, something stays my talon. I do not usually become involved in the petty affairs of humans, but something about her plight, the sheer desperation. I can see her thoughts; she has lost three brothers to this war, and a father now lies stricken. I know of her pain, I too have lost those I loved, and the man I lost them to sleeps in this very tower.
For first time in my life, I am considering abandoning a quest for gold. What am I doing ? Am I really considering this ? My whole life, I have been told never to engage with humans. They are savages just want your gold and your hide. Yet, she feels, gentle. I reach out to her.
“Ophelia, I would say do not panic, but I would probably panic too, in your position. I have been sent here by King Rasmos to retrieve the knight. I know he is here.”
The girl sat bolt upright in her bed, eyes wide with panic and she frantically scanned the room, looking for the source of the deep, rich voice.
“Who’s there ? Where are you ? Show yourself, I’m armed.”
I do the dragon equivalent of a smile.
“No you’re not. Princess, I do not mean to alarm you, so forgive me if I do not reveal myself to you. Know this though, I mean you no harm.”
The King had offered me a sizeable bonus to take care of the Princess and her followers as well.
“Forgive me if I do not believe that, all of Rasmos’ men are brutes. I am calling for my guards. I cannot allow you to leave here, now that you know of our location.”
“Luckily for you, I am not one of Ramsos’ men. Listen to me Ophelia, I can help you. The King promised me much to retrieve Eldard, but you see, I can read the King. He is a greedy and unscrupulous man. I do not believe he will make good on his offer. I know too of the pain and loss that comes with war. Give me the knight and I will return him from whence he came.”
“No ! I cannot allow that, he is our only leverage. This war must end, too many lives have already been lost.”
“That is the way of men, Ophelia. If it is not this, they will find other reasons to kill and maim one another. I did ask your permission to take the knight, but I do not require it. Know this though, the King will never give in to your demands, not simply for the knight. I propose a trade, give me the knight and I will return with more leverage, in the form of his sons.”
“Why would I ever trust you ?”
I knew then, what I must do.
“Close your eyes Ophelia, and see my true form, see my heart. You see, my kind cannot lie to those pure of heart and intention. Do you trust me now ?”
“I... How did you do that ? What are you ?”
“I am one who has also suffered at the hand of Rasmos’ men. I will return.”
With that, I turned my attention to the sleeping knight. I could easily have extracted him from his prison, with more tact, but I am a dragon, after all. I tear open the roof and unleash all my fury into the room, not waking him nearly as gently as I did the Princess. Reaching out a talon, I pluck him from his bed and take off into the night.
“Where are you taking me Dragon ?”
There was no fear in his voice, only disdain, as if it insulted him to be in my presence.
“I am taking you home, knight. Be still, the King sent me.”
He relaxed then and sat in smug silence.
We flew all through the night and come dawn, we returned to his realm. Locating the palace, I called out with my mind to the king, asking him to come to his balcony to greet us.
Then, I begin to fly up, higher and higher I fly. I would return Eldard to the King, I would return him from the Heavens to which he sent my brethren.
I can feel his fear as I open my talon. Feel the fear my kin felt when you slaughtered them, you savage.
I killed my first human today. I am a dragon, after all.
| I stare at the princess. She was such an elegant, kind person. Until she forced my master, Knight George, to marry her. My master already liked a young, peasant girl. I don't even know why. I mean, she's just a peasant! But I guess love is a different kind that I cannot understand.
"Coroth, hey?" the evil empress guesses, her relaxing manner pissing me off. She looked so laid-back. Like nothing happened.
"Lila, isn't it?" I ask, right back to her, "or should I say wannabe Lady Dame?"
The monarch glares at me. "I'm no wannabe," she argues, boastful, "I'm getting married to George tomorrow." She flashes a bright smile. I scowl at her cheerful atmosphere.
"My father has already set the marriage," she explains, "we will have many children and have a beautiful family!"
I spit in disgust, sparks of fire dancing from my spit. "My master does not love you, you witch! He likes a kind woman, one with an open heart. Now he is only a captive, forced into marrying such a horrid woman like you!"
The crowned head slaps my cheek. "Shut up, you little brute!" the princess pouts, "you don't know anything. He will have to marry me, no matter who his heart belongs to." She cackles evilly.
I smack my tail into the woman's face, overthrowing her onto the ground. I cannot hold the urge to kill her.
"Hehe," the girl giggles, "so you wanna play the game, hey? Guards!" Under her command, many guards appear from behind the trees, holding weapons and bows.
I narrow my eyes and open my mouth, casting out the flames of fire. Men are killed and many are injured.
The princess laughs. "That is only my first wave, Coroth."
She puts her hands together, forming a magical orb between her palms. She smirks a malicious smirk. At last, once the orb is large enough, Lila shoots the powerful sphere to my chest. Reacting quickly, I form a golden shield, blocking the ball away. The princess keeps on pressing the orb, trying to force open the shield. I toss a fireball from my mouth to the princess.
"AHH!" the malevolent teenager screams, trying to dodge the warm flame.
I lift off, flying overhead the palace. I finally see a tower with my master, tied to a pole. I land and burn all the guards.
"Master! Master!" I yell, "wake up!" My master's head is tilted to the side, his eyes closed. I tore the ropes with my sharp teeth and slide Knight George onto my back.
"Go! Get him!" I can hear the princess's voice screeching as they notice the sight of me, carrying her lover on my back.
I beat my wings against the wind, ignoring her useless calls. Guards try to shoot arrows at me but I dodge all of them. I have to save my owner. I duck the clouds and my eyes avoid the stinging sight of the sun. Finally, I notice a fort of ours in the distance. We can't live in the King's castle anymore. I swoop down a bit, ready for landing.
"Hold on tight," I whisper to my master, hoping he can hear somehow, despite his condition. | |
[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Itzqa was five hundred forty seven years old. Still young, as dragons go. But even for his age, Itzqa was small, and a human child could scarcely feel his weight if he stood on the child's palm. Yet Itzqa was filled with curiosity, and loved to explore the human world despite how weak and vulnerable he was.
So it was that one day, while exploring a forest, Itzqa happened upon a man sleeping while fishing in a stream. His face was covered in hair, his body was covered in armor, and at his belt there was a sword. To Itzqa he looked quite silly, and the small creature burst out laughing.
Hearing the laughter, the man awoke, and saw the laughter was coming from the dragon. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your whiskers!" the dragon replied, "They look so silly on you! Wherever did you get them?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a carp and I ate it whole, but its whiskers became stuck, and they are still on my face to this day."
The dragon continued to laugh. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your skin!" the dragon replied, "It looks so silly on you! Wherever did you get it?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a bass and I ate it whole, but its skin became stuck, and it is still on my body to this day."
The dragon continued to laugh. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your tail!" the dragon replied, "It looks so silly on you! Wherever did you get it?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a swordfish and I ate it whole, but its nose became stuck in my throat, and I pulled it out and now I carry it with me to this day."
The dragon was so amused by this that he walked over to the man and lay beside him. Before long, the man had caught plenty of fish, and the dragon had started a fire, and together, the two ate to their heart's content. So pleased were they by this arrangement that they agreed to travel together, the dragon named Itzqa, and the man, whose name was Ogi.
As Itzqa and Ogi walked, they came to a bridge. "Here", Ogi said to Itzqa, "Come, let me carry you so that you do not slip and fall, so that we may continue our journey together."
And Itzqa did as he was asked and the pair traveled safely across the bridge.
As Itzqa and Ogi walked further, they came to a stretch of sand and rocks littering the path. "Here", Itzqa said to Ogi, "Come, let me walk before you so that I may frighten away all of the snakes and spiders who might bite at you, so that we may continue our journey together."
And Ogi did as he was asked and the pair traveled safely across the sand and rocks.
Finally, the pair came to a castle. Without fear, they approached, and were welcomed into the castle as guests. They were brought to a table with food, and asked to regale the king and his daughter with tales of their journeys.
The two guests spoke of lands far away and great adventures, and as they spoke, the princess became more and more enamored with Ogi, until she declared that she could not live another day without him, and pleaded with her father to allow her to keep Ogi.
The king was a kind man, but he had a soft spot for his daughter's whims, and so he did as she asked, and ordered the guards to lock Ogi in a dungeon, to be released only when he fell in love with the princess and declared that he would never leave. Itzqa protested, but neither the princess nor the king could be swayed.
At this moment, Itzqa produced an egg of such magnificent colors that it appeared to be covered in jewels, and suddenly, the princess wanted nothing more than to possess this as well. However, just when the princess was about to ask her father to demand that the egg be given to her, Itzqa swallowed the egg whole.
"If you wish to possess the egg," Itzqa told her, "I can produce another, but I will not give it to you unless you free Ogi". But though the princess was greedy and wanted the egg, she refused to give up her prisoner.
"Very well then," Itzqa said, "Let us play a game. We shall compete in three contests: A contest of skill, a contest of wisdom, and a contest of beauty. If I win all three, then you must free Ogi. If not, you shall have the egg".
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "I accept! For there is no way a small lizard such as yourself could ever defeat me!"
So Itzqa declared that, for their first contest, the contest of skill, the dragon and the princess would both fill a balloon with their breath, and whichever was able to lift their balloon higher would win.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "With your tiny mouth, you'll never be able to fill a balloon!"
So Itzqa and the princess took their balloons and started blowing. And at first, the princess did indeed seem as though she was sure to win. Her balloon kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger! But no matter how hard she blew, the balloon would not lift off of the ground.
Meanwhile, the balloon Itzqa blew into filled slowly, but the fire in his belly filled the balloon with warm air that gradually sent it floating skyward until it could no longer be seen.
"You may have won this time," the princess said, angrily, "but I'll defeat you in the next contest!"
For the second contest, the contest of wisdom, Itzqa declared that the two were to be brought a pile of sand and each was to guess how many grains of sand their pile contained, with whoever guessed most closely to be declared the winner.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "With your little clawed fingers, you'll never be able to sift through the sand to see how much there is!"
So the two of them were each brought a large pile of sand. Immediately, the princess began to walk around her pile, peeking at it from every angle, measuring it with various devices. Finally, she declared that her pile contained ten thousand, seven hundred thirty six grains of sand. Then, a hundred soldiers were summoned to count every last grain of sand, and when they were done, they confirmed that the final count was seven hundred thirty *five* grains of sand.
When it came time for Itzqa to act, the dragon poured fire from its mouth over the pile of sand, covering it from every angle until the entire pile of sand had melted into liquid. Then, he got to work blowing on the pile to cool it. When it was done, Itzqa guessed that the pile now contained exactly *one* grain of sand, and sure enough, the sand had re-formed into one solid piece.
"Grrrrr! You may have won this time," the princess said, angrily, "but I'll defeat you in the last contest!"
For the last contest, the contest of beauty, Itzqa declared that Ogi would be allowed to choose to bestow a kiss on one of them, and whoever received the kiss would be declared the winner.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "A man as handsome as Ogi would surely never lower himself to kiss a disgusting lizard like you, and I am the most beautiful girl in the land! There is no doubt that he will choose me!"
And truly, the princess *was* a beauty to behold, and it was said that there was no other who could compare to her feminine charms. But when Ogi was told to choose between the two of them, and Ogi was forced to decide between the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but one who had only ever treated him badly, and a scaly little dragon, but one who had only ever shown him respect and kindness, he did not for a moment hesitate to kiss Itzqa, whereupon Itzqa suddenly transformed into a handsome prince whose blond hair glowed with the radiance of the sun and fair features seemed as though they were painted by the most skilled artists.
"Because of your devotion," Itzqa explained to Ogi, "I have become human. Because I love you, and always wish to be by your side."
"I love you as well," said Ogi, "and it is also my wish that we never be parted."
But the princess would not accept defeat, and screamed that she demanded to be given the egg, and neither Itzqa nor Ogi were to be allowed to leave until she could dine on a dragon's-egg omelet.
Compelled to comply with her wishes, Itzqa produced an egg, every bit as beautiful as before, but warned the princess not to eat it, for it could only ever enhance the inner beauty of the one who consumed it.
"Then I shall be even more beautiful still!" the princess declared, and had her servants prepare the egg as an omelet, which she then greedily ate. However, no sooner had she done this than her hair began to lose its color, her teeth started falling out, her clothes began to rot off of her flesh, and her skin began to emit a foul odor.
"I tried to warn you," Itzqa said to the princess, "that a dragon's egg only enhances the inner beauty of the one who eats it. But inside, you are foul and ugly, and as such you are now equally so on the outside as well."
And so, for the rest of her miserable days, the princess caused disgust in the eyes of anyone who saw her or came near her. Meanwhile, Itzqa and Ogi spent the rest of their days happy in each others' arms, and continued to travel the world together.
The end. | I stare at the princess. She was such an elegant, kind person. Until she forced my master, Knight George, to marry her. My master already liked a young, peasant girl. I don't even know why. I mean, she's just a peasant! But I guess love is a different kind that I cannot understand.
"Coroth, hey?" the evil empress guesses, her relaxing manner pissing me off. She looked so laid-back. Like nothing happened.
"Lila, isn't it?" I ask, right back to her, "or should I say wannabe Lady Dame?"
The monarch glares at me. "I'm no wannabe," she argues, boastful, "I'm getting married to George tomorrow." She flashes a bright smile. I scowl at her cheerful atmosphere.
"My father has already set the marriage," she explains, "we will have many children and have a beautiful family!"
I spit in disgust, sparks of fire dancing from my spit. "My master does not love you, you witch! He likes a kind woman, one with an open heart. Now he is only a captive, forced into marrying such a horrid woman like you!"
The crowned head slaps my cheek. "Shut up, you little brute!" the princess pouts, "you don't know anything. He will have to marry me, no matter who his heart belongs to." She cackles evilly.
I smack my tail into the woman's face, overthrowing her onto the ground. I cannot hold the urge to kill her.
"Hehe," the girl giggles, "so you wanna play the game, hey? Guards!" Under her command, many guards appear from behind the trees, holding weapons and bows.
I narrow my eyes and open my mouth, casting out the flames of fire. Men are killed and many are injured.
The princess laughs. "That is only my first wave, Coroth."
She puts her hands together, forming a magical orb between her palms. She smirks a malicious smirk. At last, once the orb is large enough, Lila shoots the powerful sphere to my chest. Reacting quickly, I form a golden shield, blocking the ball away. The princess keeps on pressing the orb, trying to force open the shield. I toss a fireball from my mouth to the princess.
"AHH!" the malevolent teenager screams, trying to dodge the warm flame.
I lift off, flying overhead the palace. I finally see a tower with my master, tied to a pole. I land and burn all the guards.
"Master! Master!" I yell, "wake up!" My master's head is tilted to the side, his eyes closed. I tore the ropes with my sharp teeth and slide Knight George onto my back.
"Go! Get him!" I can hear the princess's voice screeching as they notice the sight of me, carrying her lover on my back.
I beat my wings against the wind, ignoring her useless calls. Guards try to shoot arrows at me but I dodge all of them. I have to save my owner. I duck the clouds and my eyes avoid the stinging sight of the sun. Finally, I notice a fort of ours in the distance. We can't live in the King's castle anymore. I swoop down a bit, ready for landing.
"Hold on tight," I whisper to my master, hoping he can hear somehow, despite his condition. | |
[WP] A dragon has to fight a princess to free a captured knight. | Itzqa was five hundred forty seven years old. Still young, as dragons go. But even for his age, Itzqa was small, and a human child could scarcely feel his weight if he stood on the child's palm. Yet Itzqa was filled with curiosity, and loved to explore the human world despite how weak and vulnerable he was.
So it was that one day, while exploring a forest, Itzqa happened upon a man sleeping while fishing in a stream. His face was covered in hair, his body was covered in armor, and at his belt there was a sword. To Itzqa he looked quite silly, and the small creature burst out laughing.
Hearing the laughter, the man awoke, and saw the laughter was coming from the dragon. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your whiskers!" the dragon replied, "They look so silly on you! Wherever did you get them?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a carp and I ate it whole, but its whiskers became stuck, and they are still on my face to this day."
The dragon continued to laugh. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your skin!" the dragon replied, "It looks so silly on you! Wherever did you get it?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a bass and I ate it whole, but its skin became stuck, and it is still on my body to this day."
The dragon continued to laugh. "Friend!" the man cried, "Why do you laugh so?"
"Your tail!" the dragon replied, "It looks so silly on you! Wherever did you get it?"
"Once," the man replied, "I caught a swordfish and I ate it whole, but its nose became stuck in my throat, and I pulled it out and now I carry it with me to this day."
The dragon was so amused by this that he walked over to the man and lay beside him. Before long, the man had caught plenty of fish, and the dragon had started a fire, and together, the two ate to their heart's content. So pleased were they by this arrangement that they agreed to travel together, the dragon named Itzqa, and the man, whose name was Ogi.
As Itzqa and Ogi walked, they came to a bridge. "Here", Ogi said to Itzqa, "Come, let me carry you so that you do not slip and fall, so that we may continue our journey together."
And Itzqa did as he was asked and the pair traveled safely across the bridge.
As Itzqa and Ogi walked further, they came to a stretch of sand and rocks littering the path. "Here", Itzqa said to Ogi, "Come, let me walk before you so that I may frighten away all of the snakes and spiders who might bite at you, so that we may continue our journey together."
And Ogi did as he was asked and the pair traveled safely across the sand and rocks.
Finally, the pair came to a castle. Without fear, they approached, and were welcomed into the castle as guests. They were brought to a table with food, and asked to regale the king and his daughter with tales of their journeys.
The two guests spoke of lands far away and great adventures, and as they spoke, the princess became more and more enamored with Ogi, until she declared that she could not live another day without him, and pleaded with her father to allow her to keep Ogi.
The king was a kind man, but he had a soft spot for his daughter's whims, and so he did as she asked, and ordered the guards to lock Ogi in a dungeon, to be released only when he fell in love with the princess and declared that he would never leave. Itzqa protested, but neither the princess nor the king could be swayed.
At this moment, Itzqa produced an egg of such magnificent colors that it appeared to be covered in jewels, and suddenly, the princess wanted nothing more than to possess this as well. However, just when the princess was about to ask her father to demand that the egg be given to her, Itzqa swallowed the egg whole.
"If you wish to possess the egg," Itzqa told her, "I can produce another, but I will not give it to you unless you free Ogi". But though the princess was greedy and wanted the egg, she refused to give up her prisoner.
"Very well then," Itzqa said, "Let us play a game. We shall compete in three contests: A contest of skill, a contest of wisdom, and a contest of beauty. If I win all three, then you must free Ogi. If not, you shall have the egg".
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "I accept! For there is no way a small lizard such as yourself could ever defeat me!"
So Itzqa declared that, for their first contest, the contest of skill, the dragon and the princess would both fill a balloon with their breath, and whichever was able to lift their balloon higher would win.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "With your tiny mouth, you'll never be able to fill a balloon!"
So Itzqa and the princess took their balloons and started blowing. And at first, the princess did indeed seem as though she was sure to win. Her balloon kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger! But no matter how hard she blew, the balloon would not lift off of the ground.
Meanwhile, the balloon Itzqa blew into filled slowly, but the fire in his belly filled the balloon with warm air that gradually sent it floating skyward until it could no longer be seen.
"You may have won this time," the princess said, angrily, "but I'll defeat you in the next contest!"
For the second contest, the contest of wisdom, Itzqa declared that the two were to be brought a pile of sand and each was to guess how many grains of sand their pile contained, with whoever guessed most closely to be declared the winner.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "With your little clawed fingers, you'll never be able to sift through the sand to see how much there is!"
So the two of them were each brought a large pile of sand. Immediately, the princess began to walk around her pile, peeking at it from every angle, measuring it with various devices. Finally, she declared that her pile contained ten thousand, seven hundred thirty six grains of sand. Then, a hundred soldiers were summoned to count every last grain of sand, and when they were done, they confirmed that the final count was seven hundred thirty *five* grains of sand.
When it came time for Itzqa to act, the dragon poured fire from its mouth over the pile of sand, covering it from every angle until the entire pile of sand had melted into liquid. Then, he got to work blowing on the pile to cool it. When it was done, Itzqa guessed that the pile now contained exactly *one* grain of sand, and sure enough, the sand had re-formed into one solid piece.
"Grrrrr! You may have won this time," the princess said, angrily, "but I'll defeat you in the last contest!"
For the last contest, the contest of beauty, Itzqa declared that Ogi would be allowed to choose to bestow a kiss on one of them, and whoever received the kiss would be declared the winner.
"Ha!" the princess laughed, "A man as handsome as Ogi would surely never lower himself to kiss a disgusting lizard like you, and I am the most beautiful girl in the land! There is no doubt that he will choose me!"
And truly, the princess *was* a beauty to behold, and it was said that there was no other who could compare to her feminine charms. But when Ogi was told to choose between the two of them, and Ogi was forced to decide between the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but one who had only ever treated him badly, and a scaly little dragon, but one who had only ever shown him respect and kindness, he did not for a moment hesitate to kiss Itzqa, whereupon Itzqa suddenly transformed into a handsome prince whose blond hair glowed with the radiance of the sun and fair features seemed as though they were painted by the most skilled artists.
"Because of your devotion," Itzqa explained to Ogi, "I have become human. Because I love you, and always wish to be by your side."
"I love you as well," said Ogi, "and it is also my wish that we never be parted."
But the princess would not accept defeat, and screamed that she demanded to be given the egg, and neither Itzqa nor Ogi were to be allowed to leave until she could dine on a dragon's-egg omelet.
Compelled to comply with her wishes, Itzqa produced an egg, every bit as beautiful as before, but warned the princess not to eat it, for it could only ever enhance the inner beauty of the one who consumed it.
"Then I shall be even more beautiful still!" the princess declared, and had her servants prepare the egg as an omelet, which she then greedily ate. However, no sooner had she done this than her hair began to lose its color, her teeth started falling out, her clothes began to rot off of her flesh, and her skin began to emit a foul odor.
"I tried to warn you," Itzqa said to the princess, "that a dragon's egg only enhances the inner beauty of the one who eats it. But inside, you are foul and ugly, and as such you are now equally so on the outside as well."
And so, for the rest of her miserable days, the princess caused disgust in the eyes of anyone who saw her or came near her. Meanwhile, Itzqa and Ogi spent the rest of their days happy in each others' arms, and continued to travel the world together.
The end. | *NSFW for langauge. Edit: Derpy grammar*
It’s been so long since I took this form, but well, sometimes you just gotta squeeze it in and hope for the best.
We’re sitting at a pink table, the princess and I, guards standing all around. It reminds me of the set back home, if I was a tasteless mortal with a smile as empty as my head.
"It's Shyroth, isn't it?" I ask, propping up my own smile. Hopefully I got the teeth right this time, and they don't end in points.
She responds quickly, three to four seconds, including blinking time. "Shyra, actually. My name is. Shyra Tavindale."
Perhaps the potion was a little too strong. "Yes yes, Shyra of Tavindale. Did you happen to see a man in shining armour hereabouts?"
Shyra blinks. "A knight?"
Hunh. I don't know what’s more surprising, that she knew the word for it, or that she responded so quickly.
"Yes, a knight, his name is Bill and he's my -"
"A knight?" Her voice has gone harsh, with a quality that reminds me of the goats pens back home. "A knight?"
The knife’s in her hand before I can reply. She points it at right at me, squinting with those large blue eyes. Oh, humans.
"Put that thing down, girl.” A strand of silver hair comes undone, and I blow it to the side. “He showed up drunk didn't he? Maybe offered to spend the night with you, settle down, have a few kids -"
"He showed up piss drunk, yes, then vomited all over my dress. Do you what the king will do when he gets back?"
Uh oh. The dumbing-potion is wearing off. Perhaps I got the dosages wrong this time. "Ah… Well, just hand him over, please. I'd like to leave."
Her face has turned a purple tinge. "And who are you? Hmm? Some two cent -"
"My name is Khaleesa, and I am a motherfucking dragon." My hand, so pink and wobbly, turns into a claw for a split second, then back to its fleshy digits.
The princess's face goes white. She takes a moment to respond, mouth opening and closing like a whore’s skirt on a summer night. "The… The king...” She slumps. “Alright. My guards will bring him down."
A few minutes later Bill comes down the stairs, all stumbly. He's a good actor, I'll give him that. A cheerful wave back at the princess, and off we go.
We're a safe distance away from the castle before I speak.
"Well? Did you get the Picassus?"
His smile grows wider, hard as that is to believe, and he reaches inside his breastplate. What comes out is a ragged canvas, sloppy cut lines at the endges. It’s supposed to be a painting, but all I see are little lines and colours mushed together. Guess that’s Picassus for you.
"Hunh. I can restore that back in the cave."
"You could've come a few days later, really. I'd almost convinced her to blow me."
"Yeah, maybe if I'd slipped you a love potion like last time. But we both know how that turned out, didn't we?"
He sighs. "How was I supposed to know they would switch cups? Besides, it wasn't so bad. He was very eager.”
"..."
Bill starts whistling, and I start rolling my shoulders, ready to transform back.
"How many years left in my contract, again?"
Bill grins. "3 years."
Hey, that's not so bad. 3 years more than I would've liked, but -
"... In dragon years. So, 3 decades." He winks.
Oh, humans.
| |
[WP] People are immortal and only die when accomplish their purpose in life. You are by far the oldest person alive. | I'm neither sad nor sick. I remain healthy in every sense of the word. Every morning, I would make tea, watch what’s on the news, and go around my estate to embrace the sun. After a while, I will head back to my office and write. If you ask me, I live a good life.
Indeed, I am living a good life. It took me 1,932 years, but I have reached the top of the society. After all, why wouldn't a nearly two-millennium-old person not earn some fame? But you know what, the more accurate word here is infamy.
I may be filthy rich and healthy, but the society shuns my existence. They know the only reason I’m alive is because I haven’t fulfilled my life’s purpose yet. A curse is what I have, I’ve been told. These statements have been going on since I officially became the world’s oldest person alive – and I snagged that title from a guy who died when he was 958.
To be fair, the “curse” part has its merits. From this society’s point of view, my lack of purpose has caused me to see my wife, my children, and my grandchildren die. Although they said their goodbyes to the world with smiles on their faces, the pang of loss – alongside the despair and longing that comes afterwards – is something I have never gotten used to.
Who knows how many funerals I have attended? Hundreds would be an understatement.
Whenever I leave my estate (which happens often, as I travel a lot), people mock me. They yell at me for my lack of purpose in life. I believe I have been cussed with every curse word in every language – all because I am alive. Some approach me directly and ask a blunt question: Why are you still alive? On occasion, a few sympathetic souls would ask me what it is I want to achieve and why I’m taking my damn time to reach it.
I have never answered any of these questions. Each time I get asked an existential question, I simply show them the fake smile and walk away. I have gotten used to flashing that fake smile I have mastered for over a millennium. And I know for a fact that I’d be flashing that smile for the millennia to come.
You see, it’s not that I have no purpose in life. In fact, I have been in the process of fulfilling my purpose since I made that promise as a seven-year-old kid – and that promise is to obtain all the knowledge in the world. | Ever since I was born, I always wanted to catch criminals and split their skulls open with a nightstick. That's why I joined the Boys in Blue, Chicago's finest civil enforcement unit. But I might as well have been a Girl Scout, for all the crooks I've seen.
"Dangit, Baloney," my boss pounded his desk with his nightstick. "You've been in the service seventy years and you haven't got a single conviction!" I looked down in shame. I was dressed in my money suit: my service blues completely covered in a thick layer of hundred-dollar banknotes. It was intended to help me catch criminals, but somehow it didn't work. I would walk burned-out crackhouses, just itching for someone to grab a bill so I could smash their skull in. But nope, everywhere I went, there they'd be, strung-out junkies casually discussing ethics and philosophy with one another.
"Oh me, oh my," I would say, laying down on the asphalt outside Al Capone High, Chicago's meanest and most problematic public school. "I'm so tired, I think I'll take a nap, wouldn't it be tragic if someone were to steal any of these hundred dollar bills I've got taped to me!" Then I'd lie back, eyes open just a slit so I could watch, not enough for them to tell. And then the damn Magic: The Gathering club would come. Pants hanging down around their knees, rap music blasting through their iPods, they'd shout out creature names and spell names in the thickest ebonics. But not so much as a glance at the defenseless gentleman with all the money laying right there beside them.
"Hello there, citizen," I approached a man on a park bench, a sadistic grin on my face. "Looks like SOMEONE forgot to tie his shoes, eh!" I brandished the nightclub, I was ready to split his cranium.
"Wot, you didn't watch the city council meeting last night?" he said, not even looking up as he continued tossing bread to the pigeons. "They removed the ordinance against untied shoelaces. Sorry copper."
Despair. Mine is a life of endless despair. There isn't a crime to be seen, anywhere I go. Other people can fulfill their life's purposes and then die peacefully. A janitor can clean up a building and then die knowing he made a difference. A stockbroker can swindle you, and then go down with the ship. A teacher can babysit, and then die with a smile on her face, knowing her students will all come to her funeral. But not me. How can I die when criminals still walk the streets and I haven't turned even a single one of them paraplegic?
I walked into the station locker rooms, my heart as low as the Titanic. All around me, junior officers were bragging about the spines they'd broken, the tubes their victims would be eating out of for life. Everyone went hush when they saw me, everyone except Jans, the new kid, he didn't see me behind him, he just kept right on talking, going on about this broad he'd caught jaywalking and how he'd maimed her pretty face for it. Finally he noticed the silence, turned around, caught my eye. "Uhhh, heh, hi there, Baloney... How's the, umm, beat..."
Oh, I'd beat him alright. If only he'd done something to warrant a beating. I've written to my congressmen, pleading for them to make more laws, laws that would make kids like Jans guilty so I could put out his ugly eyes and make him grope around blindly. But nope, the more laws I ask them to make, the more laws they rescind.
Despair. It's all I know. Finally, I made up my mind. They hadn't legalized suicide yet. I fastened the belt firmly around my neck, and climbed up on the chair. Put a hand through my thinning hair. Yes, this skull will do nicely. If I can just manage to swing the nightstick correctly once the death-dance gets started. | |
[WP] A cryogenic freezing company has been acquired by a company that brings the bodies back to life to be used as slaves | "There are no laws in space."
That was Eldin Muske's only statement after disclosing the details of the deal to acquire CryoCure. Arthur had made a living off of berevity in both his statements and his actions. And this one was no different. He had sat before the board at the head of the table and made his way around with his eyes like he did before every board meeting. His eyes met the other directors' and moved onto the next until all 11 had been acknowledged.
"In the past we would buy companies for their assets," he began with his leveled tone. "And the best payoff in an acquisition is when you got more assets than you paid for. Which will be the case here.
"We have a company that delivered promises and wasn't able to live up to them. There are men and women in those capsules that have been waiting decades, and even a century, for cures to their illnesses and disease. And they haven't arrived. Their descendents don't even make an effort to visit them, and a significant majority of them have chosen death over immortality. The very idea was stupid to begin with."
He shifted back into his chair and started rocking back and forth. This was when he was going to pull everyone in. Hook. Line. Sinker.
"The asteroid is going to pass within the next year. If it does, we are out hundreds of billions. Yes, with a 'b.' Our attempts at securing workers for the project has not worked out as well. Sure, a trip to Mars resulted in tens of thousands of applicants when it was first introduced. But to mine an asteroid field in open space seems to cotton picking of three centuries ago. So be it. We'll have to with what resources we have, and the best resources we have are in those capsules.
"There are hundreds of thousands in those capsules, but we can't wake them up on Earth. We'll load them and wake them up once we get into space. No Earthling law is recognized there, and I doubt they will even attempt going after us."
A sheepish grin came across his face. He loved to elude anything and anyone.
"So it comes down to this. Either CryoCure would have had the plug pulled on them, or we can taken the plug beyond Earth. In front of you are the differences in costs, including wages, insurance, and other expenses. The numbers speak for themselves, as should this argument. We have the opportunity to monopolize these asteroid fields, and we will do so. Nobody but our own conscience is stopping us."
Eldin leaned back in again this time and took a deep sigh.
"My fellow board members, how do you vote?"
"Yah," said an unanimous voice. | Danial's job was easy. All he had to do was lie there. Countless tubes snaked from his limbs and chest to the ceiling, but he couldn't see them. His vision was blocked by the dark gray comically oversized metal helmet sitting on his head.
Tristan watched through the glass at the rows of people hanging on racks. His white coat matched the clean white walls of the hallway. "It's not right."
Melinda didn't bother to turn her head. "Why? They signed a contract. It's legal. They enjoy it."
"Don't they know it's not real?"
"It's real to them."
"It's not even recent. Those VR-machines are at least 30 years old. I'm surprised they still work."
"It's real enough to them. Whenever one breaks we just replace it. Used VR-machines are dirt cheap."
"And the intravenous fluid. It's made of--"
"They don't care. They can eat whatever they want."
"But it's not real. None of it's real. We're using them and giving them nothing in return."
Melinda shrugged. "To them it's real. To them it's everything." She turned towards Tristan. "Aren't you on duty?"
"Yeah..." He gave the corpse-like people a final glance before hurriedly shuffling down the corridor. | |
[WP] A cryogenic freezing company has been acquired by a company that brings the bodies back to life to be used as slaves | Day 1
Six of us were unfrozen yesterday. They herded us down long, dark hallways and forced us into these horrifying machines for hours on end. I feel so violated. There's an incessant itching in my wrist and scars on my chest. What did they do to me?
I found this notebook hidden in my new room. Whoever owned it before must've written in it, since over half the pages are missing. I hope they didn't go through the same things I did today.
Day 2
We've all been given new names. I'm called Jim. The others are now Kate, Mary, Bill, Harry, and Mike. Mary's definitely the oldest of the group. She has gray hair and deep wrinkles. Why would she have been frozen so late in life?
Day 5
As far as I can tell, we were thawed out to be servants. We are woken up every day at 6:00 AM sharp and piled into transports. Each of us is dropped off at a different location with an armed guard. We cook, clean, and do other household chores. Around 5:00 PM, we picked up and shipped back to whatever this place is. We aren't paid, but the Keepers (the nickname we've given our owners) provide rooms and meals. Not the greatest, but enough to live.
Day 11
Bill didn't get back on the transport this evening, but his guard did. Does he have to stay at the job longer than the rest of us? I hope he gets a good meal for his hard work.
Day 12
As we were leaving this morning, I noticed Bill's room was empty. Even the furniture's gone. I don't think he's coming back.
Day 19
Today, we were all sent to a factory. The workers are on strike, so the Keepers volunteered us to run the heavy machinery. Kate says that she used to work in a steel mill back in the old days. It was a unanimous vote to let her take the scariest piece of equipment. I should have done it instead.
It happened all too fast. A loud crunch, and then a scream. Kate's right arm was jammed in the machine all the way to her shoulder, bent in weird directions. She was hysterical, flailing around like fish out of water with tears covering her face. We all just stood there, in awe of what was happening before us. One of the guards acted quickly. A bullet to the head. No hesitation, no remorse. Just part of the job.
I know what happened to Bill now. Will we all meet the same fate? Are we just tools to the Keepers, ready to be tossed away at a moment's notice? I'm not going out that way.
Day 30
It's taken a lot of observation and planning, but I think I've figured out an escape plan. Lights out is at 8:00 PM and most of the guards leave once we're locked away. I've crafted a couple lockpicks from bits and pieces I picked up on jobs. I don't know if I'll be able to take the others with me. I pray that choice won't have to be made.
Tomorrow will be the day.
Day 31
This is it. I will be free form the Keepers tonight. I've made myself a shiv, so hopefully I can get the jump on a guard and take his gun. There's no turning back once I leave this room. Being caught means death. Bill. Kate. Please watch over me. | Danial's job was easy. All he had to do was lie there. Countless tubes snaked from his limbs and chest to the ceiling, but he couldn't see them. His vision was blocked by the dark gray comically oversized metal helmet sitting on his head.
Tristan watched through the glass at the rows of people hanging on racks. His white coat matched the clean white walls of the hallway. "It's not right."
Melinda didn't bother to turn her head. "Why? They signed a contract. It's legal. They enjoy it."
"Don't they know it's not real?"
"It's real to them."
"It's not even recent. Those VR-machines are at least 30 years old. I'm surprised they still work."
"It's real enough to them. Whenever one breaks we just replace it. Used VR-machines are dirt cheap."
"And the intravenous fluid. It's made of--"
"They don't care. They can eat whatever they want."
"But it's not real. None of it's real. We're using them and giving them nothing in return."
Melinda shrugged. "To them it's real. To them it's everything." She turned towards Tristan. "Aren't you on duty?"
"Yeah..." He gave the corpse-like people a final glance before hurriedly shuffling down the corridor. | |
[WP] A cryogenic freezing company has been acquired by a company that brings the bodies back to life to be used as slaves | Day 1
Six of us were unfrozen yesterday. They herded us down long, dark hallways and forced us into these horrifying machines for hours on end. I feel so violated. There's an incessant itching in my wrist and scars on my chest. What did they do to me?
I found this notebook hidden in my new room. Whoever owned it before must've written in it, since over half the pages are missing. I hope they didn't go through the same things I did today.
Day 2
We've all been given new names. I'm called Jim. The others are now Kate, Mary, Bill, Harry, and Mike. Mary's definitely the oldest of the group. She has gray hair and deep wrinkles. Why would she have been frozen so late in life?
Day 5
As far as I can tell, we were thawed out to be servants. We are woken up every day at 6:00 AM sharp and piled into transports. Each of us is dropped off at a different location with an armed guard. We cook, clean, and do other household chores. Around 5:00 PM, we picked up and shipped back to whatever this place is. We aren't paid, but the Keepers (the nickname we've given our owners) provide rooms and meals. Not the greatest, but enough to live.
Day 11
Bill didn't get back on the transport this evening, but his guard did. Does he have to stay at the job longer than the rest of us? I hope he gets a good meal for his hard work.
Day 12
As we were leaving this morning, I noticed Bill's room was empty. Even the furniture's gone. I don't think he's coming back.
Day 19
Today, we were all sent to a factory. The workers are on strike, so the Keepers volunteered us to run the heavy machinery. Kate says that she used to work in a steel mill back in the old days. It was a unanimous vote to let her take the scariest piece of equipment. I should have done it instead.
It happened all too fast. A loud crunch, and then a scream. Kate's right arm was jammed in the machine all the way to her shoulder, bent in weird directions. She was hysterical, flailing around like fish out of water with tears covering her face. We all just stood there, in awe of what was happening before us. One of the guards acted quickly. A bullet to the head. No hesitation, no remorse. Just part of the job.
I know what happened to Bill now. Will we all meet the same fate? Are we just tools to the Keepers, ready to be tossed away at a moment's notice? I'm not going out that way.
Day 30
It's taken a lot of observation and planning, but I think I've figured out an escape plan. Lights out is at 8:00 PM and most of the guards leave once we're locked away. I've crafted a couple lockpicks from bits and pieces I picked up on jobs. I don't know if I'll be able to take the others with me. I pray that choice won't have to be made.
Tomorrow will be the day.
Day 31
This is it. I will be free form the Keepers tonight. I've made myself a shiv, so hopefully I can get the jump on a guard and take his gun. There's no turning back once I leave this room. Being caught means death. Bill. Kate. Please watch over me. | "There are no laws in space."
That was Eldin Muske's only statement after disclosing the details of the deal to acquire CryoCure. Arthur had made a living off of berevity in both his statements and his actions. And this one was no different. He had sat before the board at the head of the table and made his way around with his eyes like he did before every board meeting. His eyes met the other directors' and moved onto the next until all 11 had been acknowledged.
"In the past we would buy companies for their assets," he began with his leveled tone. "And the best payoff in an acquisition is when you got more assets than you paid for. Which will be the case here.
"We have a company that delivered promises and wasn't able to live up to them. There are men and women in those capsules that have been waiting decades, and even a century, for cures to their illnesses and disease. And they haven't arrived. Their descendents don't even make an effort to visit them, and a significant majority of them have chosen death over immortality. The very idea was stupid to begin with."
He shifted back into his chair and started rocking back and forth. This was when he was going to pull everyone in. Hook. Line. Sinker.
"The asteroid is going to pass within the next year. If it does, we are out hundreds of billions. Yes, with a 'b.' Our attempts at securing workers for the project has not worked out as well. Sure, a trip to Mars resulted in tens of thousands of applicants when it was first introduced. But to mine an asteroid field in open space seems to cotton picking of three centuries ago. So be it. We'll have to with what resources we have, and the best resources we have are in those capsules.
"There are hundreds of thousands in those capsules, but we can't wake them up on Earth. We'll load them and wake them up once we get into space. No Earthling law is recognized there, and I doubt they will even attempt going after us."
A sheepish grin came across his face. He loved to elude anything and anyone.
"So it comes down to this. Either CryoCure would have had the plug pulled on them, or we can taken the plug beyond Earth. In front of you are the differences in costs, including wages, insurance, and other expenses. The numbers speak for themselves, as should this argument. We have the opportunity to monopolize these asteroid fields, and we will do so. Nobody but our own conscience is stopping us."
Eldin leaned back in again this time and took a deep sigh.
"My fellow board members, how do you vote?"
"Yah," said an unanimous voice. | |
[WP] "I know we promised that we could put you in touch with copies of yourself from other universes, but we're going to have to give your money back - I'm sorry, but they're all dead." | "Jenna?" I heard. I stopped writing in my notebook and got up. "Jennnnnnnaaaaaa--"
"I'm right here, jeez." I complain, hurrying out into the living room. My roommate, Lisa, grinned brightly at me. She was covered in grime-- no surprise, considering our jobs-- and holding up two pristine white cards.
"You won't believe what I won today!"
"Rent money?"
"Better!"
"I honestly can't think of anything better than rent money."
"Then you're not trying!" Lisa pouted. "You remember the lottery at your job a month ago?"
I frowned. "I don't remember anything that happened a month ago. Well, I guess we paid rent a month ago, but--"
"Stop thinking about rent! I'm talking about the Another Me program!"
"..." I thought hard. Another Me had sponsored something at my job, I recalled that much. "...I do remember something like that."
Lisa grinned. " They sponsored my job too and-- Look! I won the cards!"
"Oh. To do what?"
"To visit our alternate universe selves!" She cried, seeming fed up with me.
"Ah. And this isn't all smoke and mirrors? Like that Total Recall place about... ten or so years ago? It's not like that right? Where it's all complete bull?"
"Didn't Total Recall work too well?"
"I don't know, I just remember it had to be shut down."
"Jenna. Do you NOT want the card? I could give it to someone else. Steve. Leeanna."
"I do want it." I said, hurriedly. "I'm just skeptical, that's all. I can't ask questions?"
"...Well, don't ask ME questions." Lisa said, putting the cards on the side table. "I'm gonna take a shower. We can redeem the cards when you get off of work tomorrow."
"You don't have work?"
"No, I do. But I took the day off because I wanted to do this thing!" Lisa said, hurring to the bathroom before I got a word in edgewise. I waited for her to turn on the water before I picked up one of the cards. It was thin and light. When tilted, you could read "Another Me" in some holographic ink on it. It wasn't a regular card, it was one of the special key cards that required imprinting to be fully read. Lisa had already applied her fingerprint to one, rendering it illegible to me. The other one was pristine and perfect. All I had to do was press my finger into some of the DNA Imprinting ink and press it to the card, and it would show me more information. What information, I wondered, could a place like Another Me need to hide?
I had work in two hours... there was no reason to think too hard about it. It was probably just a scheme for rich people to get richer, like some kind of snake oil. I set the card back down and headed back to my room.
______
Work was as grueling as ever. To make us less irritable, they projected a blue sky image onto the ceiling of the facility. It's weird because the sky hasn't been blue for... decades? I've never seen a real blue sky, but I'm sure my parents might've.
Steve worked this job with me, and I chatted with him like always. Apparently, Lisa had already told him about her win. "So Lisa won, did you hear? She said she was going to take you to Another Me!" Steve shouted over the cauldron's loud noises. "You guys are lucky! Another Me is really cool!"
"You've been?" I shouted back.
"Oh, yeah! Tons of times!"
"Isn't it kind of expensive?"
"It is, yeah! But my other self is doing the job I wanted to do, and I just want to know what that's like!"
I pondered this as Steve and I started turning the crank to mix the molten metal in our cauldron. What if my alternate universe me because a chef, like I'd wanted? I wouldn't want to go see them again. Steve was punishing himself by returning.
"Hey, what's the mixture like?" Steve asked. I checked my screen.
"It looks like we're low on phosphorous," I told him. "I'll put in a request." I touched the order button on the screen and we continued mixing. There were about twenty other cauldrons like ours in this area, so I wasn't expecting to get the phosphorous anytime soon.
"Lisa got really lucky," Steve shouted again. "I wish I'd won those tickets!"
I shrugged. If Steve didn't think it was so bad, then maybe it wasn't?
______
Lisa was impatient by the time I got out of the shower. Steve had convinced me that the experience was worth while, but not that it was real. I mean, Steve's dream job was owning ERTHMobile, which is crazy. Steve owning any company other than ERTHMobile made more sense than that. ERTHMobile ran almost every single transportation service off of Earth. For Steve-- who hadn't graduated from college, like myself and Lisa-- to make it there, he must've won at least seven lotteries in that world.
"Hurry up! Have you imprinted on the card yet?" Lisa complained through the door when I turned off the water. A gust of hot air hit me as the drying cycle began.
"What? Oh, right. Are they open at 5?" I asked, glancing over at the pristine card sitting on the edge of the sink.
"What? I mean... yeah. No? I don't know!"
"Check your card!" I told her. I turned off the drying and stepped out of the shower, picking up a T-shirt I wore to sleep. "I've got like two hours before they open, right? I can take a nap... right?"
"Ugh! Fine! They open at 8."
"See, so it's 3 hours. I'm going to take a nap."
"Imprint first!" Lisa whined. "I want to know what your card says!"
"Why? What does yours say?"
"It just tells you how many alternate universe versions of you exist. There are five of me."
"Really...?" I murmured. "...Steve only talked about one of him."
"Yeah, you can have a varying number of them." Lisa said. "Steve's other one lives in a world similar to ours, but I kind of hope mine doesn't. What about you, Jenna?"
"Dunno. A different world would be nice."
"There's ink in there, just imprint already!"
"OK, OK." I complained. I rooted around in the bathroom until I found the DNA Imprinting ink, and then I imprinted on the card. My finger print swirled as the card loaded my data, and then finally took the shape of a number.
0.
______
I lied to Lisa about it. I figured the card just malfunctioned. So when we got to Another Me, I did exactly what Lisa did. I walked up the the front desk and I showed the clerk there my card. The young woman put on a visor to read the cards and scanned Lisa's card, but balked at mine. She took the visor off and rebooted it and looked at the card again.
"Is something wrong?" Lisa asked.
"Ah. Yes, this card seems to be defective..." The clerk said. "I'll see if I can get you a replacement, Miss Black."
"OK." I said.
"That sucks..." Lisa murmured. She seemed impatient. I couldn't blame her, we barely got any vacation time.
"You can go ahead, Lisa," I said. "It won't take too long, right?"
The clerk shook her head. "Just go through these gates and straight down the hall. There'll be someone waiting for you," Seeming happy enough, Lisa went through the white gates leading furthering into the facility. The clerk made a phone call and shortly after Lisa left, a new white card printed from the clerk's console. "Sorry about the wait. Please..." She pushed some ink towards me. "Imprint."
I did as she said. The number came up again.
0.
She stared. "Oh." She said. Clearly this was her first time seeing a 0. "Let me call an engineer..." She said. "This is... hmm."
I waited as she called someone else. This time, a hologram projected from her console. "Hi." The man in the hologram said. "I'm David Henry."
"Jenna Black." I introduced myself. "Nice to meet you."
"Same here!" David said. "So Leah says you keep getting a 0 on your cards? Can I ask if you have a history of disease in your family?"
"I do not."
"Hmm." David started typing on something that wasn't in the hologram. "And can I ask if you were recently paroled for anything?"
"No. And I've never been to prison."
"Alright, and are you currently pregnant?"
"No."
David nodded. "Alright. Another card should be printing now..." As he spoke, a card printed from the console. "Please, try again."
I imprinted. The card came up with the same number.
0.
"What is it, Leah?" David asked.
"...0." She said, her voice hushed.
"What the hell... alright, let her through. Jenna, you'll be going to a special room."
"Uh..." I started. "I don't really mind not doing this, but--"
David shook his head. "I insist."
I wanted to say no, but Leah had pressed a button and a robot took my hand and pulled me away, to a room with an unlabeled door. Inside, there was a large complicated chair based console, which the robot lead me to. It waited until I sat down to leave. When the door closed, the chair turned on. 9 pictures of me appeared before my eyes, and over each one a text bar read "Searching..." and, after a couple of seconds, in all caps and bold, in blinking read text, each of them read "DEAD".
A pre-recorded hologram popped up. "Another Me would like to apologize for this inconvenience. We promised that we could put you in touch with copies of yourself from other universes, but we're going to have to give your money back. According to our sources, communication is impossible. I'm sorry, but they're all dead."
I stared at the hologram for what felt like forever.
"Do you have any questions?" It asked.
"...How did they... die?" I asked.
"Please stand by."
The pictures of me all started loading some data. Then, files were placed before me. I opened one. Revolutionary Leader, murdered. The next one read the same. And the next. And the next. All nine of me were revolutionaries who were murdered. I pressed the print button, and a bunch of papers printed out of the chair.
"Your life is in danger." The hologram said. "Requesting safe transport to undisclosed safe house for further investigation."
I skimmed the file but couldn't make heads or tails of it. 9 versions of me, all in a universe similar to this one... all dead. All leaders of some kind of revolution. A revolution that--
The door opened. Men in suits were standing in the doorway.
"Miss Black." One said. "Please come with us." | I paused, for the appropriate amount of time. What emotion was the right one, here? Anger? *Fear?* No, not fear. Anxiety and surprise, then. How did anxiety go? Widened eyes, thin lips? A sense of urgency in my voice? *Yes, that was it*
"Are you... Are you sure?!"
He nodded, looking both bashful and a bit apprehensive. No confusion, which meant I'd guessed right, then. Interaction was difficult for someone like me. Faking sympathy was the hardest, but sometimes, when the *need* gets bad? There's nothing like attending the *funeral*. So *exciting*, standing there, feeling all of those other people you've *touched* around you...
Of course, there's forensics, now. *Too much* forensics. DNA sniffers, miniaturized mass spectrometers... It's gotten nearly impossible to do *anything*, nowadays, without ending up on some registry-or-other. I needed a new approach.
Dimension hopping has been around for years, and people used it all the time, to find work, or maybe a nicer place to live, but I had a very different idea for how to use it. A way where DNA wouldn't matter.
I can't help that I have a *type*, can I? Most everyone does. But it looked like there would be no more easy targets. No more *perfect crimes*. I had to run out sometime. I was going to need to change my tastes. Reinvent my technique.
Maybe I could take this refund, and rent myself a nice little cabin in the woods somewhere. Far from the main roads.
One with a *shed.*
| |
[WP] You are host to the spirit of an old-school supervillain. They can take control of your body when you're drunk, but because of the memory loss, you have no idea it happens. | I was woken up by someone trying to kiss me. My boyfriend trying his hand at an early morning quickie, no doubt. Fat chance: we were at his parents’ house for the weekend, no way was I going to risk his parents hearing us have sex, not exactly the kind of first impression I wanted to make. Besides, his breath smelled awful. I couldn’t really talk, mind you: my mouth tasted like a cow’s arse. I couldn’t remember if I’d brushed my teeth or not last night. I’d probably forgotten, hence the unusual morning breath.
I tried batting him away, and my hand connected with something far, far hairier than my boyfriend could ever hope to be. My eyes shot open, only to be greeted by the round, flat face of a white, persian cat going to town on my nose with its rough tongue.
In a move that, in hindsight, should have got my face clawed off, I sat bolt upright, causing the cat to drop about four feet onto the floor. Instead of tearing me to shreds, the cat didn’t skip a beat. It leapt back up, becoming a circular puddle of fur on my lap. Instinctively, I began stroking it. It started purring.
I didn’t remember my in-laws owning a cat. Deciding not to tempt fate a second time by dropping the cat on the floor, I continued stroking it and I looked at my surroundings.
However, something was off with my vision. One of my eyes didn’t seem to be working. Panicking, in my half awake state, that it had fallen out or I’d gone blind, I put a shaky hand to my face, only to be met with fabric. An eyepatch? Why the fuck was I wearing an eyepatch?
Pulling off the eyepatch to find that, thankfully, my vision was fine, I wasn’t particularly comforted by what I saw. Rather than seeing the tiny, neat spare bedroom, as I was expecting, I found myself in the sitting room, although not as I remembered it from last night. It was heinously messy. I was sat on top of a surprisingly comfortable leather chair, and, with a gentle push of my hips, found that it swiveled with ease. The motion wasn’t particularly pleasant, and sent a wave of nausea rippling through my body. I noticed that my head was pounding too.
There was a lot of broken glass on the floor and, most alarmingly, what appeared to be trails of blood streaked across the carpet, leading out into the hallway.
Tiptoeing my way through the lounge, I made it to the hall. The hallway wasn’t in a much better state than the lounge. I continued to follow the hallway round, and found myself in the kitchen. Well, what was left of the kitchen: there was a giant black circle of soot, as if something had exploded, right in the centre of the floor. All of the cupboards were hanging open, some of them half off their hinges, and the glass in the windows was smashed, leaving the frames empty. Looking up at the ceiling, I noticed a large circle seemed to have been smashed straight through. I walked over to get a closer look. The circle seemed to continue straight up through the centre of the house until I could quite clearly make out the morning sky.
A sharp “miaow” made me jump, and I looked down to see that the strange cat from before was sat by my feet, staring up at me expectantly. Upon seeing it had my attention, it slinked off into the hallway, pausing to look back at me, as if asking me to follow.
Starting to think this was a very vivid dream, I decided to throw caution to the wind and see where the cat wanted to take me.
We approached the end of the hallway, and the cat started pawing at the door to the basement. As it scratched, I made out muffled yelling. It was definitely my boyfriend and his parents.
Immediately I pulled the door open and bolted down the stairs.
| Thomas Delano wasn't quite sure why he had no friends anymore. It was mostly because he couldn't stop talking about gerbils and he liked wearing really tight shorts all the time (two seperate problems, just to be clear). However, that's not why Frida - a professional snake charmer - wouldn't talk to him anymore.
It all began when Thomas, which is long for 'Tom', found himself in a mostly empty pub in North-Eastern England - an area best described as 'repellant' or 'Middlesborough'.
Despite it being his hometown, he hadn't been to 'Ye Olde Wetherspoons' before. After taking a sip of his suspiciously cloudy pint, Tom could see why only two other people were there in the pub on a Friday night. Despite that he agonisingly finished his drink and went back to his home (which was named One of the Top Ten things to avoid in the Teeside).
Two weeks passed without anything of note - apart from when Tom caught Frida naked with her snake Farah, but, we don't really talk about that. Exactly a fortnight since the day Tom had that digusting ale, he found himself in a house party in Newcastle - home to John Snow (no not that one).
He bungled his way through the flaming sambuca shots, the one-sided conversations about gerbils and Gazza starting a fight with a Sunderland fan. Those are the parts he remembers.
The next day, Frida refused to speak to Tom. He wasn't quite sure why. Surely it wasn't the tight shorts? It wasn't.
The problem was Ra-Koon, an old Arabian supervillian. You see, he didn't like snakes too much.
(to be continued) | |
[WP] A worldwide virus epidemic breaks out, threatening to drive humans to extinction. The only symptom of the virus is total joy and happiness that gets more intense the closer the infected gets to death. | "We are entering the Yurjin System, captain."
"Now that we are in their world, we ought to use their name for it, lieutenant."
"Yes, captain. We are entering the Solar System."
The grim starship was cruising at incredible speeds past the orbits of Pluto and Neptune. The Ji'har people had sent the starship after developing their space program and finding that an alien satellite had fallen into orbit around their planet. After recovering the probe and deciphering its contents, they had learned so much about this alien civilization. They had learned the language, they had learned the music, they had learned the location of this alien planet Earth, and its alien inhabitants, the 'humans'.
The Voyager probe had sent them on this path, and now they will finally meet the new gods that had, for a while, supplanted the old ones of the Ji'har.
"Put us into orbit, and scan. Attempt to establish communications. Alert me when you have."
"Yes, captain."
The captain returned to his quarters. One of his hearts was pumping so hard he could hardly keep it within his chest. The joy was almost murderously strong. The joy of having completed his mission, of being the first to meet the humans, of being chosen to be the envoy of the Ji'har.
"Focus..." he said to himself, as he pressed a button and turned a knob in the metallic panel implanted into his chest. The medicine flowed into him, and calmed him, removing the creases of stress from his forehead and returning his heartbeat to the normal pace that the other heartbeat was at.
*Beep beep*
*"Captain, report to the bridge. You...you'll want to hear this report in person."*
The captain made his way to the bridge. The ship was now in orbit around Earth.
"Lieutenant. Report."
"The planet is empty, sir. Has been for millenia."
"The humans have moved off-planet?"
"Our scans show that they most likely did not develop that technology. In fact, carbon residues show that most of the humans likely died at home. Malformations in bone that we were able to find in our scans suggest malnourishment and starvation, despite the abundance of technology and...well...what appears to be wealth. It is as if they all just lay down and...decided to die."
The captain remained quiet.
"Captain, if I may say so, it kind of looks like..."
"It is. It's the euphoria virus."
"Why didn't they fight it? Like we did? Why didn't they implant the inhibitors?"
"I don't know, lieutenant. I guess they chose to die happy." | "You people need to understand, you're all dying! You need to inject yourself with this to cure yourselves." A man shouted to a crowd of people in a park. They leaped around with no worry in the world.
"I know you all feel fine, but it won't last forever."
An old man with a smile walked up to him, "Why do you want us to feel terrible?"
"I want you to live longer, It's this stupid sickness that makes you feel great. It's like a drug, meth makes you happy for a little bit as well, but you don't see everyone on meth, because it kills them. So why are you going to sacrifice your life to this sickness?"
"Have you ever thought of us just living our life? Would you rather have the best 30 years of your life? or live 100 watching everyone around you die and slowly grow to the point you can't do anything for yourself." The sane old man explained.
If no one knows the meaning of life, whose to say it isn't to find ultimate happiness? | |
[WP] A worldwide virus epidemic breaks out, threatening to drive humans to extinction. The only symptom of the virus is total joy and happiness that gets more intense the closer the infected gets to death. | "We are entering the Yurjin System, captain."
"Now that we are in their world, we ought to use their name for it, lieutenant."
"Yes, captain. We are entering the Solar System."
The grim starship was cruising at incredible speeds past the orbits of Pluto and Neptune. The Ji'har people had sent the starship after developing their space program and finding that an alien satellite had fallen into orbit around their planet. After recovering the probe and deciphering its contents, they had learned so much about this alien civilization. They had learned the language, they had learned the music, they had learned the location of this alien planet Earth, and its alien inhabitants, the 'humans'.
The Voyager probe had sent them on this path, and now they will finally meet the new gods that had, for a while, supplanted the old ones of the Ji'har.
"Put us into orbit, and scan. Attempt to establish communications. Alert me when you have."
"Yes, captain."
The captain returned to his quarters. One of his hearts was pumping so hard he could hardly keep it within his chest. The joy was almost murderously strong. The joy of having completed his mission, of being the first to meet the humans, of being chosen to be the envoy of the Ji'har.
"Focus..." he said to himself, as he pressed a button and turned a knob in the metallic panel implanted into his chest. The medicine flowed into him, and calmed him, removing the creases of stress from his forehead and returning his heartbeat to the normal pace that the other heartbeat was at.
*Beep beep*
*"Captain, report to the bridge. You...you'll want to hear this report in person."*
The captain made his way to the bridge. The ship was now in orbit around Earth.
"Lieutenant. Report."
"The planet is empty, sir. Has been for millenia."
"The humans have moved off-planet?"
"Our scans show that they most likely did not develop that technology. In fact, carbon residues show that most of the humans likely died at home. Malformations in bone that we were able to find in our scans suggest malnourishment and starvation, despite the abundance of technology and...well...what appears to be wealth. It is as if they all just lay down and...decided to die."
The captain remained quiet.
"Captain, if I may say so, it kind of looks like..."
"It is. It's the euphoria virus."
"Why didn't they fight it? Like we did? Why didn't they implant the inhibitors?"
"I don't know, lieutenant. I guess they chose to die happy." | "I think there's something wrong with me."
"Oh? And why's that?"
"I feel like I should be sad."
James was not a details person. If he was, he would have appreciated being able to get a good look at her face after such a long time. Perhaps, on another day, he'd love finally being able to see her piercing green eyes, or how her hair lifted with the delicate breeze. Instead, he took in the view as an indescribably whole, and what he saw left him breathless.
"Please put your mask back on," he said at last. To gaze upon the thing he loved was forbidden.
"Maybe we were wrong to fight it," she answered, closing her eyes and turning her face towards the breeze, "don't you remember how happy they all were, in the end?"
"But I don't want this to end."
She looked back towards him, and lifted off his mask with both hands. She leaned in and kissed him.
Perhaps there was something wrong with James. After all, his mask had been cracked for weeks. But right then it didn't matter, for in that moment he was the happiest he could possibly be. | |
[WP] A worldwide virus epidemic breaks out, threatening to drive humans to extinction. The only symptom of the virus is total joy and happiness that gets more intense the closer the infected gets to death. | It has started so suddenly, and there was nothing worse than being a child in this world. I didn't understand what was happening. People would seem so happy. They were out celebrating in the streets, singing and dancing. The parties got louder through the night; cars were getting flipped over, riot and screaming. Fireworks and music rattled the windows of our little apartment until about four in the morning. We heard a few people singing and stumbling down the streets, like they were drunk. My mother went out in the morning. She said she wanted to see what had happened. As she was leaving, I looks out the door, and saw hundreds of bodies strewn about on the ground. They were in trees and on cars. There was one man sitting in the park across the street. He was bleeding from a hole in his chest, but he just sat there and laughed. He got louder and louder, like a child that keeps getting tickled till they can't take it for one more second. Then he stopped. The silence cut through the morning air, and I watched him fall to the ground. My mother said that she would be right back, she was just going to the corner store. I waited for three hours, but she hadn't come back yet. I heard a noise outside the door, and opened it. That's when I saw the man. He had a gun over his shoulder, and a backpack as big as me. He had something over his face that he breathed through. He saw me, and beckoned me to him with a big but gentle hand. I stepped out into the street and took his hand. He put a smaller mask just like his over my face, and told me it would help me not get sick. He said that he saw my mother earlier, and she wanted me to go with him. He said that she couldn't some with us, and then he scooped me up in his arm. We got in a truck and he drove. He drove and drove until the city went away. He drove until we saw mountains, then we passed them by, and hey went away behind us like the city. He took me to a town where we met some people. He said they were his friends, and this is where they would meet if something like this ever happened. They had a whole system of buildings that had their own air, and we're all connected. They told me there was a germ in the air that made everyone sick. I stayed with them until One night, I heard laughing. It brought back such scary memories. I hated it now. I went to the window and looked out. There were all other people standing outside. There was a piece of paper taped to the window. It said sad things about how they didn't like it here and missed their families. At first I didn't understand. They all sat outside around a fire. They were drinking and singing. They had music playing, and seemed to be having such fun. They said that if they were going to die anyway, at least they would be happy this way. In a moment's time, I was sad, then confused, then I understood completely. I reached for the airlock handle and opened the door to the outside world. I was afraid at first, but soon, I had accepted it. I was with good people, and we were having such a fun time. I must have heard the same joke twenty times, but every time, it got funnier. I loved to laugh now, every time I did, my body got all tingly. I started laughing again, at something I don't even know. It felt like a million tiny hands were tickling me all over. It was too much, and it was good. No, it was great! It was incredible! How could anything be this fun and good! I was with such hilarious people and life was always this funny, wasn't it? I couldn't stand anymore. Tears filled my eyes as I giggled till I couldn't breathe. I tried to slow down and catch my breath, but the air went out of my lungs, and nothing would go back in. All the feelings of laughter flew away as a sharp pain stabbed my side. I glanced around, reaching for help anywhere, but only then I noticed the dead eyes of my friends lying around me. I gasped one last time, but only drew in the tiniest sip of bitter air. I looked up at the stars above me and heard nothing as my heart beat faded to whispers. | "I think there's something wrong with me."
"Oh? And why's that?"
"I feel like I should be sad."
James was not a details person. If he was, he would have appreciated being able to get a good look at her face after such a long time. Perhaps, on another day, he'd love finally being able to see her piercing green eyes, or how her hair lifted with the delicate breeze. Instead, he took in the view as an indescribably whole, and what he saw left him breathless.
"Please put your mask back on," he said at last. To gaze upon the thing he loved was forbidden.
"Maybe we were wrong to fight it," she answered, closing her eyes and turning her face towards the breeze, "don't you remember how happy they all were, in the end?"
"But I don't want this to end."
She looked back towards him, and lifted off his mask with both hands. She leaned in and kissed him.
Perhaps there was something wrong with James. After all, his mask had been cracked for weeks. But right then it didn't matter, for in that moment he was the happiest he could possibly be. | |
[WP] Our eyes see souls when we look at others, instead of bodies. Describe the day you fell in love. | I've always hated how I look. I know why people don't talk to me. This ugly, charred, starved-looking soul of mine is hard to ignore. At least my soul has gotten me somewhere in life. I handle deals for a well known *italian* fellow, if you catch my drift. He's a real nasty looking fucker, too. I run money for him, bring in the drugs, hand out the guns. It isn't hard, when you've lost your morals like me.
I've gotten used to this kind of life- the empty studio apartment, the black beater of a car, the late nights driving around the city. It's easy to avoid the stares with this job. Tonight, I'm stationed on the street corner, patiently awaiting a drop. The traffic is slow, steady. I lean back against the wall and pull out a cigarette.
"Got a light?"
I look up, a little stunned. Before me is a goddess of a soul. She's all golden, full of light, fading to a crisp orange around the edges. She looks so healthy, so happy. Why doesn't she run from me? I hand her my lighter.
"You must be Roy." She sets a backpack at my feet.
"Yeah," I stammer. How can she work for him? She's not dark like the rest of us, not corrupted. I hand her the money.
"You're not what I pictured," she says, dragging on her cigarette. "You look too happy for a job like this."
"What?" I glance at my reflection in the window across the street. I look the same, a black skeleton of a man. But then I see it. A faint glimmer, an ember of red passion flickering through me. This isn't me. "Listen, I ain't what you think I am. Don't get any ideas here." The red faded away with a wisp of smoke.
"Really?" She presses, her voice sounds like silk. "Because you don't look so bad to me." My soul glowed again, brighter this time, as white as hope. There was no hiding it from her. "Tell you what, Roy. If you ever feel like dinner, why don't you call me?" She slipped me her number, flushing pink with nerves for a brief moment. She turned, and walked away from me, into the night of the city.
"Wait!" I called after her. She stopped. "What's your name?"
"Grace." | Most everyone in my school looked the same. An endless sea of grey, and other uninteresting colors. There were a few that you could tell had passion. The passionate ones were usually a bright red. They were few and far between though.
Many adults, however, were different. They weren't just one color, but a myriad of colors. Different emotions, and colors swirling together to create the symphony that is a conjoined soul. When people found true love their souls mixed, creating new colors for the outside world to view.
Nobody in my school had found real love, hence the muddled sea of grey. Sure they had their flings, and puppy love. None of it was real though. I was no exception. A few girlfriends, but nothing i could tell was lasting. They say you can tell who your soul mate was when you first see them, but most think that is just fairytale nonsense.
I used to believe it too, until one day someone changed my mind. More than my mind. She changed my soul.
The day began just as any other school day had. i went through several of my classes with nothing eventful(other than a pop quiz in english). But during fifth period i saw someone new walk through the door. She was different, special, and very colorful.
Instead of gray, she hosted an untold number of colors. Goldenrod that seemed to carve valleys and hills, crimson reds that the setting sun would envy. There were so many colors i didnt even know names for half of them.
She saw me, and something happened. Almost like fireworks, an explosion of light overtook me. From the look she gave she felt it too.
She made her way to the empty seat next to me and sat down.
"Hi I'm Renee."
| |
[WP] All your life, you've been finding small cuts or bruises on your body with no explanation. Today, you find out what's causing them. | There seemed nothing out of the ordinary about a child of six sporting little cuts and bruises at first. All children of that age fall over, scrape their knees and bump into chairs and tables. As a particularly clumsy and forgetful child, I'd often have no idea how I got them - I'd just assume that I'd fallen over or scratched open a scab in my sleep. It wasn't important.
Certainly my foster parents complained about it, but they were older and fairly well off, so we could afford the plethora of ointments, band-aids and salves required to treat my constant, low-grade injuries.
Or at least we could at first.
I was eight when I woke in terrible pain, screaming the house down and falling out of bed, clutching my arm.
My foster father rushed in and saw me on the floor, holding my arm at an unnatural angle. His quick, deft fingers located the break and carefully wrapped it immobile in a sheet and he carried me to the car where my foster mother drove us to the hospital.
They all assumed I was dreaming, that I'd fallen out of bed and broken it - but I was *certain* that I'd woken up in pain, *then* fallen out of bed. They didn't believe me though; and after a few weeks I admit I didn't trust the memory myself.
Still, I got a cast out of it and was briefly more popular at school.
Regular visits to the doctor were a chore, but they needed to monitor me in case I had brittle bones or some other outlandish condition that caused my arm to break so easily.
 
As I grew older and more coordinated, the random injuries grew fewer.
Sport, it turned out, was something I was naturally gifted at - which surprised me the most - so there were always minor injuries from playing rugby, running and tennis. By the time I was twelve, I could outrun every boy in my class easily and was the tallest girl for my age that the doctor had ever seen .
He speculated that I may have 'Marfan Syndrome', due to my unaccountable breakage and my strange height. Not knowing who my birth parents were made it impossible to find a family history of it, but my long, graceful digits and fallen arches were classic pointers to having Marfan Syndrome.
Despite not training very hard, I was muscular, lean and tough. I ate excessively but never gained any real weight.
My parents - who had now formally adopted me - joked that I had hollow legs and that's where all the food went.
On the morning after my fourteenth birthday I woke up with a searing pain in one of those legs and wetness in the sheets.
Hauling back the sheets I saw in horror a long gash the length of my thigh, profusing with wine-coloured blood that had splattered the sheets like a child had spilled a glass of cranberry.
Yelling for my father, the scene repeated from my childhood and we soon sat in Accident and Emergency, a slowly staining towel tightly wound around my thigh.
Two hours and twenty five stitches later, the A&E doctor sent me home with a crutch to keep my weight off the leg and a box of painkillers and antibiotics.
 
My father installed a security system in out house the next day.
There was no explaining the injury and the only way it could have happened was if someone broke in and slashed my leg while I was asleep. The doctor said that the wound was straight and clean; the kind of wound only a sharp bladed weapon - like a knife - would make.
We speculated that it was a jealous rival at school, or the parent of another child, but we simply couldn't find any evidence.
What disturbed me most though, was that I was continuing to sport bruises and scrapes even though I was currently off sports while my leg healed.
I decided to keep that to myself, so as not to worry dad.
Eventually the wound healed and it was business as usual again - getting thumped around the field by the other girls playing rugby and taking tennis balls to the torso. I couldn't tell the 'real' bruises from the ones of unknown origin any more.
Curiously, my tennis game began to fail. My grip on the racket became warped and wrong. No matter how much I corrected it during the game, *habit* would make it slip back into a peculiar grip. Disgusted with myself, I stuck to football and track-and-field.
 
A series of nocturnal sprained wrists and twisted knees had me back at the doctor over the next year and he shrugged his shoulders, defeated.
He called my condition 'somnnonambulatory costochondritis' and during a sleep study showed that I thrashed about a lot in my sleep and apparently gave myself these injuries.
That still didn't explain the knife injury, but he suspected that I sleepwalked on rare occasions.
I was lucky, he said, that I was so fit and healthy because it meant I recovered from the injuries very quickly.
The thought of being restrained during sleep was broached, but I refused. The idea of being strapped down in bed terrified me - as it would most people - so instead I was prescribed a mild tranquilliser and muscle relaxant.
That turned out to be a mistake.
Within a week of taking the pills my somnnonambulatory injuries got *worse* and I had to go off the pills.
Curiously, they got much better after that and I barely sustained a single nocturnal bruise over the next year.
 
Moving away from my parents to go to university was hard - harder than I imagined.
When I was a kid they were just my foster parents, but they had become my *real* parents with their love and devotion. I couldn't have asked for better if I had a lineup of millions of parents to choose from.
They were still worried about my somnnonambulatory costochondritis, but I was moving into a flat with two other girls, so I was going to be fine. If I injured myself badly the heart monitor bracelet would send an alarm to my smartphone and it would start squealing for help.
I kissed them goodbye, got in my hatchback and drove off to the new flat.
Everything was fine for three weeks. I loved my course work - Bachelor of Sport and Exercise, of course - and I loved Uni life.
But the morning finally came where I woke up to my phone screaming a panicked alarm at full volume and blood pissing out of my face and arms before my blood pressure dropped to critical and I lost consciousness.
 
There was no point, the doctors decided, in ever releasing me.
After they'd treated the initial injuries, more kept appearing under the bandages and casts. My body was a battlefield of constantly healing and new injuries of varying severity. It would stop for a week, then start up again for no reason and without warning. They couldn't treat me with painkillers or sedatives as that made things worse.
In my constantly pain soaked state I would doze fitfully and fragments of *something* would echo in my dreams. Yells of fear, pain and triumph.
Disturbed, I fought for clarity but they continued to grow more persistent.
After a year in the critical care ward, we were no closer to an answer and I was starting to go mad.
Doctors prodded me and tested me, trying to find the cause. Practically immobilised now, it defied reality that the injuries kept appearing.
The dreams grew worse as my sanity slipped; I dreamed of endless battles, everything about them indistinct except the blood, the fear, the death and the surge of *victory*.
And it all started to make sense.
Focusing on the memory of the dream I *willed* myself to sleep, determined to prove my hypothesis.
 
*A horse galloped under me and I led a charge of heavy cavalry into the ranks of the enemy, breaking them and milling them under.
Death was all around me but I laughed, my face in the famous rictus of the the Blood Princess. The swords in each hand lashed out, licked open bright gashes in my enemies and I guided my warhorse with my knees - his brightly shod hooves now dark with blood and brains as he kicked and pawed at the enemy - just as destructive as his rider.
Once we had crushed the Hustian army we would ride over the mountains and sack their cities, for the glory of the Empire.
I was an unstoppable force; billions of dead to my name - of all the races; delk, sark, mithen, drak, ilk.
Immortal and cruel, the Elshen people would conquer Smite and rule it for all eternity - the lesser races our slaves, crushed by the Eshen Emperor's unstoppable daughter*
 
----------------
 
Ellie's parents wept over her hospital bed.
The doctors called it the 'natural conclusion' to her rare and improbable condition - total heart failure and massive internal bleeding.
It didn't make it any easier though; their daughter had been kind, compassionate, loving and gentle - the kind of daughter every parent would be proud to have.
Excusing themselves from the grieving parents, the doctor and attending nurses left them with the scarred and tormented body of their daughter, still utterly baffled by the utterly incomprehensible condition and its horrific effects.
| I awoke in bed on a cold Saturday morning in January. I felt the familiar tingle I've felt oh so many times before coming from my leg. I shook the covers off my body and glanced down at my right leg to see a cluster of small, red scratches each no bigger than a staple. I opened my mouth wide and let out a hearty yawn, stretching my arms out over my head. "Where do these keep coming from?" I thought to myself. I climbed out of my bed and walked out of my small room into the bathroom across the hall. I turned on the shower and waited until the water was warm enough, and slid my gray pajama bottoms off. I quickly hopped into the shower and felt the warm water on my skin. I grabbed the brown bottle of body wash and covered my body with it, only to feel a prickly pain on my right leg where the cuts where. I quickly rubbed the soap in and rinsed it off with the shower water. I shampooed my short brown hair and stepped out of the shower, drying off with a small white towel. I threw some black sweatpants and a red t-shirt on. I walked down the carpeted stairs and walked into the kitchen to see my mom making breakfast.
"What are you making?" I asked my mom, as she stood over the oven.
"Pancakes!" She replied enthusiastically. I glanced over shoulder to see a row of small brown pancakes frying on a large rectangular skillet. She turned to me and pointed at me with the black spatula she was holding. "Hey Eric, could you do me a favor and get the sheet from your bed? I'm doing laundry today." She asked. I nodded to her and walked back upstairs. I jogged back upstairs, eager to eat some of my mom's delicious home made pancakes after doing this small chore. I quickly ripped my sheet off my bed, but when end of the large blue sheet was stuck underneath the bed. I bent down to grab it out, when some movement caught my eye. It was too dark to see anything, so I grabbed out the small camouflage flashlight I keep on my nightstand. I clicked the small black button on it to turn it on. Light filled the crevice underneath my bed.
Underneath my small bed, I saw what looked to be dozens of small faces. I squinted my eyes, and realized I was face to face with what looked like about 50 tan skinned Native American warriors, each covered in war paint and leather clothing. The warriors were about the size of a quarter, and were holding a spear or small dagger. "What the-" I thought to myself, but my thought was quickly interrupted when the warriors charged me, running at a laughably slow pace. With their spears and daggers aimed at me, I tried to run away, but tripped on my garbage small red garbage can laying on the floor next to my bed. The miniature warriors climbed onto my body and thrust their miniature weapons into the back of my legs. The constant poking with their weapons felt like getting bit by 100 mosquitoes over and over again. I flinched in pain and kicked them off of me, running back downstairs.
I ran through the kitchen and into my garage. I flipped the small white light switch and sprinted across the cold, wet, cement garage, hurdling over my dad's new white car. I grabbed a can of insect repellent, determined to put a stop to these tiny tyrants. I sprinted back upstairs, past my bewildered mother.
I shook the large black can, and went back to where the miniature marauders were hiding; underneath my bed. With a slight grin on my face, I blasted them with the high-deet insect repellant, watching them cough and sputter. I continued the chemical warfare until all of them were laying dead on my plain white carpet, now splotched red with the blood of my enemies. I grabbed a small dustpan and broom and swept them up. I carried the pile of dead bodies and dropped them into the trash compacter next in the sink next to my mom.
"What was that?" My mom asked me, confused.
"Justice. Sweet, sweet justice." I replied smugly. | |
[WP] You are a successful hitman. An unsuspecting, cheery and nice girl moves next door. She knocks on your door one day and asks for help. | "The fires of stars are dim; and their lights are forever.
The meteor's flame is brief; yet its beauty outshines the stars."
The moon is cold. The wind is soft. The knife - bloodied as it is - has no place on such a beautiful night.
So why is it here? What am I doing, destroying the beauty of the night?
I set the knife down on the table.
As I poured my second glass of spirits - cheap stuff that I don't even like anymore - the note seemed to stare at me from beneath the knife.
I know what it said.
"Well done. Lay low for a while. We'll come for you in two months or so. And congratulations. I promise you that the rewards will keep coming."
I tossed back another shot, feeling it burn in a very distant sort of way.
And that's how I spent the night. Drinking, and looking at the stars. Wondering where it had all gone wrong. Wondering if, perhaps, nothing was wrong after all.
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Even monsters have emotions. Indeed, it is arguable that monsters cannot exist if they have no emotions. But I - after all these years, I have none left.
There's the bottle. There's the knife. There are the rewards.
But there is nothing inside.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm going mad. The rest of the time, I'm certain I am already mad.
And I wonder how much more I can take of this. How much longer it will take before I finally get too mad, too unstable. How long until they replace me.
Then a note arrives, detailing the next job. Or the bottles come, lots and lots of them. And then I have no time left to wonder.
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It was near dawn when escape finally came to me in the form of a dream.
I dream of the past - a past that I gave the world to leave. A past that I would almost return to.
The first thing I remember - was the hunger. There is no way I will ever forget that constant hunger.
I don't know how old I was when they found me. They guessed that I must have been five, or six. I reason, now, that it was probably closer to six - malnutrition does things to your growth.
And to me, back then - there was nothing more terrifying than hunger. Death was trivial. I have stared death in the face countless times - but hunger. Hunger is the one thing that I'll never endure again.
They found me on the roadside. I was near blind from hunger, curled up into a shivering mess of skin, bones, and snot.
Back then, I could feel it coming. Death. And even now, I wonder sometimes. Would things be better if I had simply died?
But I wouldn't ever know. I won't know, because a pair of hands came into my dwindling vision.
A pair of hands that held onto the remnants of a muddied, flattened loaf of bread.
I will never forget that moment. How it felt to bite into the mixture of dirt, tears, and food. Bitter, salty, and sweet at the same time.
I will never forget those hands either. The hands of the boss.
The hands that used to give me bread - hands that now gave me cold, hard cash, however much of it I needed. Hands that now gave me simple notes: Names, locations, and deadlines. Notes that determined the balance of power in this world - notes that sent men to their deaths.
And then I awoke. Someone was knocking at the door.
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The apartment next door was abandoned. Had been for years, her papa said, since before she was born, in fact. Oddly enough, nobody had ever moved in. Papa had said something about the rent being absurdly high, and how the landlord was a bad word. Then mommy had shushed him, scolding him for saying a bad word and speaking badly of others.
That was a month ago. Today, her neighbor had moved in. And just in time, too!
A cacophony of clicks and clacks sounded behind the doorway.
For the first time, she began to wonder if this was a good idea.
Maybe Papa was right. Maybe this neighbor was a bad word.
Then the door opened a crack - held fast by a steel chain. The smell of something... odd... began to drift out.
"Who is it?"
"It's me - Lilian."
"I don't know you."
Without further ceremony, the door began to close.
"Wait!"
I don't know why I did. Maybe I was drunk. Maybe I was too used to following orders. Or maybe I was just tired - so very, very tired. So I waited.
"Umm..."
But I decided I couldn't wait forever after all.
"What do you want?"
"I ... just wanted to talk."
I should have closed the door. I knew I should have closed the door. Six months ago, before the job, I would have closed the door. Six years ago? I wouldn't have waited around in the first place.
But now was now. I closed the door, unlatching the last chain that separated me from the rest of the world.
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"Come in. I didn't prepare for guests, so there's not much I can offer you."
"It's so clean."
"Huh?"
"Your place, mister. Everything is just... so neat." In a smaller voice, she added. "It's almost like nobody lives here."
I didn't really understand what she meant, at first.
Then I remembered how his home had been. The furniture, though tasteful, was chipped and aged. Stacks of papers and books adorned his walls, and the bookshelves overflowed with documents.
In contrast, the safe-house was far too organized. The luxuries were just there for show. Everything had been laid out for survival. Not for comfort.
I laughed - and for the first time in my life, it felt almost natural. "Well, of course. This isn't really my home. I'm just... moving in for a while."
"Really? So where do you live?"
"Where do I..." I nearly stopped. "I travel a lot." I explained.
"So you don't have a home?"
"Well... I suppose I had one." Six months ago.
"What happened?"
I killed him. "I'm not welcome there any more."
"Oh."
She squirmed in her chair as I searched the kitchen for biscuits. It didn't take me long.
I never felt safe without a week's supply of food. Not since I was five. Anyone who has experienced hunger as I have would say the same.
"Here. It's not much to taste. But it should be filling, at least."
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
Silence was filled with the crunch and crumble of dry biscuits. Try as she might, she couldn't resist making a face at the taste.
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I finished my biscuit. She struggled with hers.
"Where are your parents?"
"Papa is working. So is mama."
"And they just let you walk wherever you want?"
"Not really." She shook her head. "I'm not supposed to go to other floors of the building. But this floor's okay, since you only moved in today."
"I see." I didn't, really. It was only moments later that I finally realized the irony of the situation. I might be the most dangerous person in the entire apartment block - but I ranked least dangerous in her young mind.
Go figure.
"Your eyes look empty, mister."
"Pardon?"
"Your eyes. They're empty."
"I don't understand."
"I don't know how to say it." She focused her gaze on the biscuit, embarrassed. "It's... it's like they're buttons. Not real eyes."
I leaned back in my seat. Thinking back, he'd mentioned something similar. How i looked burnt out. Worn, was what he said. "Maybe I've just seen too much."
"Oh."
"Why don't you just give me that. It's painful, watching you eat it."
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
And I finished my second biscuit.
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She left.
What more is there to do?
The knife is polished. I needed to keep this from reaching the boss. There was no other way.
This is the price of being human.
I look into the sunset. The sun's dying rays that bathe the world in blood daily.
Isn't it odd that so many people find it beautiful?
With a deep breath, I prepare one last drink to steady my nerves.
I have stared death in the face countless times. But this was the first time I felt fear.
Perhaps it's because I'm human, after all. Or, to be precise. It's because my eyes aren't empty anymore.
Tonight, a murderer shall cease to defile this evil world. Tonight, I'll find out what would have happened if there was no boss. Tonight. I am alive.
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<The beginning is a translated quote of Chinese author Gu Long. It's just my take on how it should have been translated. Might differ with official translations.
Sorry about the second half. It's late, and not really good enough to justify a late submission. But a late submission is better than no submission, and so here's the second half of the story. | First thing to pop in my head:
A light wrap on the door distracts me from packing the last of the empty brass cases. A quick tap of a button whooshes the hand crafted ammunition into a hidden compartment in the wall but I keep the familiar grip of my blade as I glide to the door and rip it open. My grip tightens to a painful level and my blade scythes towards the attacker. "Hi, my name's Annie.." and SLICK her blood sprays across the doorway but misses me entirely.
where to go now: a dark comedy or the birth of a rampaging killer | |
[WP] Tell me about a terrifying thing/moment from your childhood. Make me feel like I'm there with you. | Laughter surrounded the hotel swimming pool, children, parents, teenagers and lovers where all enjoying their summer vacation abroad. Different languages could be heard as people from all over the world flocked to the sunny beautiful country of Cyprus in hopes to get a tan before having to leave.
Two sisters begged their parents to let them swim in the 'big kid' pool the oldest stating that they wouldn’t go far and that she would look after the youngest. Eventually their Mother and Father agreed and off the girls ran so excited to be able to swim in the deep end and with the diving boards.
The youngest of the two, Lily, wasn’t that confident of a swimmer and still wore arm bands to aid her. The eldest, Amanda, was a confident swimmer who loved the water and meeting new people. Amanda took Lily's hand and both together they jumped into the pool with a huge splash. They where laughing, splashing one another and seeing who could hold their breath the longest and soon they had made friends with some old kids who where also holidaying.
The older new kids wanted to jump off the smaller diving board and invited Amanda and Lily to join them. Of course Amanda said yes! She followed the other kids, climbing out of the water and joining the line to use the diving board. Lily was left in the pool floating around watching Amanda.
Soon it was Amanda's turn to jump she walked up onto the board and took with her toes just of the edge looking into the choppy water below. She started to have second thoughts and was going to back out but someone knocked the other end of the board and she slipped and fell.
The water tumbled around her, it went up her nose and down her throat. She didn’t know which way was up and her heart hammered in her chest from fear. She was loosing oxygen and started to panic, she saw peoples feet swimming around and before long someone dragged her up to the surface.
She began to cough up the water in her lungs and hung onto the side of the pool until she gained her breath. Lily was still floating around with the other kids, the person who pulled her up was an older man he smiled and swam off before she could thank him. Lily saw Amanda by the side of the pool and shouted for her to join, Amanda wanted to keep up appearances and not be a scaredy cat she swam back over to the group and pretended that nothing happened. | I can hear them, tires heavily crunching on the asphalt.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like a cat's.
I'm a cat though, I coan't spring away and scramble through the hedges.
I swing my bag off my bag and rummage through.
A last ditch attempt to see if they really *are* following.
As I pretend to go through the papers, I hear the van roll to a stop.
A reluctant glance confirms my fears.
I zip up the bag and put it back on, tears welling in my eyes.
I can feel their gaze boring into me.
*I have to run*. | |
[WP] Tell me about a terrifying thing/moment from your childhood. Make me feel like I'm there with you. | 'Fucking come here!'
I run. I can't run far or fast. I was one of the fastest runner in primary school but high school is totally different. Everyone is faster, bigger, meaner.
I almost trip over a tree root and go flying. My mind briefly fills with the image of myself impaled on some weather sharpened branch, twitching like a stuck bug while year 10 watch me slowly die.
I don't trip. I run on. The air is burning in my chest, my throat. Eyes scanning for a teacher, a grown up, the flat side of a building. Nothing but trees. The rest of the kids are behind me, the sharp sounds of branches snapping, jeers, and yells.
They will catch me and they will beat me up. Part of me is fine with this. Part of me has been for the past two years. There's only so much damage you can do to someone before an adult steps in or walks by. But we're outside now, and there's no one around.
A branch scores a bloody line under my eye. My trainers, cheap and flimsy fill with muddy water. My socks like a sponge, squeezing wetness through my toes.
If I had just taken my beating I would be fine. But I wanted to stand up for myself. The rest of my class were watching and I had had enough. I had thrown a punch. One so weak that he had paused long enough to realise I had hit him back.
'Fucking big balls now are ya?' Slap. A fucking slap. Not the tussle and wrestle and close quarters of a school yard scrap but a slap.
'Fucking bitch.' Another slap. The class groaned in embarrassment. His fucking friends laughing it up. I kicked out now. Pistoning myself between the bus seats and for good luck or bad solidly connecting with his balls.
I didn't wait to see his reaction. That stupid 'o' look on his face was enough and I sped from the bus while the driver turned to shout.
The woods.
Trees streamed past, not one fucking tree big enough to climb or hide behind. A wall appeared. Red brick and graffiti. No corners, no windows no doors.
Left or right?
I ran alongside to the right and saw them reach the wall the same time as me. They tagged the wall as if this was PE class. Smiled at me and started walking towards me. I turned and the rest of them were there.
Nowhere to run. Trapped. Five of them, no six now. And John. He grabbed my by the t shirt and slammed me back into the brick. My head seemed to split open, there was a sickening crunch.
'Fuckin kick me?' He sounded offended. Enraged. The rest of them egged him on. Another slam into the wall.
'Go on then, fucking kick me again.'
Slam.
They crowd got louder with each jeer.
'Go on John, fuck 'im up'.
John paused long enough to make eye contact, a nervous smile flashed across his face. He looked at me, where we were and the reality of it seemed to reach him.
'Nah, leave it. Lookit him, fucking pussy.'
John turned and walked off, ignoring plehs from the other lads to 'fuck me up'. He walked off.
A few of them waited. Playing with the idea I was easy picking for them or that he would come back. Neither happened and they left.
I slumped down and sat in the leaves, listening to them go. The wall behind me was warm. It hummed with some unseen machinery inside.
I stayed there for a long time.
| I can hear them, tires heavily crunching on the asphalt.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like a cat's.
I'm a cat though, I coan't spring away and scramble through the hedges.
I swing my bag off my bag and rummage through.
A last ditch attempt to see if they really *are* following.
As I pretend to go through the papers, I hear the van roll to a stop.
A reluctant glance confirms my fears.
I zip up the bag and put it back on, tears welling in my eyes.
I can feel their gaze boring into me.
*I have to run*. | |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | GAME: START
“So… has it ever gone wrong?”
“Well, there were a couple of times when my aim was bad and I was alive for sometimes 15 minutes”
“Pfft, 15 minutes isn’t so bad”.
“Uh huh it is. It’s the most pain I think anyone will ever experience.”
“So why do you do it anyway?”
“Because I made a mistake and I want to restart.”
“Kind of like re-spawning in a game?”
“Yeah”
“But what kind of mistakes do you make that you’ve killed yourself 547 times?”
“Well, sometimes I trip and fall in public or I got a question wrong in a test”
“But… nothing is wrong with that. I’ve failed tests before and it’s no big deal. I even broke mom’s vase last week and I got yelled at but it’s okay now. You don’t have to restart for stuff like that.”
“Well I guess you’re okay with having an imperfect life then! Don’t judge me! You’re just a stupid boy who wants a stupid life! I can’t believe I have an idiot like you as a little brother!”
“You… you don’t have to be so mean Pat!”
“I’m. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where that came from. I’m so sor-“
“I hate you! You’re so mean and I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”
She starts hyperventilating, runs to the room, grabs the gun from her purse, and shoots herself.
She opens her eyes, expecting to relive her life again. Expecting to see the same people, surroundings as she always did when she restarted.
But all she saw was white.
White space as far as the eye can see.
She stands in fear, shaking. Whispering to herself “What the fuck” continuously.
Suddenly a low voice bellowed. She didn’t know where it came from but she knew exactly who it was….
God.
“I am giving you one last chance”
And before she could react, she wakes up, just like the other 547 times.
She stands up and calms herself. Wondering if the white space was all a dream.
She stands still in the middle of the sidewalk. She knows what’s going to happen next.. but for some reason, she doesn’t move. She’s still in shock.
A cute guy bumps into her on the street and she falls, ripping her pants in the process.
Without even thinking, almost like a subconscious reflex, she grabbed the gun from her purse and shot herself in the head.
She wakes up in white space again. Suddenly, the same voice..
“Goddammit Patrice.”
GAME: END | There once was a girl
Who could turn every wrong to right
By simply offing herself
And restarting her life
No matter how much she pruned
And no matter the wrongs she'd right
She still found reason to gripe
Forever contrite
But nothing is forever
Though sometimes it seems
And when enough was enough
Then God intervened
On this particular scene
The silly girl flew into rage with a thunderous scream
For this time round she'd won the man of her dreams!
But as fate had been changed
His fortune he would never see
So she procured her usual deadly draft
And she collapsed to see Death
But that was that
At long last she'd been freed.
| |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | Some would say I spend my days with a legendary being, a god that can control time and space. Some would bow down in awe and offer their worship to a companion such as mine.
Me? I see my friend as a normal creature, albeit one under my command. It was powerful, arguably more powerful than anything else, but under my care it became stronger than ever. An entity that was unstoppable. Or so I thought.
After a while, I found out the true nature of my team member. While all the other companions' natures would work well with each other, this particular "god" had a critical flaw that stopped it from reaching its true potential. He was overly modest, which would increase its Special Attack and decrease its Attack, the entirely opposite of what I looked for in a Swords Dance + Extremespeed Arceus.
I turned off my DS and sighed. Looks like I would have to try catching it again. What a pain. | There once was a girl
Who could turn every wrong to right
By simply offing herself
And restarting her life
No matter how much she pruned
And no matter the wrongs she'd right
She still found reason to gripe
Forever contrite
But nothing is forever
Though sometimes it seems
And when enough was enough
Then God intervened
On this particular scene
The silly girl flew into rage with a thunderous scream
For this time round she'd won the man of her dreams!
But as fate had been changed
His fortune he would never see
So she procured her usual deadly draft
And she collapsed to see Death
But that was that
At long last she'd been freed.
| |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | My name is Lily. And I'm a perfectionist.
My psychologists have told me I have OCD, but they're wrong. They're all wrong. I just like things to be perfect, because when they *can* be, they *have* to be.
And I can make *everything* perfect. And I do. It takes a long time, but when you can relive your life endlessly, time is like money in a Swiss Bank account; whenever you need it, you just pull a few strings and there it, untaxed and illegal.
Unfortunately, in my case, "pulling strings" means dying. Death by cop, death by lethal injection, suicide, particularly tricky victim, but its all the same. And the first six years are always slow, but every sixth birthday, like clockwork, all of my memories from my past thousands of lives come flooding back and I'm me again. And I can get to work.
No, the reason I say i'm not OCD is because I've *seen* OCD. All those girls in the mental hospitals and "psychological health" programs, always counting buttons, or words, or wanting to touch you or organize your notebooks, its *annoying*. I'm not like that. Because what I need to get right *deserves* to be perfect. What I need to get right is murder.
I've killed 1,356,452 people. And every time I kill someone, they don't appear in my next life. When I kill them, they stay dead. *Forever*. And what I want is to kill everybody in the world. To have it all to myself.
And my murders are *perfect*. Fucking flawless. Most of the time. Every single time there's one little error that always gets me caught early, and every time I get a little better, but every time whatever fuck happens to be on my tail gets a little better also. I always have to murder whoever caught me in the last life so they can never do it again, but then someone always takes their place. Its gotten to the point where I suspect that someone out there is like me. And they're working against me. Trying to slow me down. But they can't stop me. And they know it.
I sit in an abandoned warehouse now, my latest victim strung up upside down on a chain hanging from the ceiling. Everybody always underestimates the pretty, petite blonde girl. You throw a little seduction and eye makeup their way and they melt in your hands.
I don't even know who this fucker is. I stopped learning their backstories a while ago. Now I kill spontaneously. After I hit 200,000 I got bored, needed to step it up a bit, make it more difficult, more *fun*. So I stopped the meticulous planning. And now I just jump on whoever I think looks good enough to eat. All I know about this guy is that his name is Daniel.
A low mumbling sound comes from behind me. I've gotten so lost in thought I hadn't even noticed my prey wake up. He's looking at me, his eyes wide in confusion, darting around the room, and then finally settling on me. I must be a sight to see. I'm still wearing my school uniform, a navy blue jacket over a button up with the words, "Westchester High" embroidered on the chest and lapel. Course now its all torn up and sweaty. Carrying him up here was a task all on its own, not including chaining him up and suspending him two feet off the ground. He tries to ask me something through the gag. I dash towards him, falling to my knees in mock horror.
"Oh, Daniel!" I cry, hugging him in my arms. "Some man knocked you out with a pipe from behind! I-I followed him up here. He chained you up!" I take the gag out of his mouth. He's gasping for air for a moment before he finally says,
"Okay, okay, Lily, go get some help. Get outside, wave down the police."
"I can't leave you!" I wail.
"It's okay, honey, its okay. Did he say anything about what he wants? Money, a hostage, what is it?" Through my crocodile tears I sob,
"H-He has a large knife! He said he wants to kill you!" Daniel's eyes go wide.
"He has a knife?"
"Y-Yeah. Kind of like, kind of like-" I reach behind me, gripping the handle of what I've kept hidden behind my blazer, tucked into my skirt.
"This one," I say, brandishing a long steel bowie knife in front of his eyes. I see the confusion seep into his eyes. The terror slowly dawn on his face. Its delicious.
"Lily don-"
"Too late!" I giggle. I stab the knife into his left external carotid artery, blood spraying through the cracks like juice from an orange, staining my face with a bright red mist. I then quickly drag the knife all the way across to the opposite artery. I pull the knife back and blood rains from the wound, painting the ground below him. He makes a gurgling sound, and I giggle with glee. He bleeds out in about thirty seconds, all the blood draining from his body and down into his neck and onto the floor. Its beautiful. 1,356,453 now. But soon he's nothing more than a lifeless husk. Its always over so fast. This must be what a male orgasm feels like.
I leave the body there for the police to find. They've already given me a new title, "The Arachnid Killer". Off of how I chain my victims upside down wrapped in chains, just like how a spider wraps its kills. Its cute. Its the next morning already, and I wake up groggily. I drag myself to the shower, stripping off my pink pajamas and get ready for school. I don't even have to go, but sometimes I spot good victims. Its always fun to see how a town reacts when a child is killed. The depression, the panic, the utter loss of faith is absolutely *delicious*. It gets me off, to be honest.
I head downstairs and eat my cereal and eggs that my loving mother has prepared for me. She's a sad woman, married to my father only because she loves his money, but she doesn't have the courage to have an affair. She's too scared he'd find out and leave her with nothing. God how I wouldn't love to kill them both.
But I can't. They have to be the last ones I kill. If my parents aren't alive then I'm not certain I'll be born, since I am born to them every damned time. So I grit my death and deal with them for millennium after millennium. But I particularly don't want to deal with them today, so I leave quickly. I check my bookbag for my supplies, and yes, there they are. My knife and my two syringes of tranquilizer. Perfect. I begin my walk to school.
As I said, I've begun murdering when the urge strikes me, so it can happen anywhere, at anytime, so I have to be prepared. I'm wearing my backup uniform since my other was nearly destroyed last night, and I have my bookbag of supplies. On my way to school I spot a fascinating looking man.
He's leaning against the wall in the alleyway. He's middle-aged, with short, spiky brown hair. He has on a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He's smoking a cigarette and wearing a pair of sunglasses. I quickly look around and see that there's nobody else on the street. Not a single soul. Lucky day for me.
I turn right and walk down the alley, adjusting my chest as I walk. I approach him.
"Hey, mister," I say. "Got a smoke?" He pulls down his sunglasses and fixes his two bright blue eyes on me, then laughs.
"What are you, sixteen? Get out of here," he says. His voice is gruff, but pleasant. Like a movie stars.
"Pleeeeeeease?" I ask, leaning towards him. "I *really* want a smoke." He fixes me with those blue eyes again, and just stares. I draw myself closer to him.
"I'd do *anything* for an unfiltered right now." I rub my body against his, my chest squishing against his and I can feel he's in very good shape underneath that suit. He raises his eyebrows at me.
"What is this, a sting operation? Get the hell to school." He straightens up, shoving my off of him and walks deeper into the alley. But I could feel it. He *wants* it. And I *love* it when they resist. I follow him into the back of the alley and grab his shoulder, turning him around. I pin him to the wall and plant my lips on his, and I can feel all of his resistance melt away. I grab his hand and place it on my hip. He begins to feel up my body and it feels *fantastic*, but not as fantastic as ripping his head off of his shoulders will be. Maybe I'll sever his spine first. Make him think he'll spend the rest of his life not being able to walk. But he has another two hours to live, at most. I hold out my hand.
"One moment, let me grab something *important* first." I reach into my back, pulling out one of the syringes. I quickly turn and thrust it into his neck, pressing all of the yellow liquid into his bloodstream.
He stands there, staring at me from underneath those sunglasses. He should be on the floor by now. I take a step back, holding the empty syringe. I quickly toss it and grab the other, stabbing it into his chest. He still stands there, leaning against the wall.
"What?" I mutter. Time for plan B. I grab the knife from my bag and turn to thrust it into his chest, but I stop when I turn back to him. He takes off him sunglasses, folding them up with a flick of his wrist and placing them into his jacket breast pocket. He's smiling. And his previously blue eyes now shine gold. I let out a bloodcurdling yell and thrust all nine inches of my blade into his chest cavity.
He still stands there.
"No," I mutter. "No, no, NO! You *FUCKED* it up!" I scream. "Its not *PERFECT*. You piece of shit freak, what *are* you!?" He's still got his glowing golden eyes fixed on me. Finally, he raises out a hand, gripping the top of my head. I freeze. I can't move. All I see is those glowing golden eyes.
"Yeah," he says, "You're definitely a problem." His eyes glow brighter and brighter until they begin to burn. I feel the flesh flay off of my face, and my eyeballs melt and drip down my exposed skull, and then my brain fries like an egg in the sun, and I feel my very *soul* being torn into the most basic components of the universe.
Its fucking beautiful.
Its fucking *perfect*.
Edit: Added a new last line I thought of while trying to sleep last night, I think it ties it together a little better. Thanks for the reads and upvotes everybody!
Edit 2: Daniel is now consistently Daniel | There once was a girl
Who could turn every wrong to right
By simply offing herself
And restarting her life
No matter how much she pruned
And no matter the wrongs she'd right
She still found reason to gripe
Forever contrite
But nothing is forever
Though sometimes it seems
And when enough was enough
Then God intervened
On this particular scene
The silly girl flew into rage with a thunderous scream
For this time round she'd won the man of her dreams!
But as fate had been changed
His fortune he would never see
So she procured her usual deadly draft
And she collapsed to see Death
But that was that
At long last she'd been freed.
| |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | "Maggie," said God.
"Yes, sir?" Maggie stood very straight and very still, chin up, hands clasped neatly in front of her. God had never seen anyone else manage to make Heaven's robes look quite so... prim.
"You're here again."
"Yes, sir." Maggie was surreptitiously using her foot to flatten out the tufts of cloud she was standing on.
"Stop that," God commanded. Maggie stopped, but began to look visibly uncomfortable. She eyed the disorderly mess of cloud as though she wanted to vacuum it up, even if it meant removing the very foundations of Heaven. She'd tried it before. "Maggie, Maggie look at me. I need you to focus."
Maggie looked at God.
"It's only been 16 Earth years."
"Yes, sir."
"...I thought we talked about this, Maggie."
"Well, sir, with all due respect, sir, I did explain to you last time that if there were extra-ordinary circumstances beyond that of my control, I could not promise that the temptation to reset would not be too great. Sir."
"Extraordinary- Maggie, all you did was spill a bit of coffee."
"I spilled it on my blouse, sir."
"So?"
"I... I'm not sure you understand. The blouse was white, sir."
"Child!" God's voice thundered. The force of it shook the fibers of existence itself. Whoops, he thought, guess there was going to be another earthquake. He'd be getting prayers about that all week. "I am everywhere at every time in every thing. Do not presume to tell me what I do not understand."
Maggie sniffed. "Yes, sir. Then you see, sir, why I had to reset. Don't you?"
God did not see, but after 67,842 life cycles, he had learned that sometimes there was no reasoning with Maggie. He looked at the girl, how uncomfortable she seemed. She had busied herself trying to smooth out the drapes of her robe, a harmless enough pass time. But God remembered. He remembered what had happened after her first life, when the stress of reliving each of her mistakes over and over in her mind had caused her to start harassing the other angels, obsessively counting and breaking off their split ends. God hadn't even realized angels had split ends! When Satan had visited for one of their chess games, he'd sensed the girl's misery from three clouds away, and even made a crack about God getting into the torture business. God just couldn't have an angel this upset. It was bad for his reputation.
"Look, Maggie, I'll give you another life cycle, see if this time goes any better."
"Oh, thank you, sir! You won't regret it, sir!"
"Try to make it to past adolescence this time, ok kid? It may mellow you out."
"Well, sir, I can't make any promises. If there are extra-ordinary circumstan-"
God snapped his fingers, and Maggie's life began again. From heaven, he watched as she was born, without so much as a wail. As Maggie's mother held her infant daughter in her arms for the first time, Maggie quietly reached out to brush a speck of dust from her mother's hospital gown. Maggie cooed, content. For now.
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism very much so welcome and appreciated. | There once was a girl
Who could turn every wrong to right
By simply offing herself
And restarting her life
No matter how much she pruned
And no matter the wrongs she'd right
She still found reason to gripe
Forever contrite
But nothing is forever
Though sometimes it seems
And when enough was enough
Then God intervened
On this particular scene
The silly girl flew into rage with a thunderous scream
For this time round she'd won the man of her dreams!
But as fate had been changed
His fortune he would never see
So she procured her usual deadly draft
And she collapsed to see Death
But that was that
At long last she'd been freed.
| |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | My name is Lily. And I'm a perfectionist.
My psychologists have told me I have OCD, but they're wrong. They're all wrong. I just like things to be perfect, because when they *can* be, they *have* to be.
And I can make *everything* perfect. And I do. It takes a long time, but when you can relive your life endlessly, time is like money in a Swiss Bank account; whenever you need it, you just pull a few strings and there it, untaxed and illegal.
Unfortunately, in my case, "pulling strings" means dying. Death by cop, death by lethal injection, suicide, particularly tricky victim, but its all the same. And the first six years are always slow, but every sixth birthday, like clockwork, all of my memories from my past thousands of lives come flooding back and I'm me again. And I can get to work.
No, the reason I say i'm not OCD is because I've *seen* OCD. All those girls in the mental hospitals and "psychological health" programs, always counting buttons, or words, or wanting to touch you or organize your notebooks, its *annoying*. I'm not like that. Because what I need to get right *deserves* to be perfect. What I need to get right is murder.
I've killed 1,356,452 people. And every time I kill someone, they don't appear in my next life. When I kill them, they stay dead. *Forever*. And what I want is to kill everybody in the world. To have it all to myself.
And my murders are *perfect*. Fucking flawless. Most of the time. Every single time there's one little error that always gets me caught early, and every time I get a little better, but every time whatever fuck happens to be on my tail gets a little better also. I always have to murder whoever caught me in the last life so they can never do it again, but then someone always takes their place. Its gotten to the point where I suspect that someone out there is like me. And they're working against me. Trying to slow me down. But they can't stop me. And they know it.
I sit in an abandoned warehouse now, my latest victim strung up upside down on a chain hanging from the ceiling. Everybody always underestimates the pretty, petite blonde girl. You throw a little seduction and eye makeup their way and they melt in your hands.
I don't even know who this fucker is. I stopped learning their backstories a while ago. Now I kill spontaneously. After I hit 200,000 I got bored, needed to step it up a bit, make it more difficult, more *fun*. So I stopped the meticulous planning. And now I just jump on whoever I think looks good enough to eat. All I know about this guy is that his name is Daniel.
A low mumbling sound comes from behind me. I've gotten so lost in thought I hadn't even noticed my prey wake up. He's looking at me, his eyes wide in confusion, darting around the room, and then finally settling on me. I must be a sight to see. I'm still wearing my school uniform, a navy blue jacket over a button up with the words, "Westchester High" embroidered on the chest and lapel. Course now its all torn up and sweaty. Carrying him up here was a task all on its own, not including chaining him up and suspending him two feet off the ground. He tries to ask me something through the gag. I dash towards him, falling to my knees in mock horror.
"Oh, Daniel!" I cry, hugging him in my arms. "Some man knocked you out with a pipe from behind! I-I followed him up here. He chained you up!" I take the gag out of his mouth. He's gasping for air for a moment before he finally says,
"Okay, okay, Lily, go get some help. Get outside, wave down the police."
"I can't leave you!" I wail.
"It's okay, honey, its okay. Did he say anything about what he wants? Money, a hostage, what is it?" Through my crocodile tears I sob,
"H-He has a large knife! He said he wants to kill you!" Daniel's eyes go wide.
"He has a knife?"
"Y-Yeah. Kind of like, kind of like-" I reach behind me, gripping the handle of what I've kept hidden behind my blazer, tucked into my skirt.
"This one," I say, brandishing a long steel bowie knife in front of his eyes. I see the confusion seep into his eyes. The terror slowly dawn on his face. Its delicious.
"Lily don-"
"Too late!" I giggle. I stab the knife into his left external carotid artery, blood spraying through the cracks like juice from an orange, staining my face with a bright red mist. I then quickly drag the knife all the way across to the opposite artery. I pull the knife back and blood rains from the wound, painting the ground below him. He makes a gurgling sound, and I giggle with glee. He bleeds out in about thirty seconds, all the blood draining from his body and down into his neck and onto the floor. Its beautiful. 1,356,453 now. But soon he's nothing more than a lifeless husk. Its always over so fast. This must be what a male orgasm feels like.
I leave the body there for the police to find. They've already given me a new title, "The Arachnid Killer". Off of how I chain my victims upside down wrapped in chains, just like how a spider wraps its kills. Its cute. Its the next morning already, and I wake up groggily. I drag myself to the shower, stripping off my pink pajamas and get ready for school. I don't even have to go, but sometimes I spot good victims. Its always fun to see how a town reacts when a child is killed. The depression, the panic, the utter loss of faith is absolutely *delicious*. It gets me off, to be honest.
I head downstairs and eat my cereal and eggs that my loving mother has prepared for me. She's a sad woman, married to my father only because she loves his money, but she doesn't have the courage to have an affair. She's too scared he'd find out and leave her with nothing. God how I wouldn't love to kill them both.
But I can't. They have to be the last ones I kill. If my parents aren't alive then I'm not certain I'll be born, since I am born to them every damned time. So I grit my death and deal with them for millennium after millennium. But I particularly don't want to deal with them today, so I leave quickly. I check my bookbag for my supplies, and yes, there they are. My knife and my two syringes of tranquilizer. Perfect. I begin my walk to school.
As I said, I've begun murdering when the urge strikes me, so it can happen anywhere, at anytime, so I have to be prepared. I'm wearing my backup uniform since my other was nearly destroyed last night, and I have my bookbag of supplies. On my way to school I spot a fascinating looking man.
He's leaning against the wall in the alleyway. He's middle-aged, with short, spiky brown hair. He has on a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He's smoking a cigarette and wearing a pair of sunglasses. I quickly look around and see that there's nobody else on the street. Not a single soul. Lucky day for me.
I turn right and walk down the alley, adjusting my chest as I walk. I approach him.
"Hey, mister," I say. "Got a smoke?" He pulls down his sunglasses and fixes his two bright blue eyes on me, then laughs.
"What are you, sixteen? Get out of here," he says. His voice is gruff, but pleasant. Like a movie stars.
"Pleeeeeeease?" I ask, leaning towards him. "I *really* want a smoke." He fixes me with those blue eyes again, and just stares. I draw myself closer to him.
"I'd do *anything* for an unfiltered right now." I rub my body against his, my chest squishing against his and I can feel he's in very good shape underneath that suit. He raises his eyebrows at me.
"What is this, a sting operation? Get the hell to school." He straightens up, shoving my off of him and walks deeper into the alley. But I could feel it. He *wants* it. And I *love* it when they resist. I follow him into the back of the alley and grab his shoulder, turning him around. I pin him to the wall and plant my lips on his, and I can feel all of his resistance melt away. I grab his hand and place it on my hip. He begins to feel up my body and it feels *fantastic*, but not as fantastic as ripping his head off of his shoulders will be. Maybe I'll sever his spine first. Make him think he'll spend the rest of his life not being able to walk. But he has another two hours to live, at most. I hold out my hand.
"One moment, let me grab something *important* first." I reach into my back, pulling out one of the syringes. I quickly turn and thrust it into his neck, pressing all of the yellow liquid into his bloodstream.
He stands there, staring at me from underneath those sunglasses. He should be on the floor by now. I take a step back, holding the empty syringe. I quickly toss it and grab the other, stabbing it into his chest. He still stands there, leaning against the wall.
"What?" I mutter. Time for plan B. I grab the knife from my bag and turn to thrust it into his chest, but I stop when I turn back to him. He takes off him sunglasses, folding them up with a flick of his wrist and placing them into his jacket breast pocket. He's smiling. And his previously blue eyes now shine gold. I let out a bloodcurdling yell and thrust all nine inches of my blade into his chest cavity.
He still stands there.
"No," I mutter. "No, no, NO! You *FUCKED* it up!" I scream. "Its not *PERFECT*. You piece of shit freak, what *are* you!?" He's still got his glowing golden eyes fixed on me. Finally, he raises out a hand, gripping the top of my head. I freeze. I can't move. All I see is those glowing golden eyes.
"Yeah," he says, "You're definitely a problem." His eyes glow brighter and brighter until they begin to burn. I feel the flesh flay off of my face, and my eyeballs melt and drip down my exposed skull, and then my brain fries like an egg in the sun, and I feel my very *soul* being torn into the most basic components of the universe.
Its fucking beautiful.
Its fucking *perfect*.
Edit: Added a new last line I thought of while trying to sleep last night, I think it ties it together a little better. Thanks for the reads and upvotes everybody!
Edit 2: Daniel is now consistently Daniel | GAME: START
“So… has it ever gone wrong?”
“Well, there were a couple of times when my aim was bad and I was alive for sometimes 15 minutes”
“Pfft, 15 minutes isn’t so bad”.
“Uh huh it is. It’s the most pain I think anyone will ever experience.”
“So why do you do it anyway?”
“Because I made a mistake and I want to restart.”
“Kind of like re-spawning in a game?”
“Yeah”
“But what kind of mistakes do you make that you’ve killed yourself 547 times?”
“Well, sometimes I trip and fall in public or I got a question wrong in a test”
“But… nothing is wrong with that. I’ve failed tests before and it’s no big deal. I even broke mom’s vase last week and I got yelled at but it’s okay now. You don’t have to restart for stuff like that.”
“Well I guess you’re okay with having an imperfect life then! Don’t judge me! You’re just a stupid boy who wants a stupid life! I can’t believe I have an idiot like you as a little brother!”
“You… you don’t have to be so mean Pat!”
“I’m. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know where that came from. I’m so sor-“
“I hate you! You’re so mean and I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”
She starts hyperventilating, runs to the room, grabs the gun from her purse, and shoots herself.
She opens her eyes, expecting to relive her life again. Expecting to see the same people, surroundings as she always did when she restarted.
But all she saw was white.
White space as far as the eye can see.
She stands in fear, shaking. Whispering to herself “What the fuck” continuously.
Suddenly a low voice bellowed. She didn’t know where it came from but she knew exactly who it was….
God.
“I am giving you one last chance”
And before she could react, she wakes up, just like the other 547 times.
She stands up and calms herself. Wondering if the white space was all a dream.
She stands still in the middle of the sidewalk. She knows what’s going to happen next.. but for some reason, she doesn’t move. She’s still in shock.
A cute guy bumps into her on the street and she falls, ripping her pants in the process.
Without even thinking, almost like a subconscious reflex, she grabbed the gun from her purse and shot herself in the head.
She wakes up in white space again. Suddenly, the same voice..
“Goddammit Patrice.”
GAME: END | |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | My name is Lily. And I'm a perfectionist.
My psychologists have told me I have OCD, but they're wrong. They're all wrong. I just like things to be perfect, because when they *can* be, they *have* to be.
And I can make *everything* perfect. And I do. It takes a long time, but when you can relive your life endlessly, time is like money in a Swiss Bank account; whenever you need it, you just pull a few strings and there it, untaxed and illegal.
Unfortunately, in my case, "pulling strings" means dying. Death by cop, death by lethal injection, suicide, particularly tricky victim, but its all the same. And the first six years are always slow, but every sixth birthday, like clockwork, all of my memories from my past thousands of lives come flooding back and I'm me again. And I can get to work.
No, the reason I say i'm not OCD is because I've *seen* OCD. All those girls in the mental hospitals and "psychological health" programs, always counting buttons, or words, or wanting to touch you or organize your notebooks, its *annoying*. I'm not like that. Because what I need to get right *deserves* to be perfect. What I need to get right is murder.
I've killed 1,356,452 people. And every time I kill someone, they don't appear in my next life. When I kill them, they stay dead. *Forever*. And what I want is to kill everybody in the world. To have it all to myself.
And my murders are *perfect*. Fucking flawless. Most of the time. Every single time there's one little error that always gets me caught early, and every time I get a little better, but every time whatever fuck happens to be on my tail gets a little better also. I always have to murder whoever caught me in the last life so they can never do it again, but then someone always takes their place. Its gotten to the point where I suspect that someone out there is like me. And they're working against me. Trying to slow me down. But they can't stop me. And they know it.
I sit in an abandoned warehouse now, my latest victim strung up upside down on a chain hanging from the ceiling. Everybody always underestimates the pretty, petite blonde girl. You throw a little seduction and eye makeup their way and they melt in your hands.
I don't even know who this fucker is. I stopped learning their backstories a while ago. Now I kill spontaneously. After I hit 200,000 I got bored, needed to step it up a bit, make it more difficult, more *fun*. So I stopped the meticulous planning. And now I just jump on whoever I think looks good enough to eat. All I know about this guy is that his name is Daniel.
A low mumbling sound comes from behind me. I've gotten so lost in thought I hadn't even noticed my prey wake up. He's looking at me, his eyes wide in confusion, darting around the room, and then finally settling on me. I must be a sight to see. I'm still wearing my school uniform, a navy blue jacket over a button up with the words, "Westchester High" embroidered on the chest and lapel. Course now its all torn up and sweaty. Carrying him up here was a task all on its own, not including chaining him up and suspending him two feet off the ground. He tries to ask me something through the gag. I dash towards him, falling to my knees in mock horror.
"Oh, Daniel!" I cry, hugging him in my arms. "Some man knocked you out with a pipe from behind! I-I followed him up here. He chained you up!" I take the gag out of his mouth. He's gasping for air for a moment before he finally says,
"Okay, okay, Lily, go get some help. Get outside, wave down the police."
"I can't leave you!" I wail.
"It's okay, honey, its okay. Did he say anything about what he wants? Money, a hostage, what is it?" Through my crocodile tears I sob,
"H-He has a large knife! He said he wants to kill you!" Daniel's eyes go wide.
"He has a knife?"
"Y-Yeah. Kind of like, kind of like-" I reach behind me, gripping the handle of what I've kept hidden behind my blazer, tucked into my skirt.
"This one," I say, brandishing a long steel bowie knife in front of his eyes. I see the confusion seep into his eyes. The terror slowly dawn on his face. Its delicious.
"Lily don-"
"Too late!" I giggle. I stab the knife into his left external carotid artery, blood spraying through the cracks like juice from an orange, staining my face with a bright red mist. I then quickly drag the knife all the way across to the opposite artery. I pull the knife back and blood rains from the wound, painting the ground below him. He makes a gurgling sound, and I giggle with glee. He bleeds out in about thirty seconds, all the blood draining from his body and down into his neck and onto the floor. Its beautiful. 1,356,453 now. But soon he's nothing more than a lifeless husk. Its always over so fast. This must be what a male orgasm feels like.
I leave the body there for the police to find. They've already given me a new title, "The Arachnid Killer". Off of how I chain my victims upside down wrapped in chains, just like how a spider wraps its kills. Its cute. Its the next morning already, and I wake up groggily. I drag myself to the shower, stripping off my pink pajamas and get ready for school. I don't even have to go, but sometimes I spot good victims. Its always fun to see how a town reacts when a child is killed. The depression, the panic, the utter loss of faith is absolutely *delicious*. It gets me off, to be honest.
I head downstairs and eat my cereal and eggs that my loving mother has prepared for me. She's a sad woman, married to my father only because she loves his money, but she doesn't have the courage to have an affair. She's too scared he'd find out and leave her with nothing. God how I wouldn't love to kill them both.
But I can't. They have to be the last ones I kill. If my parents aren't alive then I'm not certain I'll be born, since I am born to them every damned time. So I grit my death and deal with them for millennium after millennium. But I particularly don't want to deal with them today, so I leave quickly. I check my bookbag for my supplies, and yes, there they are. My knife and my two syringes of tranquilizer. Perfect. I begin my walk to school.
As I said, I've begun murdering when the urge strikes me, so it can happen anywhere, at anytime, so I have to be prepared. I'm wearing my backup uniform since my other was nearly destroyed last night, and I have my bookbag of supplies. On my way to school I spot a fascinating looking man.
He's leaning against the wall in the alleyway. He's middle-aged, with short, spiky brown hair. He has on a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a black tie. He's smoking a cigarette and wearing a pair of sunglasses. I quickly look around and see that there's nobody else on the street. Not a single soul. Lucky day for me.
I turn right and walk down the alley, adjusting my chest as I walk. I approach him.
"Hey, mister," I say. "Got a smoke?" He pulls down his sunglasses and fixes his two bright blue eyes on me, then laughs.
"What are you, sixteen? Get out of here," he says. His voice is gruff, but pleasant. Like a movie stars.
"Pleeeeeeease?" I ask, leaning towards him. "I *really* want a smoke." He fixes me with those blue eyes again, and just stares. I draw myself closer to him.
"I'd do *anything* for an unfiltered right now." I rub my body against his, my chest squishing against his and I can feel he's in very good shape underneath that suit. He raises his eyebrows at me.
"What is this, a sting operation? Get the hell to school." He straightens up, shoving my off of him and walks deeper into the alley. But I could feel it. He *wants* it. And I *love* it when they resist. I follow him into the back of the alley and grab his shoulder, turning him around. I pin him to the wall and plant my lips on his, and I can feel all of his resistance melt away. I grab his hand and place it on my hip. He begins to feel up my body and it feels *fantastic*, but not as fantastic as ripping his head off of his shoulders will be. Maybe I'll sever his spine first. Make him think he'll spend the rest of his life not being able to walk. But he has another two hours to live, at most. I hold out my hand.
"One moment, let me grab something *important* first." I reach into my back, pulling out one of the syringes. I quickly turn and thrust it into his neck, pressing all of the yellow liquid into his bloodstream.
He stands there, staring at me from underneath those sunglasses. He should be on the floor by now. I take a step back, holding the empty syringe. I quickly toss it and grab the other, stabbing it into his chest. He still stands there, leaning against the wall.
"What?" I mutter. Time for plan B. I grab the knife from my bag and turn to thrust it into his chest, but I stop when I turn back to him. He takes off him sunglasses, folding them up with a flick of his wrist and placing them into his jacket breast pocket. He's smiling. And his previously blue eyes now shine gold. I let out a bloodcurdling yell and thrust all nine inches of my blade into his chest cavity.
He still stands there.
"No," I mutter. "No, no, NO! You *FUCKED* it up!" I scream. "Its not *PERFECT*. You piece of shit freak, what *are* you!?" He's still got his glowing golden eyes fixed on me. Finally, he raises out a hand, gripping the top of my head. I freeze. I can't move. All I see is those glowing golden eyes.
"Yeah," he says, "You're definitely a problem." His eyes glow brighter and brighter until they begin to burn. I feel the flesh flay off of my face, and my eyeballs melt and drip down my exposed skull, and then my brain fries like an egg in the sun, and I feel my very *soul* being torn into the most basic components of the universe.
Its fucking beautiful.
Its fucking *perfect*.
Edit: Added a new last line I thought of while trying to sleep last night, I think it ties it together a little better. Thanks for the reads and upvotes everybody!
Edit 2: Daniel is now consistently Daniel | Some would say I spend my days with a legendary being, a god that can control time and space. Some would bow down in awe and offer their worship to a companion such as mine.
Me? I see my friend as a normal creature, albeit one under my command. It was powerful, arguably more powerful than anything else, but under my care it became stronger than ever. An entity that was unstoppable. Or so I thought.
After a while, I found out the true nature of my team member. While all the other companions' natures would work well with each other, this particular "god" had a critical flaw that stopped it from reaching its true potential. He was overly modest, which would increase its Special Attack and decrease its Attack, the entirely opposite of what I looked for in a Swords Dance + Extremespeed Arceus.
I turned off my DS and sighed. Looks like I would have to try catching it again. What a pain. | |
[WP] A girl finds out that she can restart her entire life by committing suicide, she develops OCD while tirelessly trying to fix every little error, constantly restarting. This goes on for a while until God intervenes. | "Maggie," said God.
"Yes, sir?" Maggie stood very straight and very still, chin up, hands clasped neatly in front of her. God had never seen anyone else manage to make Heaven's robes look quite so... prim.
"You're here again."
"Yes, sir." Maggie was surreptitiously using her foot to flatten out the tufts of cloud she was standing on.
"Stop that," God commanded. Maggie stopped, but began to look visibly uncomfortable. She eyed the disorderly mess of cloud as though she wanted to vacuum it up, even if it meant removing the very foundations of Heaven. She'd tried it before. "Maggie, Maggie look at me. I need you to focus."
Maggie looked at God.
"It's only been 16 Earth years."
"Yes, sir."
"...I thought we talked about this, Maggie."
"Well, sir, with all due respect, sir, I did explain to you last time that if there were extra-ordinary circumstances beyond that of my control, I could not promise that the temptation to reset would not be too great. Sir."
"Extraordinary- Maggie, all you did was spill a bit of coffee."
"I spilled it on my blouse, sir."
"So?"
"I... I'm not sure you understand. The blouse was white, sir."
"Child!" God's voice thundered. The force of it shook the fibers of existence itself. Whoops, he thought, guess there was going to be another earthquake. He'd be getting prayers about that all week. "I am everywhere at every time in every thing. Do not presume to tell me what I do not understand."
Maggie sniffed. "Yes, sir. Then you see, sir, why I had to reset. Don't you?"
God did not see, but after 67,842 life cycles, he had learned that sometimes there was no reasoning with Maggie. He looked at the girl, how uncomfortable she seemed. She had busied herself trying to smooth out the drapes of her robe, a harmless enough pass time. But God remembered. He remembered what had happened after her first life, when the stress of reliving each of her mistakes over and over in her mind had caused her to start harassing the other angels, obsessively counting and breaking off their split ends. God hadn't even realized angels had split ends! When Satan had visited for one of their chess games, he'd sensed the girl's misery from three clouds away, and even made a crack about God getting into the torture business. God just couldn't have an angel this upset. It was bad for his reputation.
"Look, Maggie, I'll give you another life cycle, see if this time goes any better."
"Oh, thank you, sir! You won't regret it, sir!"
"Try to make it to past adolescence this time, ok kid? It may mellow you out."
"Well, sir, I can't make any promises. If there are extra-ordinary circumstan-"
God snapped his fingers, and Maggie's life began again. From heaven, he watched as she was born, without so much as a wail. As Maggie's mother held her infant daughter in her arms for the first time, Maggie quietly reached out to brush a speck of dust from her mother's hospital gown. Maggie cooed, content. For now.
________________________________________________________________
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Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism very much so welcome and appreciated. | Sarah liked to get things right.
The first reset was amazing. She knew to stay away from Tony and Mark was such a wonderful husband. She spent more quality time with her Mum and helped prolong her life - convincing her early to stop smoking.
In her eighties Sarah was content with her life. That was until her youngest son, Nick, died in a skiing accident. It wasn’t fair. She needed to come back. She needed to save him.
It wasn’t clear why she had been born again but Sarah didn’t take any chances. She killed herself again - this time with pills instead of the knife. It was an easier way to go - and still effective.
Things spiraled out of control from there. She had lost count of how many times she had relived her life. Each day flew by in a minute - each action a reflex she had performed a thousand times before. Each strategically placed change meant disaster. When she saved her son Nick from the ski crash, Mark would die in a car accident. When she prevented the accident, Nick would become a drug addict.
The changes were never enough. She could never live a perfect life. Her suicides moved up as time went on. Usually immediately after the latest life disaster she faced. The cycle seemed to be getting faster and faster.
She wanted to let herself die naturally - to see what would happen. But she couldn’t. She had to get things perfect.
---
“James! Come see this. There’s problem with the simulation.”
“What is it?”
“It looks as though one of the data points has become stuck in a loop. It’s been stuck for about 15 minutes. I was on break.”
They both stared at the screen. The building was humming as the thousands of processors created the first true world simulation.
“Shut it down... Shit!” James ran his hand through his hair. “The ethics commission is going to have our asses for this.”
---
/r/Franz_Canis | |
[WP] You are all that stands between a logging company and Yggdrasil. | “They are coming.”
Heimir’s voice is deep and resonant, shaking the earth beneath my feet. My fingers wrap around the iron handle of my sword, clenching hard, and I nod. “I know.” The jotunn lifts his own weapon, a massive hammer that’s twice my height and probably weighs more than Freyn, my war-horse, and slams it into the ground. He chuckles. “They will all die.”
I do not reply. Glancing left and right, I behold our last stand – a paltry force of some three hundred humans and several dozen jotnar, against an army of hundreds of thousands. Heimir catches the direction of my gaze, reads the skepticism in my eyes, and dismisses my unspoken reply with a shake of his massive icy head. “The gods will grant us the strength to prevail.”
It’s strange, I think, to hear faith in the gods from a jotunn’s gaping maw, his breath crystallizing the air even as he speaks. But it’s somehow right. It’s one of the only things that's been right since the Rift opened and delivered unto us the incredible knowledge that humankind existed outside the bounds of the Tree. We had feasted then, praised Odin and Thor in our revels, drunk mead and consumed meat in celebration of the greatest discovery the gods had seen fit to visit upon us. And, when the first human from Other-Earth crossed the boundary into our world, we rejoiced at the possibility of transdimensional peace and prosperity.
And then the rest of them emerged, dressed in strange armor and riding metal war-horses and wielding iron staves that spat fire and death. Many gore-crows ate their fill that day, that fateful day burned into memory by the blood of the fallen. The Others spoke our language, but they did not share our dreams of peace. They did not care for anything except the resources they could extricate from our fertile soil.
But, worst of all, they did not worship the gods.
At first, the Rift-War had been brutal. The Others swarmed over the earth, slaughtering anything that moved or breathed, with only the human armies, woefully underequipped and outnumbered, to oppose them. But when the Others struck at Jotunheim, the jotnar set out to defend their land, and at the Battle of Niflheim, human and jotunn fought on the same side for the first time in ancient history. The Alliance had been forged, and it was a simple matter then to recruit the remaining races to the cause.
For a time, it looked as if we stood a chance. We managed to hold out against the Others’ armies as they besieged cities and towns, and, when the gods descended from Asgard to join in the combat, we even managed to regain lost land. I’d met Heimir during the Battle of Midgard when Thor himself had singlehandedly destroyed a legion of our foes with the power of his legendary hammer Mjolnir; the jotunn had saved my life by tearing apart a group of the Others who had snuck up on the warriors I was leading.
Then, as victory seemed within our reach, the tides turned. The Others, it seemed, had powerful magic of their own; white-and-silver cylinders powered by arcane fire had emerged from the Rift and, flying high above our forces, swept forth and struck Jotunheim. The blast had immolated most of the jotnar on impact and caused those who had not been slain initially to die from a strange illness. Even as we struggled to recover from the catastrophic losses, the Others turned their strange weapon to Asgard. From then on, no gods emerged to aid us in our battles.
It’s with this in mind that I turn to Heimir again. “The gods have forsaken us,” I say, the words harsh in the early morning air. The jotunn makes no response, instead preferring to pivot so as to better see our demise approaching.
They emerge from over the horizon, a sea of metal that gleams in the sunrise and sparkles deceptively, as if they did not mean to slaughter us all in order to bring down the Great Tree itself and end this war. Iron birds swoop overhead in mesmerizing patterns. Occasionally one of our warriors attempts to shoot one down, but they move much too fast to be vulnerable to ordinary arrows.
There’s no preamble. No leader steps forward to deliver a grand address, no horn is blown to signal the attack. Instead, the Others pause once before the spectacle that is Yggdrasil, stop to take in the beauty and splendor of the scene.
Or perhaps they stop simply to load their weapons, for it’s then that the first metal stick spits fire over our heads, lighting the Tree aflame. Yggdrasil groans, a shattering rumble that resonates through my bones as the fire catches.
Heimir does something peculiar then. As flaming bits of the Tree rain down around us, he raises his massive hand and extends it towards me. I take it, though my own hand is barely the size of one of his fingers.
“Frelwyn…” he rumbles. “It was an honor.”
Then, bellowing, Heimir flings himself headlong into the fray, exhaling icy breath and swinging his hammer. I shout my own war cry and Freyn lunges forward, closing the distance between me and the Others in a blink of an eye.
And then we’re upon them. | Great masses of metal machinery roll towards me with thunderous roars. The great tree stands behind me, clawing at the sky with pleading arms, praying for help as the convoy closes in. I watch the the first truck barrel towards me, weighing a few dozen tonnes at least. "The new equipment must've arrived," I said to myself, picturing in my mind my tragic end as the Green Peace version of the Tienanmen Square guy, blood and guts crushed into the forest floor. A heroic death, but...
"F**k this. Thor can deal with it." | |
[WP] You are all that stands between a logging company and Yggdrasil. | I glanced to my left; Loki grinned at me.
I glanced to my right; Njord took my hand.
Behind me, Thor held Mjolnir aloft.
The loggers never saw it coming, but the coroner found it strange; somehow, the loggers had been simultaneously electrocuted, drowned, and poisoned with snake venom.
Cause of death: Undetermined. | Great masses of metal machinery roll towards me with thunderous roars. The great tree stands behind me, clawing at the sky with pleading arms, praying for help as the convoy closes in. I watch the the first truck barrel towards me, weighing a few dozen tonnes at least. "The new equipment must've arrived," I said to myself, picturing in my mind my tragic end as the Green Peace version of the Tienanmen Square guy, blood and guts crushed into the forest floor. A heroic death, but...
"F**k this. Thor can deal with it." | |
[WP] You are all that stands between a logging company and Yggdrasil. | It was the first time I'd come out of hiding in decades. No centuries. The gossip spread as fast as a hummingbird's wingbeat, but no one actually believed the rumor. People had such a fondness for maintaining and keeping things that were considered "historical" and "ancient." I, thankfully, did believe the rumors. I contended that many of them were inclined to destroy anything in their path, so long as they felt they were capable of it. While a few others agreed with me, they claimed the humans would do something about it. Nature seemed to always manage to sway a few humans to protect her. I, thankfully, knew that they were wrong this time.
I climbed out of the boughs of my tree home and slid carefully into the hiding hole beneath the roots. Just as I'd anticipated, a group of men were surveying the area with their brows furrowed and mumbling gibberish to each other.
Months passed before they even seemed prepared to actually go forth with their plan. Not that I'd not been helping to delay them. The second time I saw the men with their writing utensils and papers, I leapt at them from the highest branches of a Linden tree in the form of a white wolf. I didn't harm them, as that was against our ways, but they were certainly frightened away. Though, that didn't seem to stop them from coming back.
When the group grew larger, I coaxed a pack of wolves to help me defend the sacred tree. We chased them out of the forest and many of them ended up getting injured when they tried to fight back. My howl echoed in the cold winds that followed them, hoping it would chill their hearts enough to keep them from coming back. But these men were persistent.
They soon began cutting down the forest, even tearing my own home apart. Instead of staying to help, the rest of my people fled. They said there was no reason to intervene. Nature would stop them, they told me. I couldn't believe their cowardice.
It wasn't long before they started bringing their machines. Quite a few of the wolves feared the machines, and refused to help. Though I understood, I was saddened that another group had chosen to abandon me. When the men began working the forest with their machines, I took on the form of a great eagle and brought forth my avian allies to combat the ignorant humans. We took from them their tools and sailed away to drop them in places they would never hope to find. But, they still returned.
By now, the men were becoming more hostile. When I and the eagles fell on them again, they attacked us this time. Many of the men where injured during the altercation, but their onslaught took the lives of some of us. They still fled, but the eagles would no longer battle at my side.
I heard the men whisper in their incomprehensible language. At a point, one of them even spotted me sabotaging their equipment. He shrieked and called me "älva" before fleeing their working site. I don't know what it meant, but the next day other men were whispering it too. It seemed to instill a sort of fear and hesitance in them and a large number of the men did not return the next day. Still, more came back.
Their machines had devoured much of my beautiful home. The trees left were mangled, the bushes left trampled, and the ground trodden dirt that smeared across their boots. She had not fallen yet though, but they were encroaching upon her. Though I tried to chase them off in my many forms and sabotaged their things, they continued trying. Were they so determined about protecting nature, I would have my attempts to stop the destruction look pitiful in comparison.
No longer than a week passed after they wiped a thick swath of my land into oblivion, that they were onto her. Their eyes were those of ravenous wolves and their voices seemed to hunger for whatever they'd gain from destroying it. I had to make my final move before they made theirs. I called forth the creatures remaining that were willing to help: the bears, the deer, the boars, the hawks, the owls, the geese, and even a small number of rodents. We were by no means an invincible front, but we were all that remained to stop them. I rallied the army and we attacked the men, forcing many to flee from the area.
The onslaught, though short, took many of ours. The men were vicious and the men were angry. They seemed incensed that we would take from them their "right" to claim the world, and that was an ignorance that could not be fought easily. And while we'd accomplished our goal of running them off, they would return. They always returned.
In the morning, the men had returned again to commence destroying her. It was sometimes a wretched thing, human tenacity. My friends would not come, for they were mourning the loss of their brothers. I was not bothered by their unwillingness to fight; had I not my principles and fortitude, I'd have given up as well. No, I was worried, more like. Fearful that I would not be able to stop them.
Thankfully, their progress was slow. Even the more stubborn of the men seemed apprehensive, concerned. I watched on feeling proud, I'm ashamed to say. By nature, I was a peaceful spirit, but seeing them quake at the thought of my intervention was satisfying. Anything would make do so long as it worked. However, that didn't save me from what the men were so eager to do.
The thump of the ax sinking into the wood echoed louder than a scream in a cave. Everything in the vicinity became immediately silenced, and further on the sounds of the forest ceased. Slowly, a blood-curdling scream could be heard ringing through the still air moments after the steel entered the bark, and for a long time I didn't realize it had escaped from my lips. My knees were deep in the dirt and my hands clutched onto the earth to keep me from falling off of it. Every human in the area had become ghostly-white as their eyes searched for the source of the sound that they'd never find. I could feel all the vibrations in the ground, not a single thing moved.
I rose to my feet, the only thing in the forest moving now. I glared down from the branches of Yggdrasil, rending all the men into quivering field mice. My ghastly luminescence was golden and ethereal. My eyes wept raindrops and behind me whisked a whirling wind that tousled the men like a wheat field.
**"How dare you come here and sully that which is most sacred?"** My voice was a thunderstorm; my body was made of lightning. **"You would end the world for whatever pittance you get for destroying it? Had I the power, I would rend you all from this plane to live as immortals in a world of suffering akin to what you have dealt us!"** The men cowered now, sinking into the dirt they were not even worthy of. I doubt they even understood the words I spoke, but the meaning did not escape them With a sweep of my hands, I knocked them off their feet with a gale. As soon as they were up again, they were running away shouting and sobbing, hopefully back to their homes. Despite my fury, I would still not kill them. They had families and people who cherished them, no matter what sort of horrific monsters they were. Once my energy was spent, I returned to the size of my natural self and walked over to the tree. Through my sobs, I could see that the wound was superficial and knew she would heal herself over time. She would be fine, she'd seen larger scrapes before. Those men would likely never return, nor their children or their children's children, but somewhere along the line their descendants would come to take her believing that what had happened here was a myth or some sort of hyperbole. That was all right though, because nature would
stop them. *I* would stop them.
| Great masses of metal machinery roll towards me with thunderous roars. The great tree stands behind me, clawing at the sky with pleading arms, praying for help as the convoy closes in. I watch the the first truck barrel towards me, weighing a few dozen tonnes at least. "The new equipment must've arrived," I said to myself, picturing in my mind my tragic end as the Green Peace version of the Tienanmen Square guy, blood and guts crushed into the forest floor. A heroic death, but...
"F**k this. Thor can deal with it." | |
[WP] You are all that stands between a logging company and Yggdrasil. | The bell of the church tolls for the twelfth time. I look out my window and see the congregates of St. Michael's pour out of the large wooden doors. The Catholics of my town, my very small German town had just finished their Sunday mass. I see my mother and father in the long list of locals that I know, and I know they wished I was there with them but we've had the discussion a lot, and they know how I feel about their God and their ways. I turn back to my task, truing the spokes of my Giant mountain bike that I picked up from an ex police officer last time I was in Berlin. It wasn't the most fun you could have with a bicycle, but it was peaceful, and gave me time to listen to the radio.
After hearing the news on the local station I was speechless. They found it.
Yggdrasil. Tree of Odin, the gods of old and the hidden connection that could provide the answer of if we are alone in this world, found in the black forest outside my own window.
But what I heard next... What I heard next made my eyes burn, and made my heart drop. The clergy of the church, St Michael's, were the ones that came across it,
and they were cutting it down.
In that moment, I felt a burning in my eyes, rage swelling in my stomach. The tree that survived Charlemagne's conquest to rid the world of Odin and replace it with his false god is going to be cut down. The Catholics wasted no time, and they would finish what they failed to do before
But then I feel a sense of logic fall over me. How can any of this even be real? How is this not a joke, or a hoax of some sort anyway? If it isn't, and this is the tree of the gods than the clergy must of undeniable truth of it's power, to even admit for a second that another realm of gods are real.
I need to go see for myself and if it is true then... Well, I really don't know because at the moment I have no rational idea of how any of this can be real.
In that moment, I find myself truing my wheels faster then I have ever trued in my life
---- Okay so I'm going to stop there unless someone want's me to continue. I feel like it's written pretty sloppy and don't know if anyone will find it interesting. let me know ---- | Great masses of metal machinery roll towards me with thunderous roars. The great tree stands behind me, clawing at the sky with pleading arms, praying for help as the convoy closes in. I watch the the first truck barrel towards me, weighing a few dozen tonnes at least. "The new equipment must've arrived," I said to myself, picturing in my mind my tragic end as the Green Peace version of the Tienanmen Square guy, blood and guts crushed into the forest floor. A heroic death, but...
"F**k this. Thor can deal with it." | |
[WP] You are all that stands between a logging company and Yggdrasil. | It was the first time I'd come out of hiding in decades. No centuries. The gossip spread as fast as a hummingbird's wingbeat, but no one actually believed the rumor. People had such a fondness for maintaining and keeping things that were considered "historical" and "ancient." I, thankfully, did believe the rumors. I contended that many of them were inclined to destroy anything in their path, so long as they felt they were capable of it. While a few others agreed with me, they claimed the humans would do something about it. Nature seemed to always manage to sway a few humans to protect her. I, thankfully, knew that they were wrong this time.
I climbed out of the boughs of my tree home and slid carefully into the hiding hole beneath the roots. Just as I'd anticipated, a group of men were surveying the area with their brows furrowed and mumbling gibberish to each other.
Months passed before they even seemed prepared to actually go forth with their plan. Not that I'd not been helping to delay them. The second time I saw the men with their writing utensils and papers, I leapt at them from the highest branches of a Linden tree in the form of a white wolf. I didn't harm them, as that was against our ways, but they were certainly frightened away. Though, that didn't seem to stop them from coming back.
When the group grew larger, I coaxed a pack of wolves to help me defend the sacred tree. We chased them out of the forest and many of them ended up getting injured when they tried to fight back. My howl echoed in the cold winds that followed them, hoping it would chill their hearts enough to keep them from coming back. But these men were persistent.
They soon began cutting down the forest, even tearing my own home apart. Instead of staying to help, the rest of my people fled. They said there was no reason to intervene. Nature would stop them, they told me. I couldn't believe their cowardice.
It wasn't long before they started bringing their machines. Quite a few of the wolves feared the machines, and refused to help. Though I understood, I was saddened that another group had chosen to abandon me. When the men began working the forest with their machines, I took on the form of a great eagle and brought forth my avian allies to combat the ignorant humans. We took from them their tools and sailed away to drop them in places they would never hope to find. But, they still returned.
By now, the men were becoming more hostile. When I and the eagles fell on them again, they attacked us this time. Many of the men where injured during the altercation, but their onslaught took the lives of some of us. They still fled, but the eagles would no longer battle at my side.
I heard the men whisper in their incomprehensible language. At a point, one of them even spotted me sabotaging their equipment. He shrieked and called me "älva" before fleeing their working site. I don't know what it meant, but the next day other men were whispering it too. It seemed to instill a sort of fear and hesitance in them and a large number of the men did not return the next day. Still, more came back.
Their machines had devoured much of my beautiful home. The trees left were mangled, the bushes left trampled, and the ground trodden dirt that smeared across their boots. She had not fallen yet though, but they were encroaching upon her. Though I tried to chase them off in my many forms and sabotaged their things, they continued trying. Were they so determined about protecting nature, I would have my attempts to stop the destruction look pitiful in comparison.
No longer than a week passed after they wiped a thick swath of my land into oblivion, that they were onto her. Their eyes were those of ravenous wolves and their voices seemed to hunger for whatever they'd gain from destroying it. I had to make my final move before they made theirs. I called forth the creatures remaining that were willing to help: the bears, the deer, the boars, the hawks, the owls, the geese, and even a small number of rodents. We were by no means an invincible front, but we were all that remained to stop them. I rallied the army and we attacked the men, forcing many to flee from the area.
The onslaught, though short, took many of ours. The men were vicious and the men were angry. They seemed incensed that we would take from them their "right" to claim the world, and that was an ignorance that could not be fought easily. And while we'd accomplished our goal of running them off, they would return. They always returned.
In the morning, the men had returned again to commence destroying her. It was sometimes a wretched thing, human tenacity. My friends would not come, for they were mourning the loss of their brothers. I was not bothered by their unwillingness to fight; had I not my principles and fortitude, I'd have given up as well. No, I was worried, more like. Fearful that I would not be able to stop them.
Thankfully, their progress was slow. Even the more stubborn of the men seemed apprehensive, concerned. I watched on feeling proud, I'm ashamed to say. By nature, I was a peaceful spirit, but seeing them quake at the thought of my intervention was satisfying. Anything would make do so long as it worked. However, that didn't save me from what the men were so eager to do.
The thump of the ax sinking into the wood echoed louder than a scream in a cave. Everything in the vicinity became immediately silenced, and further on the sounds of the forest ceased. Slowly, a blood-curdling scream could be heard ringing through the still air moments after the steel entered the bark, and for a long time I didn't realize it had escaped from my lips. My knees were deep in the dirt and my hands clutched onto the earth to keep me from falling off of it. Every human in the area had become ghostly-white as their eyes searched for the source of the sound that they'd never find. I could feel all the vibrations in the ground, not a single thing moved.
I rose to my feet, the only thing in the forest moving now. I glared down from the branches of Yggdrasil, rending all the men into quivering field mice. My ghastly luminescence was golden and ethereal. My eyes wept raindrops and behind me whisked a whirling wind that tousled the men like a wheat field.
**"How dare you come here and sully that which is most sacred?"** My voice was a thunderstorm; my body was made of lightning. **"You would end the world for whatever pittance you get for destroying it? Had I the power, I would rend you all from this plane to live as immortals in a world of suffering akin to what you have dealt us!"** The men cowered now, sinking into the dirt they were not even worthy of. I doubt they even understood the words I spoke, but the meaning did not escape them With a sweep of my hands, I knocked them off their feet with a gale. As soon as they were up again, they were running away shouting and sobbing, hopefully back to their homes. Despite my fury, I would still not kill them. They had families and people who cherished them, no matter what sort of horrific monsters they were. Once my energy was spent, I returned to the size of my natural self and walked over to the tree. Through my sobs, I could see that the wound was superficial and knew she would heal herself over time. She would be fine, she'd seen larger scrapes before. Those men would likely never return, nor their children or their children's children, but somewhere along the line their descendants would come to take her believing that what had happened here was a myth or some sort of hyperbole. That was all right though, because nature would
stop them. *I* would stop them.
| I glanced to my left; Loki grinned at me.
I glanced to my right; Njord took my hand.
Behind me, Thor held Mjolnir aloft.
The loggers never saw it coming, but the coroner found it strange; somehow, the loggers had been simultaneously electrocuted, drowned, and poisoned with snake venom.
Cause of death: Undetermined. | |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | Why am I coming out to the public? Well it is tough to say except my power is impossible to hide. The other day when walking across the street during my lunch break I slipped on something. I reached a hand out to grab something to stay standing and caught some lady's dress. Tore her dress but pulled her out of the street were a bus barely missed her. She demanded I pay for the dress.
Now that I am out and people know who I am I hope they will understand that chances are I just saved their life. Now if you excuse me for a minute I am going to get some more soda.
I got up and started walking to the soda fountain. I pressed the button for Diet Coke and pressed my cup under it. I must not have had a good grip on my cup and the lever pressed the cup out of my hand knocking it across the room. It hit one of the people at the cashier on the back of the head. They turned around and pointed a handgun right at me.
I backed up a little and slipped in the puddle from my spilled soda, again reached up to grab something to get my balance, my hands found something.
The handle from the baby carriage didn't help me from falling. In fact it knocked the carriage over with such force the baby inside flew out towards the robber. The robber dropped his gun to catch the child. With a catch that would have made a any Bronco fan weep at it's grace the child was safely delivered into the robbers arms.
The robber put the child on the ground, raised his hands over his head and surrendered on the spot. Suddenly cheers for BLOOPERMAN arose throughout the coffee shop as I stagger to my feet and get a refill of my soda. | There once was a hero named John Scamander,
Who wrestled a wraith made of Coriander,
“Super breath will take care of you!
He said, just before the “Achoo!”
And blew away the city of Bangor.
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | "A banana peel," I snicker to myself as I easily avoid slipping onto something so obvious before walking into work. There's a loud thud behind me as a customer slips on it instead, when she gets up, she throws her crutches to the side and says that her back doesn't hurt anymore.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to dispose of those properly," I tell her. She trembles at the thunder that is my voice, it's not everyday that you're approached by the assistant manager of a store, I suppose.
She obliges and picks them up, says something about never being happier before being hit by a car. The driver gets out and inspects her to see if she's okay. I tell him to step aside, I am trained in CPR.
I know I'm going to be late clocking in again but it's sort of an emergency. I blow as hard as I can into her mouth but there's no reaction so I suck it back in. I ask a lowly cashier to hand me my boxing gloves (for unruly customers) and begin throwing haymakers into the unconscious lady's chest.
That's when I notice the puncture wound in her head, there's a geyser of blood erupting into the air like a fountain so I place the gum I was chewing on top of it. A crowd begins to form around me, I assure them, "That should hold it until we can solder a metal plate or something onto her head instead."
I unbutton her shirt because she isn't breathing and play with her nipples because her boobs are big. I ask the gent that hit her if he has jumper cables.
He does.
I tell him to hook it up to his battery and take the other ends, I place them next to each other so that they touch to make sure it works before I use it as a defibrillator on this poor woman.
She doesn't get up the first few times so I deduce that what she needs is to return the flow of energy that transferred to her body from the car.
I pick her up and throw her as hard as I can through the windshield. The glass bends but doesn't break all the way.
"We need more power!" I scream. A crowd of people, each holding onto one of her limbs, picks her up again before slamming her into the grill of the car.
At this point, she's as flat as a pancake.
She coughs up a bit a of blood before getting up, blowing into her thumb to re-inflate herself. She takes off my fedora and strokes my beard, she tells me that I no longer have to wear my Batman shirt and it's he who should have my face emblazoned upon *his* torso. I agree. | There once was a hero named John Scamander,
Who wrestled a wraith made of Coriander,
“Super breath will take care of you!
He said, just before the “Achoo!”
And blew away the city of Bangor.
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | My first undercover assignment was Dr. Herr von Verruckt, a D-list supervillain and the sort of guy who’d normally be a non-issue.
He'd never accomplished anything bigger than a bank robbery, and so he wasn't on anyone's radar- no one was paying attention when he made a deal with a certain corrupt military contractor to get his hands on a plutoniarium core. Or maybe it was kryptonesium core. Or, wait, was it darkinoreian? They all start to blur together after a while.
Anyway, seriously dangerous stuff, but the guy wasn’t enough of a big shot for any of the major heroes to waste their time on him. It wasn't the sort of mission that would land them on the front page of any newspapers, and they all felt they had more pressing concerns- especially since most of them were in the middle hammering out an agreement to team up to stop the latest alien invasion. Great photo op, the press loved crossovers. No way any of them were going to skip out on publicity like that just to stop some german baby boomer from melting the earth’s core. Everyone knew death rays were passe.
That meant one of the little guys, the nobody heroes, would have to be the one to take down Verruckt’s operation. But even though it wasn't a glamorous job, it was still a hard one. Not the sort of thing most no names could handle, and when it was clear nobody else was going to volunteer... I stepped up. I had an idea of how I could take down Verruckt's operation, from the inside.
Who am I? At the time, I was just one more nobody. I went by the name Charmer, and my only real ability was that I could make people trust me instinctively. I mainly did grunt work for the National Hero Union, spending my time helping with hostage negotiations for the kidnapped sidekicks, or convincing juries not to hold heroes liable for the massive property damage they inevitably inflicted. Now? I’m the greatest double agent the hero world has, capable of infiltrating the ranks of even the most exclusive Supervillain operation, and quickly becoming their number one henchman- all while quietly littering their operation with gaping strategic flaws and easily exploited oversights.
What’s that, Madame Strangler? No, I think a clearly labeled self destruct button for your lair is a great idea.
Of course you're much too smart to monologue your plans to the heroes, Destroyenator, but why don’t you fill me in instead?
You… you want to use a shark pit as a trap against Mer-lass? The uh, the superheroine who can control marine life with her mind? I, uh, I think that’s a great plan, Magmaface. Definitely won't backfire, at all.
Blunder after mistake after slip-up, I either took down their operations from the inside or made sure the heroes had exactly what they needed to swoop in at the last minute and take ‘em out. They call me the Blooperhero, and my mistakes saved lives, and put Supervillains behind bars.
My work had the added bonus of making it easy to get around otherwise impenetrable red tape. Lately, governments had been cracking down on actually “proving” that a mad scientist was trying to take over the world before punching them into space. To be fair, this was after one too many innocent engineering students with unfortunate eastern European accents got sent on an unwarranted trip to Mars, so a bit more oversight was probably the right call. Most heroes found the task of actually proving that an evil plot was happening to be a huge inconvenience, but for me the task was as simple as a hidden camera I used to film my interactions. By hiding in plain sight, I was able to record the nefarious doings of the worst wannabe world overlords around. I’ve been told my tapes play very well with juries.
I may not get as much attention as the other heroes, and what I do might not seem as glamorous. But at the end of the day, they’re the cleanup crew- dealing with the fallout of whatever sinister plan they let get too far. Me? I’m the one who stops most of those messes from ever getting made- one blooper reel at a time... | There once was a hero named John Scamander,
Who wrestled a wraith made of Coriander,
“Super breath will take care of you!
He said, just before the “Achoo!”
And blew away the city of Bangor.
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | CUT IN
INT - A BANK LOBBY
*We see a tall, attractive woman in leggings and a hoodie standing atop a counter in a bank lobby. This is THE HOT GIRL, a villainess of unspeakable power. A number of terrified civilians and police officers are huddled at her feet, most of them covering their heads with their hands.*
**THE HOT GIRL:** Ha ha ha! Cower before me, insects! It is I: The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #1:** No! Not The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #2:** They say she's really hot!
**SMALL CHILD:** She has cooties.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Quiet, kid! Are you trying to get us all killed?
*The sounds of a halfhearted kazoo can be heard from outside the bank.*
**CIVILIAN #1:** Wait! Do you hear that?!
**POLICEMAN #2:** Yes! *Yes!* It's...
*There is a dull thump as a figure smacks into the bank's window. Everyone inside shifts uncomfortably.*
**POLICEMAN #2:** Um. It's...?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Clearly trying to move things along*) It's the fear of dread we all carry!
**SMALL CHILD #2:** It's the despair from embarrassment in our hearts!
**CROWD:** It's...
*A wiry man in an ill-fitting spandex suit stumbles through the bank's front door.*
**CROWD:** (*Continued*) *Mess-Upman!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Hi.
**THE HOT GIRL:** Great. What are you doing here?
*MESS-UPMAN trips on his own cape and faceplants onto the floor. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at THE HOT GIRL.*
**MESS-UPMAN:** You're really pretty. Has anyone ever told you that you're really pretty?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Whispering*) They say he peed in his pants while giving a speech, and now possesses supernatural awkwardness!
**MESS-UPMAN:** You probably get that all the time. I guess it would be pointless to ask you out.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Whoa, hey, kid... that kind of passive-aggression will get you nowhere!
**MESS-UPMAN:** (*Climbing to his feet*) Sorry.
**THE HOT GIRL:** *Ahem!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry. Hey, I know you saw my Facebook message yesterday.
**THE HOT GIRL:** What? Oh, uh... yeah, I was just *super* busy and I didn't get a chance to reply.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Oh. Alright. Just that you had time to post all those status updates and stuff.
**THE HOT GIRL:** I'm... I'm going to go.
**MESS-UPMAN:** I love you.
*THE HOT GIRL makes a hasty exit. The assembled crowd rises to their feet and swarms around MESS-UPMAN.*
**CIVILIAN #3:** Mess-Upman, how can we ever thank you for saving us?
**MESS-UPMAN:** Do you guys want to hear my slam poetry about Adventure Time?
*Everyone averts their eyes and murmurs. As they are looking away, MESS-UPMAN attempts to make a stealthy retreat, but he can't get the revolving door to work.*
**POLICEMAN #1:** (*Still looking away*) It's... you have to push it the other way.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry.
FADE OUT | There once was a hero named John Scamander,
Who wrestled a wraith made of Coriander,
“Super breath will take care of you!
He said, just before the “Achoo!”
And blew away the city of Bangor.
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | "A banana peel," I snicker to myself as I easily avoid slipping onto something so obvious before walking into work. There's a loud thud behind me as a customer slips on it instead, when she gets up, she throws her crutches to the side and says that her back doesn't hurt anymore.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to dispose of those properly," I tell her. She trembles at the thunder that is my voice, it's not everyday that you're approached by the assistant manager of a store, I suppose.
She obliges and picks them up, says something about never being happier before being hit by a car. The driver gets out and inspects her to see if she's okay. I tell him to step aside, I am trained in CPR.
I know I'm going to be late clocking in again but it's sort of an emergency. I blow as hard as I can into her mouth but there's no reaction so I suck it back in. I ask a lowly cashier to hand me my boxing gloves (for unruly customers) and begin throwing haymakers into the unconscious lady's chest.
That's when I notice the puncture wound in her head, there's a geyser of blood erupting into the air like a fountain so I place the gum I was chewing on top of it. A crowd begins to form around me, I assure them, "That should hold it until we can solder a metal plate or something onto her head instead."
I unbutton her shirt because she isn't breathing and play with her nipples because her boobs are big. I ask the gent that hit her if he has jumper cables.
He does.
I tell him to hook it up to his battery and take the other ends, I place them next to each other so that they touch to make sure it works before I use it as a defibrillator on this poor woman.
She doesn't get up the first few times so I deduce that what she needs is to return the flow of energy that transferred to her body from the car.
I pick her up and throw her as hard as I can through the windshield. The glass bends but doesn't break all the way.
"We need more power!" I scream. A crowd of people, each holding onto one of her limbs, picks her up again before slamming her into the grill of the car.
At this point, she's as flat as a pancake.
She coughs up a bit a of blood before getting up, blowing into her thumb to re-inflate herself. She takes off my fedora and strokes my beard, she tells me that I no longer have to wear my Batman shirt and it's he who should have my face emblazoned upon *his* torso. I agree. | Why am I coming out to the public? Well it is tough to say except my power is impossible to hide. The other day when walking across the street during my lunch break I slipped on something. I reached a hand out to grab something to stay standing and caught some lady's dress. Tore her dress but pulled her out of the street were a bus barely missed her. She demanded I pay for the dress.
Now that I am out and people know who I am I hope they will understand that chances are I just saved their life. Now if you excuse me for a minute I am going to get some more soda.
I got up and started walking to the soda fountain. I pressed the button for Diet Coke and pressed my cup under it. I must not have had a good grip on my cup and the lever pressed the cup out of my hand knocking it across the room. It hit one of the people at the cashier on the back of the head. They turned around and pointed a handgun right at me.
I backed up a little and slipped in the puddle from my spilled soda, again reached up to grab something to get my balance, my hands found something.
The handle from the baby carriage didn't help me from falling. In fact it knocked the carriage over with such force the baby inside flew out towards the robber. The robber dropped his gun to catch the child. With a catch that would have made a any Bronco fan weep at it's grace the child was safely delivered into the robbers arms.
The robber put the child on the ground, raised his hands over his head and surrendered on the spot. Suddenly cheers for BLOOPERMAN arose throughout the coffee shop as I stagger to my feet and get a refill of my soda. | |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | My first undercover assignment was Dr. Herr von Verruckt, a D-list supervillain and the sort of guy who’d normally be a non-issue.
He'd never accomplished anything bigger than a bank robbery, and so he wasn't on anyone's radar- no one was paying attention when he made a deal with a certain corrupt military contractor to get his hands on a plutoniarium core. Or maybe it was kryptonesium core. Or, wait, was it darkinoreian? They all start to blur together after a while.
Anyway, seriously dangerous stuff, but the guy wasn’t enough of a big shot for any of the major heroes to waste their time on him. It wasn't the sort of mission that would land them on the front page of any newspapers, and they all felt they had more pressing concerns- especially since most of them were in the middle hammering out an agreement to team up to stop the latest alien invasion. Great photo op, the press loved crossovers. No way any of them were going to skip out on publicity like that just to stop some german baby boomer from melting the earth’s core. Everyone knew death rays were passe.
That meant one of the little guys, the nobody heroes, would have to be the one to take down Verruckt’s operation. But even though it wasn't a glamorous job, it was still a hard one. Not the sort of thing most no names could handle, and when it was clear nobody else was going to volunteer... I stepped up. I had an idea of how I could take down Verruckt's operation, from the inside.
Who am I? At the time, I was just one more nobody. I went by the name Charmer, and my only real ability was that I could make people trust me instinctively. I mainly did grunt work for the National Hero Union, spending my time helping with hostage negotiations for the kidnapped sidekicks, or convincing juries not to hold heroes liable for the massive property damage they inevitably inflicted. Now? I’m the greatest double agent the hero world has, capable of infiltrating the ranks of even the most exclusive Supervillain operation, and quickly becoming their number one henchman- all while quietly littering their operation with gaping strategic flaws and easily exploited oversights.
What’s that, Madame Strangler? No, I think a clearly labeled self destruct button for your lair is a great idea.
Of course you're much too smart to monologue your plans to the heroes, Destroyenator, but why don’t you fill me in instead?
You… you want to use a shark pit as a trap against Mer-lass? The uh, the superheroine who can control marine life with her mind? I, uh, I think that’s a great plan, Magmaface. Definitely won't backfire, at all.
Blunder after mistake after slip-up, I either took down their operations from the inside or made sure the heroes had exactly what they needed to swoop in at the last minute and take ‘em out. They call me the Blooperhero, and my mistakes saved lives, and put Supervillains behind bars.
My work had the added bonus of making it easy to get around otherwise impenetrable red tape. Lately, governments had been cracking down on actually “proving” that a mad scientist was trying to take over the world before punching them into space. To be fair, this was after one too many innocent engineering students with unfortunate eastern European accents got sent on an unwarranted trip to Mars, so a bit more oversight was probably the right call. Most heroes found the task of actually proving that an evil plot was happening to be a huge inconvenience, but for me the task was as simple as a hidden camera I used to film my interactions. By hiding in plain sight, I was able to record the nefarious doings of the worst wannabe world overlords around. I’ve been told my tapes play very well with juries.
I may not get as much attention as the other heroes, and what I do might not seem as glamorous. But at the end of the day, they’re the cleanup crew- dealing with the fallout of whatever sinister plan they let get too far. Me? I’m the one who stops most of those messes from ever getting made- one blooper reel at a time... | Why am I coming out to the public? Well it is tough to say except my power is impossible to hide. The other day when walking across the street during my lunch break I slipped on something. I reached a hand out to grab something to stay standing and caught some lady's dress. Tore her dress but pulled her out of the street were a bus barely missed her. She demanded I pay for the dress.
Now that I am out and people know who I am I hope they will understand that chances are I just saved their life. Now if you excuse me for a minute I am going to get some more soda.
I got up and started walking to the soda fountain. I pressed the button for Diet Coke and pressed my cup under it. I must not have had a good grip on my cup and the lever pressed the cup out of my hand knocking it across the room. It hit one of the people at the cashier on the back of the head. They turned around and pointed a handgun right at me.
I backed up a little and slipped in the puddle from my spilled soda, again reached up to grab something to get my balance, my hands found something.
The handle from the baby carriage didn't help me from falling. In fact it knocked the carriage over with such force the baby inside flew out towards the robber. The robber dropped his gun to catch the child. With a catch that would have made a any Bronco fan weep at it's grace the child was safely delivered into the robbers arms.
The robber put the child on the ground, raised his hands over his head and surrendered on the spot. Suddenly cheers for BLOOPERMAN arose throughout the coffee shop as I stagger to my feet and get a refill of my soda. | |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | CUT IN
INT - A BANK LOBBY
*We see a tall, attractive woman in leggings and a hoodie standing atop a counter in a bank lobby. This is THE HOT GIRL, a villainess of unspeakable power. A number of terrified civilians and police officers are huddled at her feet, most of them covering their heads with their hands.*
**THE HOT GIRL:** Ha ha ha! Cower before me, insects! It is I: The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #1:** No! Not The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #2:** They say she's really hot!
**SMALL CHILD:** She has cooties.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Quiet, kid! Are you trying to get us all killed?
*The sounds of a halfhearted kazoo can be heard from outside the bank.*
**CIVILIAN #1:** Wait! Do you hear that?!
**POLICEMAN #2:** Yes! *Yes!* It's...
*There is a dull thump as a figure smacks into the bank's window. Everyone inside shifts uncomfortably.*
**POLICEMAN #2:** Um. It's...?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Clearly trying to move things along*) It's the fear of dread we all carry!
**SMALL CHILD #2:** It's the despair from embarrassment in our hearts!
**CROWD:** It's...
*A wiry man in an ill-fitting spandex suit stumbles through the bank's front door.*
**CROWD:** (*Continued*) *Mess-Upman!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Hi.
**THE HOT GIRL:** Great. What are you doing here?
*MESS-UPMAN trips on his own cape and faceplants onto the floor. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at THE HOT GIRL.*
**MESS-UPMAN:** You're really pretty. Has anyone ever told you that you're really pretty?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Whispering*) They say he peed in his pants while giving a speech, and now possesses supernatural awkwardness!
**MESS-UPMAN:** You probably get that all the time. I guess it would be pointless to ask you out.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Whoa, hey, kid... that kind of passive-aggression will get you nowhere!
**MESS-UPMAN:** (*Climbing to his feet*) Sorry.
**THE HOT GIRL:** *Ahem!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry. Hey, I know you saw my Facebook message yesterday.
**THE HOT GIRL:** What? Oh, uh... yeah, I was just *super* busy and I didn't get a chance to reply.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Oh. Alright. Just that you had time to post all those status updates and stuff.
**THE HOT GIRL:** I'm... I'm going to go.
**MESS-UPMAN:** I love you.
*THE HOT GIRL makes a hasty exit. The assembled crowd rises to their feet and swarms around MESS-UPMAN.*
**CIVILIAN #3:** Mess-Upman, how can we ever thank you for saving us?
**MESS-UPMAN:** Do you guys want to hear my slam poetry about Adventure Time?
*Everyone averts their eyes and murmurs. As they are looking away, MESS-UPMAN attempts to make a stealthy retreat, but he can't get the revolving door to work.*
**POLICEMAN #1:** (*Still looking away*) It's... you have to push it the other way.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry.
FADE OUT | Why am I coming out to the public? Well it is tough to say except my power is impossible to hide. The other day when walking across the street during my lunch break I slipped on something. I reached a hand out to grab something to stay standing and caught some lady's dress. Tore her dress but pulled her out of the street were a bus barely missed her. She demanded I pay for the dress.
Now that I am out and people know who I am I hope they will understand that chances are I just saved their life. Now if you excuse me for a minute I am going to get some more soda.
I got up and started walking to the soda fountain. I pressed the button for Diet Coke and pressed my cup under it. I must not have had a good grip on my cup and the lever pressed the cup out of my hand knocking it across the room. It hit one of the people at the cashier on the back of the head. They turned around and pointed a handgun right at me.
I backed up a little and slipped in the puddle from my spilled soda, again reached up to grab something to get my balance, my hands found something.
The handle from the baby carriage didn't help me from falling. In fact it knocked the carriage over with such force the baby inside flew out towards the robber. The robber dropped his gun to catch the child. With a catch that would have made a any Bronco fan weep at it's grace the child was safely delivered into the robbers arms.
The robber put the child on the ground, raised his hands over his head and surrendered on the spot. Suddenly cheers for BLOOPERMAN arose throughout the coffee shop as I stagger to my feet and get a refill of my soda. | |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | CUT IN
INT - A BANK LOBBY
*We see a tall, attractive woman in leggings and a hoodie standing atop a counter in a bank lobby. This is THE HOT GIRL, a villainess of unspeakable power. A number of terrified civilians and police officers are huddled at her feet, most of them covering their heads with their hands.*
**THE HOT GIRL:** Ha ha ha! Cower before me, insects! It is I: The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #1:** No! Not The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #2:** They say she's really hot!
**SMALL CHILD:** She has cooties.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Quiet, kid! Are you trying to get us all killed?
*The sounds of a halfhearted kazoo can be heard from outside the bank.*
**CIVILIAN #1:** Wait! Do you hear that?!
**POLICEMAN #2:** Yes! *Yes!* It's...
*There is a dull thump as a figure smacks into the bank's window. Everyone inside shifts uncomfortably.*
**POLICEMAN #2:** Um. It's...?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Clearly trying to move things along*) It's the fear of dread we all carry!
**SMALL CHILD #2:** It's the despair from embarrassment in our hearts!
**CROWD:** It's...
*A wiry man in an ill-fitting spandex suit stumbles through the bank's front door.*
**CROWD:** (*Continued*) *Mess-Upman!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Hi.
**THE HOT GIRL:** Great. What are you doing here?
*MESS-UPMAN trips on his own cape and faceplants onto the floor. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at THE HOT GIRL.*
**MESS-UPMAN:** You're really pretty. Has anyone ever told you that you're really pretty?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Whispering*) They say he peed in his pants while giving a speech, and now possesses supernatural awkwardness!
**MESS-UPMAN:** You probably get that all the time. I guess it would be pointless to ask you out.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Whoa, hey, kid... that kind of passive-aggression will get you nowhere!
**MESS-UPMAN:** (*Climbing to his feet*) Sorry.
**THE HOT GIRL:** *Ahem!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry. Hey, I know you saw my Facebook message yesterday.
**THE HOT GIRL:** What? Oh, uh... yeah, I was just *super* busy and I didn't get a chance to reply.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Oh. Alright. Just that you had time to post all those status updates and stuff.
**THE HOT GIRL:** I'm... I'm going to go.
**MESS-UPMAN:** I love you.
*THE HOT GIRL makes a hasty exit. The assembled crowd rises to their feet and swarms around MESS-UPMAN.*
**CIVILIAN #3:** Mess-Upman, how can we ever thank you for saving us?
**MESS-UPMAN:** Do you guys want to hear my slam poetry about Adventure Time?
*Everyone averts their eyes and murmurs. As they are looking away, MESS-UPMAN attempts to make a stealthy retreat, but he can't get the revolving door to work.*
**POLICEMAN #1:** (*Still looking away*) It's... you have to push it the other way.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry.
FADE OUT | "A banana peel," I snicker to myself as I easily avoid slipping onto something so obvious before walking into work. There's a loud thud behind me as a customer slips on it instead, when she gets up, she throws her crutches to the side and says that her back doesn't hurt anymore.
"Ma'am, you're going to have to dispose of those properly," I tell her. She trembles at the thunder that is my voice, it's not everyday that you're approached by the assistant manager of a store, I suppose.
She obliges and picks them up, says something about never being happier before being hit by a car. The driver gets out and inspects her to see if she's okay. I tell him to step aside, I am trained in CPR.
I know I'm going to be late clocking in again but it's sort of an emergency. I blow as hard as I can into her mouth but there's no reaction so I suck it back in. I ask a lowly cashier to hand me my boxing gloves (for unruly customers) and begin throwing haymakers into the unconscious lady's chest.
That's when I notice the puncture wound in her head, there's a geyser of blood erupting into the air like a fountain so I place the gum I was chewing on top of it. A crowd begins to form around me, I assure them, "That should hold it until we can solder a metal plate or something onto her head instead."
I unbutton her shirt because she isn't breathing and play with her nipples because her boobs are big. I ask the gent that hit her if he has jumper cables.
He does.
I tell him to hook it up to his battery and take the other ends, I place them next to each other so that they touch to make sure it works before I use it as a defibrillator on this poor woman.
She doesn't get up the first few times so I deduce that what she needs is to return the flow of energy that transferred to her body from the car.
I pick her up and throw her as hard as I can through the windshield. The glass bends but doesn't break all the way.
"We need more power!" I scream. A crowd of people, each holding onto one of her limbs, picks her up again before slamming her into the grill of the car.
At this point, she's as flat as a pancake.
She coughs up a bit a of blood before getting up, blowing into her thumb to re-inflate herself. She takes off my fedora and strokes my beard, she tells me that I no longer have to wear my Batman shirt and it's he who should have my face emblazoned upon *his* torso. I agree. | |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | My first undercover assignment was Dr. Herr von Verruckt, a D-list supervillain and the sort of guy who’d normally be a non-issue.
He'd never accomplished anything bigger than a bank robbery, and so he wasn't on anyone's radar- no one was paying attention when he made a deal with a certain corrupt military contractor to get his hands on a plutoniarium core. Or maybe it was kryptonesium core. Or, wait, was it darkinoreian? They all start to blur together after a while.
Anyway, seriously dangerous stuff, but the guy wasn’t enough of a big shot for any of the major heroes to waste their time on him. It wasn't the sort of mission that would land them on the front page of any newspapers, and they all felt they had more pressing concerns- especially since most of them were in the middle hammering out an agreement to team up to stop the latest alien invasion. Great photo op, the press loved crossovers. No way any of them were going to skip out on publicity like that just to stop some german baby boomer from melting the earth’s core. Everyone knew death rays were passe.
That meant one of the little guys, the nobody heroes, would have to be the one to take down Verruckt’s operation. But even though it wasn't a glamorous job, it was still a hard one. Not the sort of thing most no names could handle, and when it was clear nobody else was going to volunteer... I stepped up. I had an idea of how I could take down Verruckt's operation, from the inside.
Who am I? At the time, I was just one more nobody. I went by the name Charmer, and my only real ability was that I could make people trust me instinctively. I mainly did grunt work for the National Hero Union, spending my time helping with hostage negotiations for the kidnapped sidekicks, or convincing juries not to hold heroes liable for the massive property damage they inevitably inflicted. Now? I’m the greatest double agent the hero world has, capable of infiltrating the ranks of even the most exclusive Supervillain operation, and quickly becoming their number one henchman- all while quietly littering their operation with gaping strategic flaws and easily exploited oversights.
What’s that, Madame Strangler? No, I think a clearly labeled self destruct button for your lair is a great idea.
Of course you're much too smart to monologue your plans to the heroes, Destroyenator, but why don’t you fill me in instead?
You… you want to use a shark pit as a trap against Mer-lass? The uh, the superheroine who can control marine life with her mind? I, uh, I think that’s a great plan, Magmaface. Definitely won't backfire, at all.
Blunder after mistake after slip-up, I either took down their operations from the inside or made sure the heroes had exactly what they needed to swoop in at the last minute and take ‘em out. They call me the Blooperhero, and my mistakes saved lives, and put Supervillains behind bars.
My work had the added bonus of making it easy to get around otherwise impenetrable red tape. Lately, governments had been cracking down on actually “proving” that a mad scientist was trying to take over the world before punching them into space. To be fair, this was after one too many innocent engineering students with unfortunate eastern European accents got sent on an unwarranted trip to Mars, so a bit more oversight was probably the right call. Most heroes found the task of actually proving that an evil plot was happening to be a huge inconvenience, but for me the task was as simple as a hidden camera I used to film my interactions. By hiding in plain sight, I was able to record the nefarious doings of the worst wannabe world overlords around. I’ve been told my tapes play very well with juries.
I may not get as much attention as the other heroes, and what I do might not seem as glamorous. But at the end of the day, they’re the cleanup crew- dealing with the fallout of whatever sinister plan they let get too far. Me? I’m the one who stops most of those messes from ever getting made- one blooper reel at a time... | "BLOOPER HERO TO THE...Umm...RESCUE!" I screeched as I raced towards the woman who was about to spill her coffee all over her self.
As she turned past a dark alley, I called after her, "NEVER FEAR! THE BLOOPER HERO IS HERE!" And knocked into her, sending her phone and coffee flying.
Down the alley, a criminal was holding a man under gunpoint, and the phone landed on his face and knocked him unconscious, saving the man's life.
"Oops..." I muttered, not noticing the man, who was standing there, shocked, but safe. I only noticed that the woman had spilled her hot coffee all over her self.
"I'm such a rubbish superhero." I whispered to myself, not knowing about the thousands of lives I'd saved, that, that hero in the papers was me. And I don't think I'll ever know it...
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | CUT IN
INT - A BANK LOBBY
*We see a tall, attractive woman in leggings and a hoodie standing atop a counter in a bank lobby. This is THE HOT GIRL, a villainess of unspeakable power. A number of terrified civilians and police officers are huddled at her feet, most of them covering their heads with their hands.*
**THE HOT GIRL:** Ha ha ha! Cower before me, insects! It is I: The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #1:** No! Not The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #2:** They say she's really hot!
**SMALL CHILD:** She has cooties.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Quiet, kid! Are you trying to get us all killed?
*The sounds of a halfhearted kazoo can be heard from outside the bank.*
**CIVILIAN #1:** Wait! Do you hear that?!
**POLICEMAN #2:** Yes! *Yes!* It's...
*There is a dull thump as a figure smacks into the bank's window. Everyone inside shifts uncomfortably.*
**POLICEMAN #2:** Um. It's...?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Clearly trying to move things along*) It's the fear of dread we all carry!
**SMALL CHILD #2:** It's the despair from embarrassment in our hearts!
**CROWD:** It's...
*A wiry man in an ill-fitting spandex suit stumbles through the bank's front door.*
**CROWD:** (*Continued*) *Mess-Upman!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Hi.
**THE HOT GIRL:** Great. What are you doing here?
*MESS-UPMAN trips on his own cape and faceplants onto the floor. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at THE HOT GIRL.*
**MESS-UPMAN:** You're really pretty. Has anyone ever told you that you're really pretty?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Whispering*) They say he peed in his pants while giving a speech, and now possesses supernatural awkwardness!
**MESS-UPMAN:** You probably get that all the time. I guess it would be pointless to ask you out.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Whoa, hey, kid... that kind of passive-aggression will get you nowhere!
**MESS-UPMAN:** (*Climbing to his feet*) Sorry.
**THE HOT GIRL:** *Ahem!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry. Hey, I know you saw my Facebook message yesterday.
**THE HOT GIRL:** What? Oh, uh... yeah, I was just *super* busy and I didn't get a chance to reply.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Oh. Alright. Just that you had time to post all those status updates and stuff.
**THE HOT GIRL:** I'm... I'm going to go.
**MESS-UPMAN:** I love you.
*THE HOT GIRL makes a hasty exit. The assembled crowd rises to their feet and swarms around MESS-UPMAN.*
**CIVILIAN #3:** Mess-Upman, how can we ever thank you for saving us?
**MESS-UPMAN:** Do you guys want to hear my slam poetry about Adventure Time?
*Everyone averts their eyes and murmurs. As they are looking away, MESS-UPMAN attempts to make a stealthy retreat, but he can't get the revolving door to work.*
**POLICEMAN #1:** (*Still looking away*) It's... you have to push it the other way.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry.
FADE OUT | "BLOOPER HERO TO THE...Umm...RESCUE!" I screeched as I raced towards the woman who was about to spill her coffee all over her self.
As she turned past a dark alley, I called after her, "NEVER FEAR! THE BLOOPER HERO IS HERE!" And knocked into her, sending her phone and coffee flying.
Down the alley, a criminal was holding a man under gunpoint, and the phone landed on his face and knocked him unconscious, saving the man's life.
"Oops..." I muttered, not noticing the man, who was standing there, shocked, but safe. I only noticed that the woman had spilled her hot coffee all over her self.
"I'm such a rubbish superhero." I whispered to myself, not knowing about the thousands of lives I'd saved, that, that hero in the papers was me. And I don't think I'll ever know it...
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | George
“Fuck,” muttered George, reaching for the tea towel in his tiny apartment kitchen. This was the second day in a row he’d spilled coffee on a button up shirt, ruining his last of the only two he had for work. He dabbed at the hot coffee, managing to smear it across the fabric even more. George made a face, knowing that he just had to accept his clumsiness. Nonetheless, he was angry and unbuttoned the shirt then threw it out the 16th floor window.
George walked into his bedroom and scrambled through the pile of clothes on his floor in search of something else he could wear to work without getting shit on. He picked up a faded Tommy Hilfiger two button and thought to himself, Cal’s gonna rip me a new one when I come in wearing a red polo...
George put the new shirt on, rubbing deodorant onto both sides of the front of the shirt as it grazed his armpits. Not noticing, he walked back into the kitchen and realized he had left the spatula on the stove. The element was still hot from cooking his tofu-bacon, and the plastic had melted slightly onto the rusty heating disk. George knew he was running late for work, and decided to clean it up later.
Three minutes later, after an all too familiar uncomfortable elevator ride of being stared at by the elderly man who George never managed to avoid in the mornings, he walked out the front door of the complex. The scene George encountered made him gasp. Not three feet from the front of the door, a silver Lincoln had crashed - by the looks of it with the full force of a car going way too fast - into the light post in front of his building. Inside was a woman, whose long, red hair was stained with her own blood.
George’s eyes widened as it became immediately apparent why the woman had crashed. There, spread across the cracked windshield of the car, was George’s coffee stained shirt. “Mother of -“ Just then, sirens wailed around the corner. A megaphone mounted on the police car blared “WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD AND DO NOT MOVE!” George looked around and realized there was nobody else on his side of the street. The message was directed to him.
Oh god, what have I done?, George thought to himself.
George complied and put his hands on his head. Brakes screeched. Doors opened and slammed. Guns were drawn. “You’re under arrest! Don’t move!”
George was panicking. “What the fuck did I do?!”, he shouted at no officer in particular. Just then, two hands grabbed his forearms and forced them behind his back with a force that made George cringe. Two pieces of cold metal hit George’s wrists, then several clicks and a shot of pain later, he knew he had been arrested. What the fuck have I done wrong?, he thought again to himself.
“Oh fuck. We got the wrong guy”, someone shouted from behind George. “It’s a chick and she’s still in the car”.
“Are you fucking serious? Do you know how much paperwork false arrest takes?"
George let out a sigh of relief. Thank god, he thought to himself, having just been imagining the look on his mother’s face when she learned he’d been detained. He felt the cuffs clicking off of his wrists. “Sir, I’m terribly sorry for what we’ve just put you through,” a young cop who resembled Jesse Eisenberg with black hair and a moustache said. "The lady tried to rob a bank and managed to kill three tellers in the process. Thank god that shirt landed on her windshield though. We thought we’d lost her in the chase. I hope you don’t mind, but you’re still going to have to come with us to the police station to sign a few documents and answer some questions. After all, you’re the only witness. "
A huge wave of self-conflict overcame George. He was pretty sure he’d just killed this woman with his coffee-stained shirt, which was a horrifying thought, but he’d also stopped her from escaping after killing three innocent people. After about an hour, he found himself riding off in the passenger seat of a police car, palms sweating and stomach still twisting in knots, when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. The vibration was intense and sudden, and given George’s established paranoid state, he jumped in his seat, tensing every muscle in his body. After George realized it was only his phone, he pulled it out, and read the caller ID. “Fuck”, he muttered. It was his boss, Cal.
***TO BE CONTINUED***
Edit: Spelling and grammar | "BLOOPER HERO TO THE...Umm...RESCUE!" I screeched as I raced towards the woman who was about to spill her coffee all over her self.
As she turned past a dark alley, I called after her, "NEVER FEAR! THE BLOOPER HERO IS HERE!" And knocked into her, sending her phone and coffee flying.
Down the alley, a criminal was holding a man under gunpoint, and the phone landed on his face and knocked him unconscious, saving the man's life.
"Oops..." I muttered, not noticing the man, who was standing there, shocked, but safe. I only noticed that the woman had spilled her hot coffee all over her self.
"I'm such a rubbish superhero." I whispered to myself, not knowing about the thousands of lives I'd saved, that, that hero in the papers was me. And I don't think I'll ever know it...
| |
[WP] You are a superhero, who's daily screw-ups save lives everyday. You are the Blooperhero. | CUT IN
INT - A BANK LOBBY
*We see a tall, attractive woman in leggings and a hoodie standing atop a counter in a bank lobby. This is THE HOT GIRL, a villainess of unspeakable power. A number of terrified civilians and police officers are huddled at her feet, most of them covering their heads with their hands.*
**THE HOT GIRL:** Ha ha ha! Cower before me, insects! It is I: The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #1:** No! Not The Hot Girl!
**POLICEMAN #2:** They say she's really hot!
**SMALL CHILD:** She has cooties.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Quiet, kid! Are you trying to get us all killed?
*The sounds of a halfhearted kazoo can be heard from outside the bank.*
**CIVILIAN #1:** Wait! Do you hear that?!
**POLICEMAN #2:** Yes! *Yes!* It's...
*There is a dull thump as a figure smacks into the bank's window. Everyone inside shifts uncomfortably.*
**POLICEMAN #2:** Um. It's...?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Clearly trying to move things along*) It's the fear of dread we all carry!
**SMALL CHILD #2:** It's the despair from embarrassment in our hearts!
**CROWD:** It's...
*A wiry man in an ill-fitting spandex suit stumbles through the bank's front door.*
**CROWD:** (*Continued*) *Mess-Upman!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Hi.
**THE HOT GIRL:** Great. What are you doing here?
*MESS-UPMAN trips on his own cape and faceplants onto the floor. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks up at THE HOT GIRL.*
**MESS-UPMAN:** You're really pretty. Has anyone ever told you that you're really pretty?
**CIVILIAN #2:** (*Whispering*) They say he peed in his pants while giving a speech, and now possesses supernatural awkwardness!
**MESS-UPMAN:** You probably get that all the time. I guess it would be pointless to ask you out.
**POLICEMAN #1:** Whoa, hey, kid... that kind of passive-aggression will get you nowhere!
**MESS-UPMAN:** (*Climbing to his feet*) Sorry.
**THE HOT GIRL:** *Ahem!*
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry. Hey, I know you saw my Facebook message yesterday.
**THE HOT GIRL:** What? Oh, uh... yeah, I was just *super* busy and I didn't get a chance to reply.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Oh. Alright. Just that you had time to post all those status updates and stuff.
**THE HOT GIRL:** I'm... I'm going to go.
**MESS-UPMAN:** I love you.
*THE HOT GIRL makes a hasty exit. The assembled crowd rises to their feet and swarms around MESS-UPMAN.*
**CIVILIAN #3:** Mess-Upman, how can we ever thank you for saving us?
**MESS-UPMAN:** Do you guys want to hear my slam poetry about Adventure Time?
*Everyone averts their eyes and murmurs. As they are looking away, MESS-UPMAN attempts to make a stealthy retreat, but he can't get the revolving door to work.*
**POLICEMAN #1:** (*Still looking away*) It's... you have to push it the other way.
**MESS-UPMAN:** Sorry.
FADE OUT | My first undercover assignment was Dr. Herr von Verruckt, a D-list supervillain and the sort of guy who’d normally be a non-issue.
He'd never accomplished anything bigger than a bank robbery, and so he wasn't on anyone's radar- no one was paying attention when he made a deal with a certain corrupt military contractor to get his hands on a plutoniarium core. Or maybe it was kryptonesium core. Or, wait, was it darkinoreian? They all start to blur together after a while.
Anyway, seriously dangerous stuff, but the guy wasn’t enough of a big shot for any of the major heroes to waste their time on him. It wasn't the sort of mission that would land them on the front page of any newspapers, and they all felt they had more pressing concerns- especially since most of them were in the middle hammering out an agreement to team up to stop the latest alien invasion. Great photo op, the press loved crossovers. No way any of them were going to skip out on publicity like that just to stop some german baby boomer from melting the earth’s core. Everyone knew death rays were passe.
That meant one of the little guys, the nobody heroes, would have to be the one to take down Verruckt’s operation. But even though it wasn't a glamorous job, it was still a hard one. Not the sort of thing most no names could handle, and when it was clear nobody else was going to volunteer... I stepped up. I had an idea of how I could take down Verruckt's operation, from the inside.
Who am I? At the time, I was just one more nobody. I went by the name Charmer, and my only real ability was that I could make people trust me instinctively. I mainly did grunt work for the National Hero Union, spending my time helping with hostage negotiations for the kidnapped sidekicks, or convincing juries not to hold heroes liable for the massive property damage they inevitably inflicted. Now? I’m the greatest double agent the hero world has, capable of infiltrating the ranks of even the most exclusive Supervillain operation, and quickly becoming their number one henchman- all while quietly littering their operation with gaping strategic flaws and easily exploited oversights.
What’s that, Madame Strangler? No, I think a clearly labeled self destruct button for your lair is a great idea.
Of course you're much too smart to monologue your plans to the heroes, Destroyenator, but why don’t you fill me in instead?
You… you want to use a shark pit as a trap against Mer-lass? The uh, the superheroine who can control marine life with her mind? I, uh, I think that’s a great plan, Magmaface. Definitely won't backfire, at all.
Blunder after mistake after slip-up, I either took down their operations from the inside or made sure the heroes had exactly what they needed to swoop in at the last minute and take ‘em out. They call me the Blooperhero, and my mistakes saved lives, and put Supervillains behind bars.
My work had the added bonus of making it easy to get around otherwise impenetrable red tape. Lately, governments had been cracking down on actually “proving” that a mad scientist was trying to take over the world before punching them into space. To be fair, this was after one too many innocent engineering students with unfortunate eastern European accents got sent on an unwarranted trip to Mars, so a bit more oversight was probably the right call. Most heroes found the task of actually proving that an evil plot was happening to be a huge inconvenience, but for me the task was as simple as a hidden camera I used to film my interactions. By hiding in plain sight, I was able to record the nefarious doings of the worst wannabe world overlords around. I’ve been told my tapes play very well with juries.
I may not get as much attention as the other heroes, and what I do might not seem as glamorous. But at the end of the day, they’re the cleanup crew- dealing with the fallout of whatever sinister plan they let get too far. Me? I’m the one who stops most of those messes from ever getting made- one blooper reel at a time... | |
[WP] A young, mentally distraught high school student, weapon in tow, decides to shoot up his school before taking his own life. Just before the moment of truth, another student in his class opens fire on his class mates. What does he do next? | There was always going to come a time that I’d simply had enough.
The worst part wasn’t the bullying. That, I could handle. I had 3 older brothers, so I was used to it being a bit rough. It’s the blatant ignoring that I couldn’t stand.
When I asked to sit at a table at lunch, I got completely blanked. When it was time to pair up for a project, I was always the last man left. And just forget prom, or anything along those lines. Girls treated me with the same ignorance as the guys. I once heard someone say the opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference. Sounds legit to me.
So I decided I would do something to make them notice me.
I’ve got the gun tucked away in my school bag. Between a science textbook and my lunch. I feel like that’s kind of funny, and I smile. My mother notices. She’s been worried about me, and I bet she thinks I’ve met a girl I like.
On the bus, I’m pretty nervous. I wonder if this is normal? I can’t exactly ask anyone. Maybe, if I change my mind at the last minute and decide not to take my own life, there’ll be support groups I can join.
I’ve decided that the best time to do this is during the afternoon assembly, when all the students gather in the auditorium to hear announcements and whatever. Most bang for my buck that way. But it does mean I need to keep the gun concealed until then. This amuses me more, like I have a special secret.
I spend my lunch in the library. The lady who works there, Donna, has never been outright mean to me, but I think she thinks I’m weird. I’m pretty sure she isn’t allowed to actually say anything though. So this is where I always eat lunch. No one to judge me here.
It’s getting closer to the end of the school year, which means exams are coming up, so there’s more people here studying than normal. There’s Jack in the corner. I’m not really convinced he knows how to read, but his beautiful girlfriend, Jenny, is sitting with him. I guess she’s reading to him.
At another desk, there’s Anna, shy and quiet with huge glasses. She reminds me of an owl. I didn’t think she’d ever need to study.
Must be about 18 people in here today. About 15 more than normal. I scan them all, and again I’m amused. They don’t know what’s coming. What would they do if they did know?
I stand up to get ready to go to my next class. Just one more to go before the deed. At exactly the same time, I see Adrian Denny stand up from his desk. Another loner, Adrian does more to separate himself than anyone I know. He’s gone for a bit of a goth look, and he’s the only kid I know in our school with a tattoo. We lock eyes for a moment. He starts to slowly reach into his bag, and it’s like everything is in slow motion. Somehow, I know what’s coming. I see a glint of metal as he pulls his hand out, and I yell ‘GET DOWN!!’
Some are quicker to react than others. Anna quickly dives under a desk, and I see Jack trying to pull Jenny behind the librarian’s desk. She isn’t fast enough, and the first shot rings out, making its way right into Jenny’s perfectly tanned leg.
The screams start then, and I can see there’s a divide between people who are trying to exit the library, and those just trying to hide. The people trying to get away get the next tirade of bullets. Becky and Mason go down straight away, their wails adding to the cacophony. Alex gets grazed by a bullet, but carries on, getting out of the room and sounding the alarm in the hallways.
‘DENNY’S GOT A GUN!’
More screams. Everything still seems to be in slow motion for me. Adrian’s gone after one of the students, almost chasing him around the racks of books. I know what to do in that moment.
I grab a chair, and wait for him. I’m at the edge of a set of shelves, and I can hear him rasping as he chases Tom. Tom skids around the corner, and I give him a nod, and hit Adrian with the chair, with all of my strength. I watch him drop to the floor, holding his nose, which is now streaming with blood. While he’s busy with that, I get my gun from my bag. I see Anna looking on, her face a mask of horror, and I sit atop Adrian’s chest and pin down his arms.
‘It was supposed to be me,’ I say. I put the gun to his head, and pull the trigger once. | Sweat trickled down Jason's pale face. He had already thrown up his breakfast but he felt like he was about to do it again. He was shaking like he had PTSD and every damn noise made him twitch. He was laid on his bare mattress, staring up at the damp, mildew covered ceiling. He felt the coldness of the five-seven, tucked carefully into his waistband. It felt like it was burning him. He sat up, glancing around his room, staring hard at the dartboard he had nailed to his door. It had all the pictures of the people that would die today, not enough holes in them though; Jason wasn't that good at darts. He stood up and stumbled, dizzy. Jason gripped the handrail, and practically fell down the stairs as the bus pulled up outside of his house. Taking his usual place in the gum stained seat at the front, Jason put in his headphones and slept his journey to school.
Stepping along the cracked pavement, Jason hobbled into school, drawing many a dirty look. He was not well liked here. Willowvalley Academy; a shit hole for problem children. His parents had sent him over hear after Jason had 'responded' to the bullying he was receiving at his last school. However, his 'response' was so extreme, that his teachers suggested he should be removed from the conventional school system. Jason was still sore about his expulsion, I mean, he'd only set ONE dog on fire when they found him in his shed.
Jason took his seat on class. Second row from the back, he had planned it this way, not right at the back where he may cause suspicion, but far enough away from his teacher, that he wouldn't notice the huge bulge on Jason's waist.
As his equally troubled class-mates filed through the door, Jason ran over one more time how this would go down. First he announces his plan to his class. He then strolls over to the teacher, placing the gun to his temple and blowing the decrepit old man's brains all over Lucy. Jason would feel like a god; taking his teachers keys and locking the door. Finally he would execute every psychotic bully in this class before moving on to the rest of the school just for fun.
Mr.Brown was just about to take the register, when Jason stood up. An intense pressure building in his chest, was he gonna throw up again? Not now. This was his moment to be remembered. His class mates laughed and snickered at him.
"Jason!" His teacher cawed. "What are you doing!"
Jason inhaled deeply "Ladies and fuckheads, I am here today, to bring justice on this school"
Several crazy looks from the students. Lucy screamed as she saw the butt of the gun sticking out of his trousers. Shit. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He ripped the gun from his trousers and fired it twice into the ceiling, chunks of plaster and brick fell to the ground around him. Now everyone was screaming, the gunshots echoing off of every surface. Mr.Brown dived to the ground screeching at the kids to get down.
Jason tried to continue his speech. "You people have made my time at this school, hell!"
Another gunshot rang out, but Jason hadn't fired. He dropped to his knees. A pool of blood beginning to surround him. The blood mixed in with the dust on the ground, and Jason ran his fingers through it; trying to scoop it back into the gaping hole in his chest. Fuck did shotgun shells hurt.
Jason tried to whisper out the rest of his speech, more screams and gunshots ringing out around him. His blood pooled out around him, he turned onto his back to stare his killer in the face.
They were masked. But Jason recognized the voice. Jack. His best friend, his only friend at this school. Jason turned onto his stomach as a single tear trickled down his face.
(Feel free to point out mistakes or improvements, I'm new at this. Also if something is unclear just ask.) | |
[WP] A society in which government representatives are chosen randomly at birth, then raised and educated for the responsibility. | I am not special. This is something I learned at the age of five. I also learned that the other children in my class were not special either. We were just ordinary children, selected randomly at birth to be leaders. Each pregnant woman was assigned a number on her first pregnancy-wellness visit. At the end of each year, 100 numbers were chosen at random. The woman with the winning numbers would parent a future leader of the free world.
As future leaders, we began training on our fifth birthday. Our parents kissed us goodbye as we boarded the train to the capital, and we all cried. My first vivid memory is of 100 crying children, many clutching stuffed animals or security blankets, boarding a train with a single suitcase. When we arrived at the school—a twenty-acre, self-sustainable campus miles away from the rest of civilization—we were ushered into a lecture hall where a color-coded calendar was projected onto a movie-theater-sized screen. Our cohort leader—a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a warm smile—pointed to December 15th. She tapped her long painted fingernail on the projector screen. “On this day, you will see your parents again for winter vacation. I know you will miss your mommies and daddies, but we are here to take care of you, to teach you, and to make you the best people you can be.”
At sixteen, I remember the first few years of school fondly. We followed the basic national curriculum, but we also had to memorize doctrines and treaties and laws. We memorized the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution by the end of year 2. We received our law degrees by year 10. We learned science and psychology and sociology. We spent months learning as much as we could about various fields so that we would become educated, well-informed leaders who would be resistant to the temptations and pressures of political office.
I remember how confused I was looking at the history books in year 3. I once asked the lecturer why all the presidents before Barrack Obama were white. He motioned around the classroom, “This is why all of you are here. We select leaders randomly, educate them well, and enforce laws that promote equality for all.” The classroom echoed the sounds of the applause from the students.
In year 11, the classes are more complicated. We are asked to make decisions based on ethics, and I have realized that situations are not always black and white. We have well-rounded bases of knowledge on which to base decisions to positively affect the greatest amount of individuals, but I find little comfort in these statistics. I find little comfort in using the math and science and protocols I have been taught to determine solutions that will help most people but will hurt some. I am told that I will master this skill by year 12, but I have my own doubts.
On my last visit home for winter break, my parents seemed different. On closer inspection, I realized that they had not deviated from their routines, their ideologies remained unchanged, and their unwavering patriotism was a strong as ever. They had not changed, but I had. I realized that people no longer question their leaders. There are no more elections, and no public involvement in the world of politics. The world has become strictly divided into leaders and followers.
On year 13 I will graduate and accept an appointed leadership position. Wherever I may be placed, I know that my decisions will be honored, I will be praised, and my beliefs will remain unchallenged. However, unlike the rest of my cohort, I feel as if this is undesirable.
| ‘This one,’ the chief archon said.
The infants lay squirming in their cots, their parents standing behind them. The children’s wails filled the room, a squalling cry that went on and on. The archon pushed it aside, pushed aside the expressions of fear on the parents’ faces, pushed aside everything but his duty.
He had been chosen long before by a past archon. He remembered nothing of it. How could he? But he remembered the upbringing, the tutelage, the deference of all. A single choice – two words: ‘this one’ – and he had become renowned, intended for a life of power and prominence.
He glanced at the child he had chosen. Its eyes were open, but he was just a blurry shape to it, he knew. A doctor had told him once that new-borns only saw in black and white. The archon thought that apt, somehow. The child clawed vaguely at the air and the archon offered it his finger to grab. It looked no different from its fellows. It was no different from its fellows.
The archon wondered if his predecessor had felt the same revulsion. It was a strange and cruel tradition. He did not want to look the parents in the eyes. His word was law, but he knew their look would stay with him too long.
‘This is the one,’ he said, intoning the rites, ‘This is the one for the future. I am the present, but this is the future.’
There was a sob behind the cot. He stared down hard at the child, but he could still see its parents’ hands grasping at each other. He refused to raise his head. He could not bear it.
‘You will be compensated,’ he said to the parents, continuing the rites. How sickening! What appalling wording from the brutal soul that had invented this tradition. Because that was all it was: invented. A conniving way of creating a ruler crafted by the state. Give me the child and I’ll give you the man, the saying went. There was nothing good about this, nothing at all.
The child squirmed again, kicked its legs. Spittle bubbled at its mouth. A life of privilege, status, power and such, such loneliness awaited it. It knew nothing, just as the archon did. He knew nothing of the world, just the strictures of law and ethics and politics. He did not think he had ever held anyone’s hand in love.
The archon stood up tall, raised his eyes and looked at the parents. The mother’s head rested on her husband’s shoulder. She was trembling. All parents had been warned by the officers of the court to avoid shows of emotion as it diminished the ceremony. The archon did not much care for the ceremony now. Their tears would not feature in the morning’s newspapers. Not now. Not for what he was about to do.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Bring your child.’
They responded automatically, as the archon was used to everyone responding. The mother still shook, but now confusion instead of sorrow was spread across her. She picked up the child and held it close against her. The father placed his hand on the child’s back, stroking it.
‘She will be archon,’ the chief archon said, ‘But she will also be yours. She will change and grow into more power than you can imagine right now, but you will watch her grow. And when she cries, you will hold her. You will hold her hand through her youth and into her maturity.’
An officer of the court approached, disagreement already preparing on his lips.
‘No,’ said the archon before the officer spoke. The officer smiled meekly and opened his mouth again. ‘No,’ said the archon, holding up a finger. ‘Quiet.’
‘Now come with me,’ he said to the parents, ‘It is one of the gifts of the office to be able to do what you want, tradition be damned.’ | |
[WP] A society in which government representatives are chosen randomly at birth, then raised and educated for the responsibility. | I am not special. This is something I learned at the age of five. I also learned that the other children in my class were not special either. We were just ordinary children, selected randomly at birth to be leaders. Each pregnant woman was assigned a number on her first pregnancy-wellness visit. At the end of each year, 100 numbers were chosen at random. The woman with the winning numbers would parent a future leader of the free world.
As future leaders, we began training on our fifth birthday. Our parents kissed us goodbye as we boarded the train to the capital, and we all cried. My first vivid memory is of 100 crying children, many clutching stuffed animals or security blankets, boarding a train with a single suitcase. When we arrived at the school—a twenty-acre, self-sustainable campus miles away from the rest of civilization—we were ushered into a lecture hall where a color-coded calendar was projected onto a movie-theater-sized screen. Our cohort leader—a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a warm smile—pointed to December 15th. She tapped her long painted fingernail on the projector screen. “On this day, you will see your parents again for winter vacation. I know you will miss your mommies and daddies, but we are here to take care of you, to teach you, and to make you the best people you can be.”
At sixteen, I remember the first few years of school fondly. We followed the basic national curriculum, but we also had to memorize doctrines and treaties and laws. We memorized the Declaration of Independence and the United States Constitution by the end of year 2. We received our law degrees by year 10. We learned science and psychology and sociology. We spent months learning as much as we could about various fields so that we would become educated, well-informed leaders who would be resistant to the temptations and pressures of political office.
I remember how confused I was looking at the history books in year 3. I once asked the lecturer why all the presidents before Barrack Obama were white. He motioned around the classroom, “This is why all of you are here. We select leaders randomly, educate them well, and enforce laws that promote equality for all.” The classroom echoed the sounds of the applause from the students.
In year 11, the classes are more complicated. We are asked to make decisions based on ethics, and I have realized that situations are not always black and white. We have well-rounded bases of knowledge on which to base decisions to positively affect the greatest amount of individuals, but I find little comfort in these statistics. I find little comfort in using the math and science and protocols I have been taught to determine solutions that will help most people but will hurt some. I am told that I will master this skill by year 12, but I have my own doubts.
On my last visit home for winter break, my parents seemed different. On closer inspection, I realized that they had not deviated from their routines, their ideologies remained unchanged, and their unwavering patriotism was a strong as ever. They had not changed, but I had. I realized that people no longer question their leaders. There are no more elections, and no public involvement in the world of politics. The world has become strictly divided into leaders and followers.
On year 13 I will graduate and accept an appointed leadership position. Wherever I may be placed, I know that my decisions will be honored, I will be praised, and my beliefs will remain unchallenged. However, unlike the rest of my cohort, I feel as if this is undesirable.
| His name. Robert should know his name. He paused for a little longer than usual as he reached into his mind and tried to pull on the loose thread of a memory failing once again. His father had been bad with names, as was his mother. Tracy, his lead instructor, had encouraged him to challenge himself and push the boundaries of his intellect but he had gotten lazy since elevating to chief representative of the fifth domicile. His many stewards could instantly be called upon to inform him of most things, including names, origins, and motivations of his body subjects. It was pointless to waste his energy remembering details. Robert was supposed to see the broader picture, not body names. In fact, his lack of knowledge made him quite poor in the art of conversation, a fact that almost always caused him excuse himself from social obligations. Robert had scored lowest in his class in all aptitude measures. He failed almost every evaluation throughout his training, yet somehow he bore a lucidity that was undeniable. His calm and confident eyes did portray a decisiveness and his direction always seemed to lead to increased prosperity for his body. This newcomer was clearly an opposition operative. Robert had allowed the party more freedom than any other district for he had always felt that violence was not a just use of power. The man eyed him over the ballistic barrel and Robert began to wonder if he should have given the repeated warnings from his companions more consideration. | |
[WP] "Sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." What happens when magic becomes too advanced? | His magic had grown very sophisticated, but had it grown this far? He supposed he would find out. He just wished he would not find out with a *technologist* at his side. Damn him. Ah, no. That wasn't right, he supposed. Nichols was his friend. He only wanted to help in his own needlessly flashy way.
Argan The White sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Ramon Nichols' Vehicle. Of course, Nichols did not simply call it a Vehicle. Too straightforward, Argan supposed. Nichols had a penchant for naming simple things with complicated names. It was actually a hydraulically suspended hydrogen fueled computer assisted (and no doubt several other technological words) device which simply functioned as a Vehicle.
Pish posh! The Chariot of Speed spell every fourth order mage learned could have done this with any common place object as a Vehicle, up to and including an old grandmother's shopping cart without the need for hydrogen fueled anything. Technologists! Bah!
Engineers, Argan mused, were in some ways quite opposite to Mages. Mages were a secretive lot. They kept their spells inscribed in books carefully protected with runes or assigned elemental guardians, and never shared the inner workings with the non-initiated. For that matter, they rarely shared them amongst themselves unless in carefully negotiated trade. These *engineers*, on the other hand had to tell the world how everything they made worked, even if it made the non-initiated's eyes glaze over with a mixture of confusion and boredom.
That, Argan reflected, was why he hated technology, really. All those years of keeping tightly maintained secrecy and here late, the technologists who babble their secrets to anyone regardless of whether they are understood or not were getting so that they could do anything magic could do. Or so they liked to think. Argan smiled at this secret thought, as he again contemplated his New Magic, but he said nothing for now.
Nichols reached the base of the hill and found it impassible for a wheeled vehicle, as Argan could have told him it would be. This was, after all, Olympus. Not that it slowed Nichols for a second, of course. He shifted some levers and his wheeled vehicle converted itself smoothly into something he would no doubt call a VTOL hover craft. Harrumph. In *his* day, Argan simply called it Holdan's Greater Levitation, but no matter.
These days the top of Olympus had been sealed off with Golden Gates of Surpassing Strength. Argan raised one eyebrow and waited to see if his friend would need help with this one. He was perfectly prepared to cast Alexandros' Inevitable Opening. But Nichols punched some buttons on the dashboard of his overly named Vehicle, and something he refered to as a "Sidewinder" flew forth from under the hood and bashed open the Golden Gates.
Argan shook his head and sighed. *Show off.*
At last the vehicle soared up to the gates of a great stone palace. Nichols was not taken aback by the minotaur guardians which came trooping out of the palace. He toggled a switch and Argan heard a whirring noise from the roof of the vehicle. Hmm. Interesting. He himself would have simply Dispelled the obviously summoned beasts but Nichols ...
A loud rattatatat sounded complemented by flashes of light and the minotaurs flew back, torn to pieces by what Nichols called "gunfire". (Argan presumed it was some form of elemental fire effect. He hadn't condescended to study it).
The two companions emerged from the Vehicle and approached the palace. Stepping inside, they were accosted by a tall figure, looming over them in a mighty throne thirty spans tall. "WHO DARES TO ASSAULT MY PALACE?" Zeus bellowed at them, and Argan was mildly amused to see all the blood drain from the face of Nichols at the sight of the Old God.
"I..." Nichols began, feebly indicating with gestures that he would just be going now, but before he could act upon it, Zeus pulled his old thunderbolt routine and Nichols, the poor fool, was roasted and boiled away.
"AND YOU!" Zeus roared, and turned to Argan, who raised his head high, and inscribed the first rune of the New Magic in the air before him. Zeus's flung another thunderbolt, and then his eyes widened as Argan's Unassailable Sheild deflected it.
"IMPOSSIBLE", cried Zeus, and lept up from his thone. He stalked Argan with fire literally flashing in his eyes.
Another rune of the New Magic, and Argan was himself as tall as the Old God. Perhaps he would call this spell Argan's Ascension? Zeus stumbled to a halt, no doubt remembering what he himself had wrought upon the Titans. Remembering, and perhaps worrying?
Argan stepped forward, inscribing a third rune of New Magic, and in the blink of a mortal eye, a sword of flame appeared in his hand, shining like the sun. Zeus staggered back, uncertainty warping his features into an unaccustomed shape. Before he could recover, Argan thrust what he called Argan's Unstoppable Blade through the chest of the Old God, who gasped as the fire drained from his eyes, and he cried out in mingled pain and surprise. Argan reveled in the feeling --- imagine! To slay a god!
And when the body of Zeus was a dissipating cloud upon the air, Argan cast the blade upwards, watching it rocket skyward and turn to five new stars visible even in the daylit sky. He stepped forward, still smiling, and claimed the throne of Olympus.
Then he pondered the charred corpse of his friend, Nichols. Poor soul. *This part better work*, he thought. Then he inscribed the Ultimate Rune of New Magic, (*or perhaps Argan's Ressurection?*, he mused), and instantly all damage was healed and Nichols gasped as he sat up, fully restored.
"Now, my friend," said Argan, "the next time you say that any sufficiently sophisticated techology is indistinguishable from magic, just remember this: Any sufficiently sophisticated magic, is indistinguishable from divinity!"
| "I don't see what's so special about magic when we have technology," Phil said to the elf.
Griswold's pointed ears twitched. "Really? Most of what you consider technology is just magic. Laser guns? Did you think there was a nuclear reactor in your hands?"
Phil stuttered.
"Or FTL ships. Without magic, they could not warp in and out of reality to allow for bending the laws of physics. Cars utilize flight. Tell me, how does anti-grav work again? Or FTL communication. No crystal balls and the empire has no communication with its colonies. Even the gloves on your hand are enchanted to allow you to feel while retaining your modesty." | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | I was outside of a casino. I'd never been into one before, I would walk past on the way to work all the time, curious about the "what if's?"
"Go on in" a small figure had materialized upon my left shoulder, it wore a black hooded cloak, if it had a face I couldn't make it out "you'll make a fortune."
"No wait, don't go in" another figure appeared upon my right shoulder, much like the first but wearing white "you have responsibilities, if you lose that money you won't be able to support for family."
I can't tell you why but I didn't feel crazy, I felt calm, these figures felt comforting, they proposed my "what if" questions and presented answers I wanted to hear. I took a chance and stepped into the casino. As I took that first step inside I half noticed the black hooded figure take something out of its cloak, it did something, then put it back.
I registered to enter the casino, made my way over towards the counter to buy some gaming chips when one of the waitresses bumped into me, spilling cocktails all over and dropping the glasses she was carrying.
"Yell at her, demand compensation" the first cloaked figure yelled immediately.
"No, apologize, forget about it" said the other.
"I'm sorry miss" I said instinctively and leaned down to help her pick up the mess. I can't be certain but I'm sure the white cloaked figure copied what the black cloaked figure did as I'd stepped into the building.
Once I finally got round to buying my chips I headed over to the roulette wheel and placed my wagers. It didn't take long. I had nothing left, but I wasn't stupid, I didn't spend what I couldn't afford.
I turned to walk out the door.
"Yes, leave" said the light.
"No, stay" said the dark.
"Boys! Get home now!" said a third voice.
I looked up. There, a little larger than the others, in a red kitchen apron stood a creature I had never seen before, though not much unlike a human, albeit green, looking down at me with an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry dear, my boys like to play this silly game with you earthlings. I hope they didn't get you in to too much trouble. Now, come along"
I looked side to side, the boys pulled their hoods down and had the faces of little green children.
"But mooooom" they said in unison. Pulling out notepads from their cloak to show proudly "Look, it's one all! We only just started! Just one more choice! Pleeeeease."
But before I could interject, and without any response from the mother, they vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.
I needed a drink.
(My first attempt at this, just giving it a go for fun, hopefully it's not too awful :D) | It had been the worst day of my life.
Since I was young, I knew I was a bit... off. My conscience, you see, manifested itself visibly to me. I know what you're thinking, but I was checked for schizophrenia. As far as medical science is concerned, I'm sane.
The guys on my shoulders have always said the same thing. There's two of them. An angel and a demon. Pretty standard, sure, but it can be entertaining. Somebody steals my seat? Angel says to be cool, devil says break his face. Find a lost wallet? Angel says turn it in, devil says keep it. Like I said, pretty standard.
Until today.
I lost my wallet in a berbershop (where I was given an awful haircut, by the way) right before I rear-ended a cop. I was lucky to get out of going to jail. The devil would've had me punch him and run, but I'm not an idiot. He did have my car towed until I can prove registration, though. I walked over to my girlfriend's place and heard a struggle. Turns out, she wasn't struggling that much, she was really enjoying herself. So was my brother. At that point, even my conscience was in shock. The devil was shaking with rage and the angel shook it's head and muttered "Damn, dude...."
I had the knife in my hand before I realized it, and my brother and now ex-girlfriend were looking at me with guilt, shame, and horror. I stalked towards them, the devil screaming "DO IT! DO IT! THESE ASSHOLES HAVE IT COMING!" The angel, for his part, sort of shrugged and said "Man, I got nothin'."
And then time seemed to stop. A beautiful white light appeared over my head. I heard a voice, beautiful and clear, call out to me.
"Jim, don't do it. It isn't worth the pain, and you have much to live for. Fill your heart with love, and it will guide you."
There was such peace, then. I dropped the knife, dropped to my knees, and said "Thank you! Oh, I've been such a fool! What must I do to live a life full of love?"
The voice hesitated, and spoke...
"I'm gonna need about tree-fiddy."
It was then I realized this glorious white light was a 500-foot tall lizard from the Paleolithic Era.
The angel on my should screamed "Get outta here, ya goddamn Loch Ness Monster! We ain't givin' you no tree-fiddy!"
The devil scowled, "I already gave you a dollar."
I was irate. "You can't go givin' the goddamned Loch Ness Monster money! He won't leave!"
I sighed in defeat. That Goddamn Loch Ness Monster had gotten me again. | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | "Punch her in the nose!" Fred (the demon's name) threw a few jabs at the air.
"No, curl up and block her, don't fight back, let the authorities handle this." I was getting the life beaten out of me by an ex-girlfriend. Of course nobody in the club was doing anything, they were all unsure what to do. They couldn't grab her, they could be charged with assault. But they also couldn't just do nothing, so to figure it out they didn't do anything.
"Kill the bitch! She deserves it!"
"No. Let the law handle this, for now just try to stop yourself from getting hurt. You haven't wronged her, don't sully that now."
"Holy shit! What is this?" A third being appeared on my head, this was new. Once or twice I saw Bill Clinton, but that was just a normal hallucination, not whatever this is.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, me? Hi, I'm Frank. I think I'm supposed to be the Ego in this brain. Sorry I'm late."
"Uh, screw off Frank, we don't need you here."
"Frank, you're a great guy but not much help in this situation."
"Shut up and let me do my job please? Listen, Al. You can't punch her back, not unless you want to go to jail. But!" He raised a hand to the angel, silencing her. "You can't just sit here and take it, you're losing blood and by the time she's done you might be dead. So just grab her arms. Just kind of hold them. Everyone happy?"
"No."
"Definitely not fuckwit."
"Perfect, means I did my job right." I finally got her under control by looping her arms to her back and holding her a bit like a pair of human handcuffs while the police arrived.
The angel and demon both harrumphed and left.
"So, you're my Ego?"
"Yep, just stick with me and you'll go far. Well, maybe not far. But at least you won't be a complete loony like those two." With that he vanished into a puff of reason. | It had been the worst day of my life.
Since I was young, I knew I was a bit... off. My conscience, you see, manifested itself visibly to me. I know what you're thinking, but I was checked for schizophrenia. As far as medical science is concerned, I'm sane.
The guys on my shoulders have always said the same thing. There's two of them. An angel and a demon. Pretty standard, sure, but it can be entertaining. Somebody steals my seat? Angel says to be cool, devil says break his face. Find a lost wallet? Angel says turn it in, devil says keep it. Like I said, pretty standard.
Until today.
I lost my wallet in a berbershop (where I was given an awful haircut, by the way) right before I rear-ended a cop. I was lucky to get out of going to jail. The devil would've had me punch him and run, but I'm not an idiot. He did have my car towed until I can prove registration, though. I walked over to my girlfriend's place and heard a struggle. Turns out, she wasn't struggling that much, she was really enjoying herself. So was my brother. At that point, even my conscience was in shock. The devil was shaking with rage and the angel shook it's head and muttered "Damn, dude...."
I had the knife in my hand before I realized it, and my brother and now ex-girlfriend were looking at me with guilt, shame, and horror. I stalked towards them, the devil screaming "DO IT! DO IT! THESE ASSHOLES HAVE IT COMING!" The angel, for his part, sort of shrugged and said "Man, I got nothin'."
And then time seemed to stop. A beautiful white light appeared over my head. I heard a voice, beautiful and clear, call out to me.
"Jim, don't do it. It isn't worth the pain, and you have much to live for. Fill your heart with love, and it will guide you."
There was such peace, then. I dropped the knife, dropped to my knees, and said "Thank you! Oh, I've been such a fool! What must I do to live a life full of love?"
The voice hesitated, and spoke...
"I'm gonna need about tree-fiddy."
It was then I realized this glorious white light was a 500-foot tall lizard from the Paleolithic Era.
The angel on my should screamed "Get outta here, ya goddamn Loch Ness Monster! We ain't givin' you no tree-fiddy!"
The devil scowled, "I already gave you a dollar."
I was irate. "You can't go givin' the goddamned Loch Ness Monster money! He won't leave!"
I sighed in defeat. That Goddamn Loch Ness Monster had gotten me again. | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | "They're both idiots." Two thuds echoed off my skull as tiny laced sneakers appeared in the interior corners of my eyes. I glanced worriedly to either shoulder but found the pitchfork-wielding and Harp-strumming paragons still standing there. Well, The angel was floating, but honestly the idea was the same.
&nbsp;
Eyes bored into the sides of my head from the two.
"Just look at them." Twin thuds cracked again. "They don't do anything but talk."
&nbsp;
"How are you better? Kicking me in the head isn't gonna sway me to your cause." I reached up and made to grab the being, but felt nothing as my hand swished over my hair.
"Honestly, you've never tried that with those bozos? And for kicking, I have to make sure you don't go crazy."
"Don't go crazy? I'm talking to a bunch of imaginary people that noone else can see or hear."
"Like I said, Gotta keep you on the right track!"
&nbsp;
A final thud echoed off my skull and the sneakers disappeared. I forced myself to go cross-eyed until my head started hurting, then glanced back to the paragons. To my surprise they were both gone. I looked back at the joint in my hand and dropped it before walking out from behind dollar general. | It had been the worst day of my life.
Since I was young, I knew I was a bit... off. My conscience, you see, manifested itself visibly to me. I know what you're thinking, but I was checked for schizophrenia. As far as medical science is concerned, I'm sane.
The guys on my shoulders have always said the same thing. There's two of them. An angel and a demon. Pretty standard, sure, but it can be entertaining. Somebody steals my seat? Angel says to be cool, devil says break his face. Find a lost wallet? Angel says turn it in, devil says keep it. Like I said, pretty standard.
Until today.
I lost my wallet in a berbershop (where I was given an awful haircut, by the way) right before I rear-ended a cop. I was lucky to get out of going to jail. The devil would've had me punch him and run, but I'm not an idiot. He did have my car towed until I can prove registration, though. I walked over to my girlfriend's place and heard a struggle. Turns out, she wasn't struggling that much, she was really enjoying herself. So was my brother. At that point, even my conscience was in shock. The devil was shaking with rage and the angel shook it's head and muttered "Damn, dude...."
I had the knife in my hand before I realized it, and my brother and now ex-girlfriend were looking at me with guilt, shame, and horror. I stalked towards them, the devil screaming "DO IT! DO IT! THESE ASSHOLES HAVE IT COMING!" The angel, for his part, sort of shrugged and said "Man, I got nothin'."
And then time seemed to stop. A beautiful white light appeared over my head. I heard a voice, beautiful and clear, call out to me.
"Jim, don't do it. It isn't worth the pain, and you have much to live for. Fill your heart with love, and it will guide you."
There was such peace, then. I dropped the knife, dropped to my knees, and said "Thank you! Oh, I've been such a fool! What must I do to live a life full of love?"
The voice hesitated, and spoke...
"I'm gonna need about tree-fiddy."
It was then I realized this glorious white light was a 500-foot tall lizard from the Paleolithic Era.
The angel on my should screamed "Get outta here, ya goddamn Loch Ness Monster! We ain't givin' you no tree-fiddy!"
The devil scowled, "I already gave you a dollar."
I was irate. "You can't go givin' the goddamned Loch Ness Monster money! He won't leave!"
I sighed in defeat. That Goddamn Loch Ness Monster had gotten me again. | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | I held the gun firmly, pointing it at my assailant.
My shoulder angel scolded me. "He may have broken in, but that still doesn't give you the right to hurt him!"
I grimaced. "I know, I know... but he came in armed!"
The little devil on the other shoulder, sneered, "Yeah, and he would have used it too! Show him what happens to people who try to shoot ya!"
I nodded, though still unsure.
"But you have his gun, now!" The angel pleaded. "Call the police, let justice be served the right way!"
My aim was no longer as sturdy. But the shady character that tried to steal my Amiibo collection, he began to smile. Oh crap...
Just then, a poof of dust appeared over my head, and a little yellow African Hooey Hound was resting on my head! My shoulder angel and devil looked hella confused.
"HO CRAP, ITS YOU! THAT RANDOM ASS JEEP THING FROM POPEYE!"
Eugene the Jeep nodded fiercely, smiling a tricksters smile. In another poof, he turned the assailant into a pile of salami.
"COOL!" I shouted. Neither shoulder being had a single word to say. The devil guy just stammered.
The Jeep landed in my arms and winked seductively at me.
"AWESOME! Now I can take you to my dying rich grandfather! He'll get a kick out of you!"
And indeed he did. When grandpa saw his favorite childhood character in real life, he squealed and ordered that his will be changed, and that his entire estate be left to yours truly. Now I live in his giant mansion full of chocolate fountains and pigmy hippo rides.
Happily Ever After
The End.
Oh, and I had the other two guys shot.
| It had been the worst day of my life.
Since I was young, I knew I was a bit... off. My conscience, you see, manifested itself visibly to me. I know what you're thinking, but I was checked for schizophrenia. As far as medical science is concerned, I'm sane.
The guys on my shoulders have always said the same thing. There's two of them. An angel and a demon. Pretty standard, sure, but it can be entertaining. Somebody steals my seat? Angel says to be cool, devil says break his face. Find a lost wallet? Angel says turn it in, devil says keep it. Like I said, pretty standard.
Until today.
I lost my wallet in a berbershop (where I was given an awful haircut, by the way) right before I rear-ended a cop. I was lucky to get out of going to jail. The devil would've had me punch him and run, but I'm not an idiot. He did have my car towed until I can prove registration, though. I walked over to my girlfriend's place and heard a struggle. Turns out, she wasn't struggling that much, she was really enjoying herself. So was my brother. At that point, even my conscience was in shock. The devil was shaking with rage and the angel shook it's head and muttered "Damn, dude...."
I had the knife in my hand before I realized it, and my brother and now ex-girlfriend were looking at me with guilt, shame, and horror. I stalked towards them, the devil screaming "DO IT! DO IT! THESE ASSHOLES HAVE IT COMING!" The angel, for his part, sort of shrugged and said "Man, I got nothin'."
And then time seemed to stop. A beautiful white light appeared over my head. I heard a voice, beautiful and clear, call out to me.
"Jim, don't do it. It isn't worth the pain, and you have much to live for. Fill your heart with love, and it will guide you."
There was such peace, then. I dropped the knife, dropped to my knees, and said "Thank you! Oh, I've been such a fool! What must I do to live a life full of love?"
The voice hesitated, and spoke...
"I'm gonna need about tree-fiddy."
It was then I realized this glorious white light was a 500-foot tall lizard from the Paleolithic Era.
The angel on my should screamed "Get outta here, ya goddamn Loch Ness Monster! We ain't givin' you no tree-fiddy!"
The devil scowled, "I already gave you a dollar."
I was irate. "You can't go givin' the goddamned Loch Ness Monster money! He won't leave!"
I sighed in defeat. That Goddamn Loch Ness Monster had gotten me again. | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | I was outside of a casino. I'd never been into one before, I would walk past on the way to work all the time, curious about the "what if's?"
"Go on in" a small figure had materialized upon my left shoulder, it wore a black hooded cloak, if it had a face I couldn't make it out "you'll make a fortune."
"No wait, don't go in" another figure appeared upon my right shoulder, much like the first but wearing white "you have responsibilities, if you lose that money you won't be able to support for family."
I can't tell you why but I didn't feel crazy, I felt calm, these figures felt comforting, they proposed my "what if" questions and presented answers I wanted to hear. I took a chance and stepped into the casino. As I took that first step inside I half noticed the black hooded figure take something out of its cloak, it did something, then put it back.
I registered to enter the casino, made my way over towards the counter to buy some gaming chips when one of the waitresses bumped into me, spilling cocktails all over and dropping the glasses she was carrying.
"Yell at her, demand compensation" the first cloaked figure yelled immediately.
"No, apologize, forget about it" said the other.
"I'm sorry miss" I said instinctively and leaned down to help her pick up the mess. I can't be certain but I'm sure the white cloaked figure copied what the black cloaked figure did as I'd stepped into the building.
Once I finally got round to buying my chips I headed over to the roulette wheel and placed my wagers. It didn't take long. I had nothing left, but I wasn't stupid, I didn't spend what I couldn't afford.
I turned to walk out the door.
"Yes, leave" said the light.
"No, stay" said the dark.
"Boys! Get home now!" said a third voice.
I looked up. There, a little larger than the others, in a red kitchen apron stood a creature I had never seen before, though not much unlike a human, albeit green, looking down at me with an apologetic look.
"I'm sorry dear, my boys like to play this silly game with you earthlings. I hope they didn't get you in to too much trouble. Now, come along"
I looked side to side, the boys pulled their hoods down and had the faces of little green children.
"But mooooom" they said in unison. Pulling out notepads from their cloak to show proudly "Look, it's one all! We only just started! Just one more choice! Pleeeeease."
But before I could interject, and without any response from the mother, they vanished just as quickly as they had appeared.
I needed a drink.
(My first attempt at this, just giving it a go for fun, hopefully it's not too awful :D) | "Hey, you should really ditch your parents."
"It's true, there are greater things than being condescended by your parents."
I was gripping on my last threads of sanity,"I'm trying to drive." I have no idea what is happening; I think I'm hallucinating. I don't think I took anything strange right? Do I have family history of schizophrenia? I mean, Uncle Joe is pretty weird at times but I don't think...
I glanced to my right- a little figure with wings: *HOLY SH!T*... my left?- a little figure with horns: "THE HELL?!"
My head evidently turned into a washing machine.
*This can't be happening. This can't be happening.*
"You might want to keep your eyes on the road.." *What-*
It might have been a good idea to wear a seat belt while driving on the freeway.
I open my eyes. *Did I survive?*
The head below me looks familiar... *Oh no*
"Welcome to the club!" | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | "Punch her in the nose!" Fred (the demon's name) threw a few jabs at the air.
"No, curl up and block her, don't fight back, let the authorities handle this." I was getting the life beaten out of me by an ex-girlfriend. Of course nobody in the club was doing anything, they were all unsure what to do. They couldn't grab her, they could be charged with assault. But they also couldn't just do nothing, so to figure it out they didn't do anything.
"Kill the bitch! She deserves it!"
"No. Let the law handle this, for now just try to stop yourself from getting hurt. You haven't wronged her, don't sully that now."
"Holy shit! What is this?" A third being appeared on my head, this was new. Once or twice I saw Bill Clinton, but that was just a normal hallucination, not whatever this is.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, me? Hi, I'm Frank. I think I'm supposed to be the Ego in this brain. Sorry I'm late."
"Uh, screw off Frank, we don't need you here."
"Frank, you're a great guy but not much help in this situation."
"Shut up and let me do my job please? Listen, Al. You can't punch her back, not unless you want to go to jail. But!" He raised a hand to the angel, silencing her. "You can't just sit here and take it, you're losing blood and by the time she's done you might be dead. So just grab her arms. Just kind of hold them. Everyone happy?"
"No."
"Definitely not fuckwit."
"Perfect, means I did my job right." I finally got her under control by looping her arms to her back and holding her a bit like a pair of human handcuffs while the police arrived.
The angel and demon both harrumphed and left.
"So, you're my Ego?"
"Yep, just stick with me and you'll go far. Well, maybe not far. But at least you won't be a complete loony like those two." With that he vanished into a puff of reason. | "Hey, you should really ditch your parents."
"It's true, there are greater things than being condescended by your parents."
I was gripping on my last threads of sanity,"I'm trying to drive." I have no idea what is happening; I think I'm hallucinating. I don't think I took anything strange right? Do I have family history of schizophrenia? I mean, Uncle Joe is pretty weird at times but I don't think...
I glanced to my right- a little figure with wings: *HOLY SH!T*... my left?- a little figure with horns: "THE HELL?!"
My head evidently turned into a washing machine.
*This can't be happening. This can't be happening.*
"You might want to keep your eyes on the road.." *What-*
It might have been a good idea to wear a seat belt while driving on the freeway.
I open my eyes. *Did I survive?*
The head below me looks familiar... *Oh no*
"Welcome to the club!" | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | "They're both idiots." Two thuds echoed off my skull as tiny laced sneakers appeared in the interior corners of my eyes. I glanced worriedly to either shoulder but found the pitchfork-wielding and Harp-strumming paragons still standing there. Well, The angel was floating, but honestly the idea was the same.
&nbsp;
Eyes bored into the sides of my head from the two.
"Just look at them." Twin thuds cracked again. "They don't do anything but talk."
&nbsp;
"How are you better? Kicking me in the head isn't gonna sway me to your cause." I reached up and made to grab the being, but felt nothing as my hand swished over my hair.
"Honestly, you've never tried that with those bozos? And for kicking, I have to make sure you don't go crazy."
"Don't go crazy? I'm talking to a bunch of imaginary people that noone else can see or hear."
"Like I said, Gotta keep you on the right track!"
&nbsp;
A final thud echoed off my skull and the sneakers disappeared. I forced myself to go cross-eyed until my head started hurting, then glanced back to the paragons. To my surprise they were both gone. I looked back at the joint in my hand and dropped it before walking out from behind dollar general. | "Hey, you should really ditch your parents."
"It's true, there are greater things than being condescended by your parents."
I was gripping on my last threads of sanity,"I'm trying to drive." I have no idea what is happening; I think I'm hallucinating. I don't think I took anything strange right? Do I have family history of schizophrenia? I mean, Uncle Joe is pretty weird at times but I don't think...
I glanced to my right- a little figure with wings: *HOLY SH!T*... my left?- a little figure with horns: "THE HELL?!"
My head evidently turned into a washing machine.
*This can't be happening. This can't be happening.*
"You might want to keep your eyes on the road.." *What-*
It might have been a good idea to wear a seat belt while driving on the freeway.
I open my eyes. *Did I survive?*
The head below me looks familiar... *Oh no*
"Welcome to the club!" | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | I held the gun firmly, pointing it at my assailant.
My shoulder angel scolded me. "He may have broken in, but that still doesn't give you the right to hurt him!"
I grimaced. "I know, I know... but he came in armed!"
The little devil on the other shoulder, sneered, "Yeah, and he would have used it too! Show him what happens to people who try to shoot ya!"
I nodded, though still unsure.
"But you have his gun, now!" The angel pleaded. "Call the police, let justice be served the right way!"
My aim was no longer as sturdy. But the shady character that tried to steal my Amiibo collection, he began to smile. Oh crap...
Just then, a poof of dust appeared over my head, and a little yellow African Hooey Hound was resting on my head! My shoulder angel and devil looked hella confused.
"HO CRAP, ITS YOU! THAT RANDOM ASS JEEP THING FROM POPEYE!"
Eugene the Jeep nodded fiercely, smiling a tricksters smile. In another poof, he turned the assailant into a pile of salami.
"COOL!" I shouted. Neither shoulder being had a single word to say. The devil guy just stammered.
The Jeep landed in my arms and winked seductively at me.
"AWESOME! Now I can take you to my dying rich grandfather! He'll get a kick out of you!"
And indeed he did. When grandpa saw his favorite childhood character in real life, he squealed and ordered that his will be changed, and that his entire estate be left to yours truly. Now I live in his giant mansion full of chocolate fountains and pigmy hippo rides.
Happily Ever After
The End.
Oh, and I had the other two guys shot.
| "Hey, you should really ditch your parents."
"It's true, there are greater things than being condescended by your parents."
I was gripping on my last threads of sanity,"I'm trying to drive." I have no idea what is happening; I think I'm hallucinating. I don't think I took anything strange right? Do I have family history of schizophrenia? I mean, Uncle Joe is pretty weird at times but I don't think...
I glanced to my right- a little figure with wings: *HOLY SH!T*... my left?- a little figure with horns: "THE HELL?!"
My head evidently turned into a washing machine.
*This can't be happening. This can't be happening.*
"You might want to keep your eyes on the road.." *What-*
It might have been a good idea to wear a seat belt while driving on the freeway.
I open my eyes. *Did I survive?*
The head below me looks familiar... *Oh no*
"Welcome to the club!" | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | "They're both idiots." Two thuds echoed off my skull as tiny laced sneakers appeared in the interior corners of my eyes. I glanced worriedly to either shoulder but found the pitchfork-wielding and Harp-strumming paragons still standing there. Well, The angel was floating, but honestly the idea was the same.
&nbsp;
Eyes bored into the sides of my head from the two.
"Just look at them." Twin thuds cracked again. "They don't do anything but talk."
&nbsp;
"How are you better? Kicking me in the head isn't gonna sway me to your cause." I reached up and made to grab the being, but felt nothing as my hand swished over my hair.
"Honestly, you've never tried that with those bozos? And for kicking, I have to make sure you don't go crazy."
"Don't go crazy? I'm talking to a bunch of imaginary people that noone else can see or hear."
"Like I said, Gotta keep you on the right track!"
&nbsp;
A final thud echoed off my skull and the sneakers disappeared. I forced myself to go cross-eyed until my head started hurting, then glanced back to the paragons. To my surprise they were both gone. I looked back at the joint in my hand and dropped it before walking out from behind dollar general. | "Punch her in the nose!" Fred (the demon's name) threw a few jabs at the air.
"No, curl up and block her, don't fight back, let the authorities handle this." I was getting the life beaten out of me by an ex-girlfriend. Of course nobody in the club was doing anything, they were all unsure what to do. They couldn't grab her, they could be charged with assault. But they also couldn't just do nothing, so to figure it out they didn't do anything.
"Kill the bitch! She deserves it!"
"No. Let the law handle this, for now just try to stop yourself from getting hurt. You haven't wronged her, don't sully that now."
"Holy shit! What is this?" A third being appeared on my head, this was new. Once or twice I saw Bill Clinton, but that was just a normal hallucination, not whatever this is.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, me? Hi, I'm Frank. I think I'm supposed to be the Ego in this brain. Sorry I'm late."
"Uh, screw off Frank, we don't need you here."
"Frank, you're a great guy but not much help in this situation."
"Shut up and let me do my job please? Listen, Al. You can't punch her back, not unless you want to go to jail. But!" He raised a hand to the angel, silencing her. "You can't just sit here and take it, you're losing blood and by the time she's done you might be dead. So just grab her arms. Just kind of hold them. Everyone happy?"
"No."
"Definitely not fuckwit."
"Perfect, means I did my job right." I finally got her under control by looping her arms to her back and holding her a bit like a pair of human handcuffs while the police arrived.
The angel and demon both harrumphed and left.
"So, you're my Ego?"
"Yep, just stick with me and you'll go far. Well, maybe not far. But at least you won't be a complete loony like those two." With that he vanished into a puff of reason. | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | "They're both idiots." Two thuds echoed off my skull as tiny laced sneakers appeared in the interior corners of my eyes. I glanced worriedly to either shoulder but found the pitchfork-wielding and Harp-strumming paragons still standing there. Well, The angel was floating, but honestly the idea was the same.
&nbsp;
Eyes bored into the sides of my head from the two.
"Just look at them." Twin thuds cracked again. "They don't do anything but talk."
&nbsp;
"How are you better? Kicking me in the head isn't gonna sway me to your cause." I reached up and made to grab the being, but felt nothing as my hand swished over my hair.
"Honestly, you've never tried that with those bozos? And for kicking, I have to make sure you don't go crazy."
"Don't go crazy? I'm talking to a bunch of imaginary people that noone else can see or hear."
"Like I said, Gotta keep you on the right track!"
&nbsp;
A final thud echoed off my skull and the sneakers disappeared. I forced myself to go cross-eyed until my head started hurting, then glanced back to the paragons. To my surprise they were both gone. I looked back at the joint in my hand and dropped it before walking out from behind dollar general. | He stared at the screen, sweating. It was gold, fresh, amazing. He could rack up hoards of karma by reposting it off of /new.
**Poof**
"Do it. Snag that image, upload it again with a new URL, and downvote this sucker's post."
*~Poof~*
"Don't listen to The Left Side. He wants to mislead you, upvote the post, leave a comment and move on. If you're witty enough you could even get some comment karma when it hits the top. It's a really good joke."
"Look man, The Right Side isn't looking out for you like I am. What's comment karma when you could have some sweet link karma? His title sucks, dude. Give it that good title you thought of. You'd be rollin' in it! You'd even get gold!"
"You could also get gold if you left a good comment."
Nervously he stared at the post. He refreshed the page. Still no other votes. He was the only one. The balance still rested with him. At 4:03 AM, on this day, he held the power. A few thousand away from 100k total karma, it could bring him into a new club. A new lounge to lounge in. A new world was on his doorstep. But he'd been warned by the mods before. He wasn't so subtle in the past. Was it really worth the risk? The Sides each made their own good points.
Refreshing the page, still no votes. He still had the power.
*^Poof*
"Hey man, uh, why don't you just go to sleep or watch porn or something? You're so close to 100k, but like, does it matter? Who are you gonna brag to about that? Your shift starts in a few hours man, get some rest."
Damn, thought the man. He closed his laptop and went to bed. | |
[WP] You have a little devil on one shoulder and a little angel on the other. Both are trying to convince you to do something, when out of nowhere, a third being appears on top of your head. | I held the gun firmly, pointing it at my assailant.
My shoulder angel scolded me. "He may have broken in, but that still doesn't give you the right to hurt him!"
I grimaced. "I know, I know... but he came in armed!"
The little devil on the other shoulder, sneered, "Yeah, and he would have used it too! Show him what happens to people who try to shoot ya!"
I nodded, though still unsure.
"But you have his gun, now!" The angel pleaded. "Call the police, let justice be served the right way!"
My aim was no longer as sturdy. But the shady character that tried to steal my Amiibo collection, he began to smile. Oh crap...
Just then, a poof of dust appeared over my head, and a little yellow African Hooey Hound was resting on my head! My shoulder angel and devil looked hella confused.
"HO CRAP, ITS YOU! THAT RANDOM ASS JEEP THING FROM POPEYE!"
Eugene the Jeep nodded fiercely, smiling a tricksters smile. In another poof, he turned the assailant into a pile of salami.
"COOL!" I shouted. Neither shoulder being had a single word to say. The devil guy just stammered.
The Jeep landed in my arms and winked seductively at me.
"AWESOME! Now I can take you to my dying rich grandfather! He'll get a kick out of you!"
And indeed he did. When grandpa saw his favorite childhood character in real life, he squealed and ordered that his will be changed, and that his entire estate be left to yours truly. Now I live in his giant mansion full of chocolate fountains and pigmy hippo rides.
Happily Ever After
The End.
Oh, and I had the other two guys shot.
| He stared at the screen, sweating. It was gold, fresh, amazing. He could rack up hoards of karma by reposting it off of /new.
**Poof**
"Do it. Snag that image, upload it again with a new URL, and downvote this sucker's post."
*~Poof~*
"Don't listen to The Left Side. He wants to mislead you, upvote the post, leave a comment and move on. If you're witty enough you could even get some comment karma when it hits the top. It's a really good joke."
"Look man, The Right Side isn't looking out for you like I am. What's comment karma when you could have some sweet link karma? His title sucks, dude. Give it that good title you thought of. You'd be rollin' in it! You'd even get gold!"
"You could also get gold if you left a good comment."
Nervously he stared at the post. He refreshed the page. Still no other votes. He was the only one. The balance still rested with him. At 4:03 AM, on this day, he held the power. A few thousand away from 100k total karma, it could bring him into a new club. A new lounge to lounge in. A new world was on his doorstep. But he'd been warned by the mods before. He wasn't so subtle in the past. Was it really worth the risk? The Sides each made their own good points.
Refreshing the page, still no votes. He still had the power.
*^Poof*
"Hey man, uh, why don't you just go to sleep or watch porn or something? You're so close to 100k, but like, does it matter? Who are you gonna brag to about that? Your shift starts in a few hours man, get some rest."
Damn, thought the man. He closed his laptop and went to bed. | |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | Dearest Daughter,
There are so many things I want to tell you. So many facets of this world, the big things, the little. The momentous, the everyday. All are blessings, when I think of you. That mane of strawberry hair, so like your mother's. My blue-grey eyes sitting atop rosy cheeks, and that smile, oh that smile you'd wield!
Not a day goes by I don't think of you, what you'd be doing in school, at college, changing the world one grace at a time. I can only imagine the things you'd accomplish one day. The lives you'd impart upon, and make better, all from the mere presence of such divinity inside a person like you. I love you so much, and it's a sentiment I cannot express grandly or often enough.
I still remember the day we found out about you. Olivia. Your name fell from your mother's lips the moment I thought it aloud. And we knew, your mother and I. We knew, with the certainty of the sunrise following the night, what grand, awe-inspiring things you'd do, what incredible words and passion you would bestow. What an amazing gift of a child you would be, to us, and everyone who you would bless with a smile, or greeting, or loving gesture.
It would be your birth day, today. Your mother and I are spending it together, just the two of us. We're toasting at sunset, to you, Olivia. Wherever your soul may be, I hope it is shining upon all of us, the Sun that will burn brightest and forever. I love you, my dearest daughter. We love you so much. We both hope to meet you one day, and that we can be a family at last.
Love,
Daddy | I woke up to my alarm, and he wasn't next to me. Odd. He never woke up first, and his phone was still sitting on the nightstand next to the bed. I shut my alarm off and got up.
I couldn't hear the shower, but I checked the bathroom anyways. Nothing. Our kitchen and living room were empty as well. He could have left to get breakfast, or maybe he went for a run -- though that seems unlikely. I assumed it was breakfast and he was trying to be cute but forgot to turn my alarm off. I took a shower, brushed teeth, and got dressed and he still wasn't home. Starting to get curious I checked his phone, it was dead.
I walked to the living room and sat on the couch, reaching over to the cord at the end to plug his phone in. I flicked on the TV,
"A man jumpe.." Click.
Changed the tv to "input" and turned on our PS4. Can't handle the news anyways. Brought up Netflix and found Pokemon. We had decided last night that we were going to binge as many episodes as we could today so he could get one last relax in before grad school finals started. I pulled up my phone and started browsing reddit, waiting for him to get back so we could start watching.
After however many posts I had looked at, 30 minutes had passed and I was starting to get pissed.
"What the fuuuuuck, how is this possibly taking so long."
I texted Alex, the two were nearly inseparable.
"Hey, have you seen Chris?"
"Nah, haven't seen him. Weren't you guys supposes to marathon Pokemon today? I did get a text from him pretty late last night but I figured you guys had just had some drinks."
"Did he say anything about going to get breakfast for me?"
"Nope, everything alright?"
"Yeah, he just ran off this morning without telling me. I think he's trying to be cute or something."
I walked to the parking garage, car was still there. I checked our cats food and it was full, with a full bag sitting on the shelf next to it. We had gotten all the snacks for our Marathon the day before. The list making had taken 20 minutes so I know we didn't forget anything. I checked his computer, off. His wallet was on the counter along with his keys.
"Hey Alex, any word from Chris? Like has he shown up or anything? His phone is here so he couldn't have texted you but it's been like an hour and a half and he's still not back."
A few minutes passed with no response, must be in the shower or busy or something. I grabbed the PS4 controller and started the first episode.
"Fine, you can miss seeing Ho-oh fly over."
I checked my phone, nothing. I got up and walked to the kitchen to make a Jimmy Dean's croissant. They were his favorite, and I didn't mind them every once in a while. Ash's voice rang through the doorway the whole time.
When I got back Alex had texted back,
"Nah haven't seen him. Sorry for the delay, started a game of League. If I see him i'll let you know."
I set my sandwich on the coffee table and remembered his phone. I reached over and grabbed it, clicking the home button as I brought it towards me.
1-2-3-4
His notes app was the only thing on the main page, thinking it held some sort of note to explain, or even a clue to where i'd find him, I tapped it open.
"I suppose you've had enough time to shower, eat, and start watching the first episode without me -- don't worry, it's fine that I missed seeing Ho-Oh fly over.
How does that even work? It didn't even come around until Johto.
God crystal version was the best. Btw, can you give my copy to Alex? He had been wanting to borrow it. You keep the color, though, my Grandpa gave it to me and I want you to have it.
I just can't do this anymore, Kate. I'm tired, I'm frustrated, and what the fuck am I going to do with my graduate degree in creative writing? I've written two books, a play, a few worthwhile short stories and all I have to show for it -- after sending them to every god damn publisher I knew of (and some I didn't) -- is a few dozen files on a computer.
And no, I couldn't have self-published. A blog or something, maybe. But even then, do I really want to go the route of Twilight? Anyways, everything is yours now. Publish it if you want, or destroy it. It's all up to you.
Our years have been great together, and I want you to know that none of this is because of you. You've always been a positive in my life, even when I got annoyed, or upset, or -- rarely -- legitimately angry with you.
And even then I always wanted to talk to you, to be around you, to hug you, kiss you, cuddle with you. Even when I failed a test, or got bitched out at work, or just couldn't find it in me to be happy that day I found myself able, and happy, to be with you.
I wish we could have kept on, got married, had kids, a dog, a house, a yard. Barbecues with each other's families in the summer, trips to the skiing hill with the kids in the winter.
I wish we could have grown old together, sitting on some porch somewhere rocking back and forth. I know, cliché. But I'm the one that can't get published remember?
I wish we could have done these things, Kate, I really do.
But I'm done. I'm done with this place, this University that could care less, my shitty writing, my shitty job as an undergrad lecturer, my other shitty job as a server for bdubs, my loving parents, my loving girlfriend, my cat, my favorite vans shoes.
I'm done, and I'm sorry but I've finally decided.
I know you don't want to but turn on the news, probably channel 11 if it's the correct time. If not, just go to there website.
I love you, Kate. I love you and this doesn't change that. I hope you find someone that actually deserves you, someone that can equal your amazing.
Someone better than me.
Forever yours,
Chris
P.s. Go into my computer -- password is still crabcakss -- and open the "finished shit" folder, then the "medium length shit" folder, and then, finally, open "When I'm Gone." Should help with what to do with my shit."
P.s.s Text Alex and tell him I'm sorry, would you?
-------
"This is Kare 11 with a tragic update. A man jumped off of the 35W Bridge early this morning. No phone or wallet was found at the location of the incident, but eyewitness accounts confirm seeing man climb atop the barrier, over the railing, and fall into the river below sometime around 4AM. Cameras along the bridge have also provided confirmation. Officials have yet to identify the man or find a body, but a search is underway. More at five." |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | Rain fell in the night. I was three-quarters of the way through my graveyard shift, alone in the building.
The bells on the front door tingled as a man pushed the door open. I jumped; no headlights had turned into the parking lot, and I was not expecting anyone. There were no appointments this early in the morning.
His back was turned towards me, and as he turned around I saw he had a border collie clutched in his arms. He and the dog were completely drenched; I doubt they could have achieved a higher level of saturation if they had jumped into the ocean. His face was buried in its neck. He stood about ten feet away from the desk, swaying lightly, and I mentally took a photograph of the scene: tall, thin, wet, clutching his dog, swaying as lightning flashed. As I opened my mouth to speak, he pulled his face away from the dog, and my voice died in my throat. I knew.
The tears in his eyes were indiscriminate from the rain, but I knew they were there. He stared at the ground in between him and the desk as if it were the trek from base camp to the summit of a mountain. His grip tightened. He took a step, and hesitated. He took another step. He broke off and walked back to the door, propped it open with his foot, stood again with his back to me in the doorway. I strained to hear his voice.
“See it, buddy?” he said. His voice was raw. “Look at all that rain. You’re all wet. I’m all wet. Remember when you and me drove out to the country and the car got stuck and when I let you out you jumped straight into a mud puddle and then when we got back threw up on my suitcase?” The dog whined softly. He stuck his face in the dog’s neck again for a few seconds, then let up. “Take a long look, buddy. Take it all in. It was all there for you, you and me. All the birds and the worms and the fields. You saw it all.” Thunder rumbled.
The man turned around and looked at me. His grief was palpable. “My name is Jake,” he said, and stopped again. He took a step, and then another step, and then a few more and he was in front of me. His jaw was covered in stubble. Tears slid down his chin. “His name is Jake, too,” he said, and lifted his dog a little higher. “He’s a good dog,” he said, and buried his face in its fur. Jake the dog whined and licked his ear. Jake the Human pulled a torn-up rag doll out of his pocket and stuck it in the dog’s mouth, and the dog started to chew.
I looked at the dog, and I knew; the yellow eyes, unfocused, dry. The shallow breaths. The lolling tongue. It was time. I pulled out a clipboard. “I need to get some information,” I said, and Jake the Human looked up and interrupted me. “Can we just do it?” he said, and his voice cracked. “I don’t want to put him on the ground. He’s helped me too much. His legs hurt when I put him down, and he’s had a comfortable ride. He carried me when I needed it and now it’s my turn to carry him and I don’t want to put him down.” I realized that Jake had carried Jake through the storm from wherever they came from. Thunder rumbled again. I put down the clipboard. My boss wasn't around and insurance forms could wait until later, when life wasn't cutting through us like a hot blade and the rain wasn't so loud. I got up. “Wait here while I do some prep,” I said, and walked into the back room. I could hear Jake the Human murmuring to Jake the Dog. I closed the door and started to set up. My vision blurred. My hands moved automatically; the solution was put into the syringe, the table was wiped, everything was ready.
I opened the door, and Jake the Human looked at me with terror in his eyes. I knew then that Jake the Dog wasn’t his family’s pet, Jake the Dog was his family, and when it was done Jake the Human would walk home alone in the rain to an empty apartment with the kennel door open and the lights turned off. I paused. “Take him out one last time,” I said, and Jake the Human nodded and walked out the front door. I watched them stand in the parking lot, just the two of them, staring into the rain, waiting for something to arrive.
An eternity later, the bells tinkled again, and Jake the Human carried his friend through the waiting room, past the desk, past the flyers and scales and closed office doors, into the small unmarked room at the end of the hallway. His breath was coming fast now.
“Remember when those kids were running in the park and you chased them until they were all standing in a circle?” Jake the Human said, gasping as snot ran down his face. “Remember when we both couldn’t sleep so we went out to the park and ran laps until the sun came up, and we both fell asleep on a picnic bench and got woken up by the police?” He gently laid Jake the Dog on the table, who whined again as his legs bore his weight for the last time. “Remember when Karen left and I couldn’t get out of bed and you came and sat on my chest and licked my face until I started laughing and you started barking and we woke up our upstairs neighbor?” I looked at him and nodded, and he nodded back through his veil of tears. He grabbed his friend as I put in the syringe. “Remember when you were a little puppy and you peed all over my dissertation papers? Remember when you got lost in the forest and I looked for you for two days and when I started to eat my hamburger you came running out of a bush and tried to steal it?” Jake the Dog exhaled slowly, and his eyes began to droop. Jake the Human put his arms around his neck and held him. “Remember when you and me and Karen went to get ice cream and we met the mayor and you bit his niece because she was pulling your tail? Remember when you started yowling and we couldn’t figure out what was bothering you until we realized that you had bit your tail so hard it was bleeding? Remember when mom came over and made me dinner and you ate an entire steak out of a pan while she wasn’t looking?”
I felt Jake the Dog’s pulse begin to fade.
“I love you, buddy,” said Jake the Human. “I love you. You wait outside until I get there. I’ll bring your favorite toys. I love you. I'll bring a frisbee. I'll bring your stick.” He started to talk faster. “Thank you for everything. Your job is done. Everything got herded. Your job is done. You go to sleep now. You’re a good boy. I love you. You’re a good dog. You’re a good dog”
and then he was gone
| "Turn it up," she laughs, adjusting the small, textured knob on the front panel of a Toyota Scion. Vance Joy's "Riptide" sounds soothingly throughout the car's interior as it passes quickly by a Shell gas station. "I love this song!" She exclaims.
&nbsp;
The young man grumbles curtly, "hmmph." He glances at the speedometer, 73 mph. Good, he thinks, I'll be home soon.
&nbsp;
"Now, now. That wasn't so bad was it?" She says expectantly.
&nbsp;
"Just leave me at home the next time you go shopping. Please."
&nbsp;
"Josh, I--"
&nbsp;
Josh's next few moments blended together, not elegantly like a Monet painting but more violently, like a damaged noir film skipping around. He looked to his right to see Jennifer's beautiful brown eyes staring back at him. He looked back at the road. He looked again to see a single stream of blood dripping from her mouth. He blinked quickly. "Jennifer...?" The film seemed to stand still.
&nbsp;
"A *freak* accident"
"I'm so sorry for your loss"
"My condolences, sir"
&nbsp;
Darkness. And then, color. Josh remembered. How? A pebble that struck through an existing crack in the wind shield. 73 mph, never to go home again. Never. He held her shopping bag in his left hand as he wiped away tears with his right. Why had he been so angry? Why did this have to happen? Why? And then he remembered on the verge of collapse and with a ghostly whisper, "...I just wanna, I just wanna know, if you're gonna, if you're gonna, stay..." |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | **Sir! Excuse me, sir!**
Yes?
**Is your name Phillip?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed aka The Reader?**
Yes.
**I thought so. As your mortal enemy, that is why I have just thrown scalding hot coffee into your face.**
(sobs) Damn you, Eldridge J. Wright, aka The Writer! This isn't over! (sobs even harder)
**That was easy.**
(sobs for another 20 minutes)
*(freeze frame) (executive producer credit) (standing ovation) (Gallagher smashes a watermelon)* | "Turn it up," she laughs, adjusting the small, textured knob on the front panel of a Toyota Scion. Vance Joy's "Riptide" sounds soothingly throughout the car's interior as it passes quickly by a Shell gas station. "I love this song!" She exclaims.
&nbsp;
The young man grumbles curtly, "hmmph." He glances at the speedometer, 73 mph. Good, he thinks, I'll be home soon.
&nbsp;
"Now, now. That wasn't so bad was it?" She says expectantly.
&nbsp;
"Just leave me at home the next time you go shopping. Please."
&nbsp;
"Josh, I--"
&nbsp;
Josh's next few moments blended together, not elegantly like a Monet painting but more violently, like a damaged noir film skipping around. He looked to his right to see Jennifer's beautiful brown eyes staring back at him. He looked back at the road. He looked again to see a single stream of blood dripping from her mouth. He blinked quickly. "Jennifer...?" The film seemed to stand still.
&nbsp;
"A *freak* accident"
"I'm so sorry for your loss"
"My condolences, sir"
&nbsp;
Darkness. And then, color. Josh remembered. How? A pebble that struck through an existing crack in the wind shield. 73 mph, never to go home again. Never. He held her shopping bag in his left hand as he wiped away tears with his right. Why had he been so angry? Why did this have to happen? Why? And then he remembered on the verge of collapse and with a ghostly whisper, "...I just wanna, I just wanna know, if you're gonna, if you're gonna, stay..." |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | Rain fell in the night. I was three-quarters of the way through my graveyard shift, alone in the building.
The bells on the front door tingled as a man pushed the door open. I jumped; no headlights had turned into the parking lot, and I was not expecting anyone. There were no appointments this early in the morning.
His back was turned towards me, and as he turned around I saw he had a border collie clutched in his arms. He and the dog were completely drenched; I doubt they could have achieved a higher level of saturation if they had jumped into the ocean. His face was buried in its neck. He stood about ten feet away from the desk, swaying lightly, and I mentally took a photograph of the scene: tall, thin, wet, clutching his dog, swaying as lightning flashed. As I opened my mouth to speak, he pulled his face away from the dog, and my voice died in my throat. I knew.
The tears in his eyes were indiscriminate from the rain, but I knew they were there. He stared at the ground in between him and the desk as if it were the trek from base camp to the summit of a mountain. His grip tightened. He took a step, and hesitated. He took another step. He broke off and walked back to the door, propped it open with his foot, stood again with his back to me in the doorway. I strained to hear his voice.
“See it, buddy?” he said. His voice was raw. “Look at all that rain. You’re all wet. I’m all wet. Remember when you and me drove out to the country and the car got stuck and when I let you out you jumped straight into a mud puddle and then when we got back threw up on my suitcase?” The dog whined softly. He stuck his face in the dog’s neck again for a few seconds, then let up. “Take a long look, buddy. Take it all in. It was all there for you, you and me. All the birds and the worms and the fields. You saw it all.” Thunder rumbled.
The man turned around and looked at me. His grief was palpable. “My name is Jake,” he said, and stopped again. He took a step, and then another step, and then a few more and he was in front of me. His jaw was covered in stubble. Tears slid down his chin. “His name is Jake, too,” he said, and lifted his dog a little higher. “He’s a good dog,” he said, and buried his face in its fur. Jake the dog whined and licked his ear. Jake the Human pulled a torn-up rag doll out of his pocket and stuck it in the dog’s mouth, and the dog started to chew.
I looked at the dog, and I knew; the yellow eyes, unfocused, dry. The shallow breaths. The lolling tongue. It was time. I pulled out a clipboard. “I need to get some information,” I said, and Jake the Human looked up and interrupted me. “Can we just do it?” he said, and his voice cracked. “I don’t want to put him on the ground. He’s helped me too much. His legs hurt when I put him down, and he’s had a comfortable ride. He carried me when I needed it and now it’s my turn to carry him and I don’t want to put him down.” I realized that Jake had carried Jake through the storm from wherever they came from. Thunder rumbled again. I put down the clipboard. My boss wasn't around and insurance forms could wait until later, when life wasn't cutting through us like a hot blade and the rain wasn't so loud. I got up. “Wait here while I do some prep,” I said, and walked into the back room. I could hear Jake the Human murmuring to Jake the Dog. I closed the door and started to set up. My vision blurred. My hands moved automatically; the solution was put into the syringe, the table was wiped, everything was ready.
I opened the door, and Jake the Human looked at me with terror in his eyes. I knew then that Jake the Dog wasn’t his family’s pet, Jake the Dog was his family, and when it was done Jake the Human would walk home alone in the rain to an empty apartment with the kennel door open and the lights turned off. I paused. “Take him out one last time,” I said, and Jake the Human nodded and walked out the front door. I watched them stand in the parking lot, just the two of them, staring into the rain, waiting for something to arrive.
An eternity later, the bells tinkled again, and Jake the Human carried his friend through the waiting room, past the desk, past the flyers and scales and closed office doors, into the small unmarked room at the end of the hallway. His breath was coming fast now.
“Remember when those kids were running in the park and you chased them until they were all standing in a circle?” Jake the Human said, gasping as snot ran down his face. “Remember when we both couldn’t sleep so we went out to the park and ran laps until the sun came up, and we both fell asleep on a picnic bench and got woken up by the police?” He gently laid Jake the Dog on the table, who whined again as his legs bore his weight for the last time. “Remember when Karen left and I couldn’t get out of bed and you came and sat on my chest and licked my face until I started laughing and you started barking and we woke up our upstairs neighbor?” I looked at him and nodded, and he nodded back through his veil of tears. He grabbed his friend as I put in the syringe. “Remember when you were a little puppy and you peed all over my dissertation papers? Remember when you got lost in the forest and I looked for you for two days and when I started to eat my hamburger you came running out of a bush and tried to steal it?” Jake the Dog exhaled slowly, and his eyes began to droop. Jake the Human put his arms around his neck and held him. “Remember when you and me and Karen went to get ice cream and we met the mayor and you bit his niece because she was pulling your tail? Remember when you started yowling and we couldn’t figure out what was bothering you until we realized that you had bit your tail so hard it was bleeding? Remember when mom came over and made me dinner and you ate an entire steak out of a pan while she wasn’t looking?”
I felt Jake the Dog’s pulse begin to fade.
“I love you, buddy,” said Jake the Human. “I love you. You wait outside until I get there. I’ll bring your favorite toys. I love you. I'll bring a frisbee. I'll bring your stick.” He started to talk faster. “Thank you for everything. Your job is done. Everything got herded. Your job is done. You go to sleep now. You’re a good boy. I love you. You’re a good dog. You’re a good dog”
and then he was gone
| I never lost anything because I've never ventured. Grew up thinking, can’t risk it I need to save myself for some future place with some future person. Never travelled, never got hurt, never hurt anyone, anyone who didn't agree with me was cut out, and anyone who agreed with me was weird and couldn't think on their own. I needed it to be the way I wanted it. So I made a plan and did and said all the right things. Everyone always told me I was ‘mature’ for my age and full of ‘potential.’ But always being told you are bright and everyone wishing their kids were just like you takes its toll. You can’t take a risk and do something… anything because failure doesn't seem like an option. So you take the path that offers the least resistance. Stories on top of stories, lies on top of lies and worst of all, you can’t remember what the difference is.
All of a sudden, no not all of a sudden, you felt it, the time slowly going by, the agony, hoping one day would come to end it all but it never did, so you kept adding to your house of lies until finally, potential finally runs out, the job you are working isn't worth mentioning, the kids that parents wished were like you were are all successful in some way, and you wish you were like them. They finished their education, they got careers, they got married, had kids, divorced, went back to school and did it all over again, but they did it. Somehow the things you did only got you half way there, almost had a great job, almost got married, and almost had a kid… another lie. I never almost got there with any of those things.
Suicide, that would be for someone who could accomplish something, you are such a failure that you would even fail at this. So you add another lie on top of the pile. And one day you are moving along and you live with the realization and know there is nothing you can do about it, so you just keep going without goals, without motivation, because even when you do have goals and motivation they are short lived and nothing will ever change. So go to sleep because your 9 to nowhere needs you so you can complete your 37.5 for the week.
|
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | **Sir! Excuse me, sir!**
Yes?
**Is your name Phillip?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed aka The Reader?**
Yes.
**I thought so. As your mortal enemy, that is why I have just thrown scalding hot coffee into your face.**
(sobs) Damn you, Eldridge J. Wright, aka The Writer! This isn't over! (sobs even harder)
**That was easy.**
(sobs for another 20 minutes)
*(freeze frame) (executive producer credit) (standing ovation) (Gallagher smashes a watermelon)* | I never lost anything because I've never ventured. Grew up thinking, can’t risk it I need to save myself for some future place with some future person. Never travelled, never got hurt, never hurt anyone, anyone who didn't agree with me was cut out, and anyone who agreed with me was weird and couldn't think on their own. I needed it to be the way I wanted it. So I made a plan and did and said all the right things. Everyone always told me I was ‘mature’ for my age and full of ‘potential.’ But always being told you are bright and everyone wishing their kids were just like you takes its toll. You can’t take a risk and do something… anything because failure doesn't seem like an option. So you take the path that offers the least resistance. Stories on top of stories, lies on top of lies and worst of all, you can’t remember what the difference is.
All of a sudden, no not all of a sudden, you felt it, the time slowly going by, the agony, hoping one day would come to end it all but it never did, so you kept adding to your house of lies until finally, potential finally runs out, the job you are working isn't worth mentioning, the kids that parents wished were like you were are all successful in some way, and you wish you were like them. They finished their education, they got careers, they got married, had kids, divorced, went back to school and did it all over again, but they did it. Somehow the things you did only got you half way there, almost had a great job, almost got married, and almost had a kid… another lie. I never almost got there with any of those things.
Suicide, that would be for someone who could accomplish something, you are such a failure that you would even fail at this. So you add another lie on top of the pile. And one day you are moving along and you live with the realization and know there is nothing you can do about it, so you just keep going without goals, without motivation, because even when you do have goals and motivation they are short lived and nothing will ever change. So go to sleep because your 9 to nowhere needs you so you can complete your 37.5 for the week.
|
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | Rain fell in the night. I was three-quarters of the way through my graveyard shift, alone in the building.
The bells on the front door tingled as a man pushed the door open. I jumped; no headlights had turned into the parking lot, and I was not expecting anyone. There were no appointments this early in the morning.
His back was turned towards me, and as he turned around I saw he had a border collie clutched in his arms. He and the dog were completely drenched; I doubt they could have achieved a higher level of saturation if they had jumped into the ocean. His face was buried in its neck. He stood about ten feet away from the desk, swaying lightly, and I mentally took a photograph of the scene: tall, thin, wet, clutching his dog, swaying as lightning flashed. As I opened my mouth to speak, he pulled his face away from the dog, and my voice died in my throat. I knew.
The tears in his eyes were indiscriminate from the rain, but I knew they were there. He stared at the ground in between him and the desk as if it were the trek from base camp to the summit of a mountain. His grip tightened. He took a step, and hesitated. He took another step. He broke off and walked back to the door, propped it open with his foot, stood again with his back to me in the doorway. I strained to hear his voice.
“See it, buddy?” he said. His voice was raw. “Look at all that rain. You’re all wet. I’m all wet. Remember when you and me drove out to the country and the car got stuck and when I let you out you jumped straight into a mud puddle and then when we got back threw up on my suitcase?” The dog whined softly. He stuck his face in the dog’s neck again for a few seconds, then let up. “Take a long look, buddy. Take it all in. It was all there for you, you and me. All the birds and the worms and the fields. You saw it all.” Thunder rumbled.
The man turned around and looked at me. His grief was palpable. “My name is Jake,” he said, and stopped again. He took a step, and then another step, and then a few more and he was in front of me. His jaw was covered in stubble. Tears slid down his chin. “His name is Jake, too,” he said, and lifted his dog a little higher. “He’s a good dog,” he said, and buried his face in its fur. Jake the dog whined and licked his ear. Jake the Human pulled a torn-up rag doll out of his pocket and stuck it in the dog’s mouth, and the dog started to chew.
I looked at the dog, and I knew; the yellow eyes, unfocused, dry. The shallow breaths. The lolling tongue. It was time. I pulled out a clipboard. “I need to get some information,” I said, and Jake the Human looked up and interrupted me. “Can we just do it?” he said, and his voice cracked. “I don’t want to put him on the ground. He’s helped me too much. His legs hurt when I put him down, and he’s had a comfortable ride. He carried me when I needed it and now it’s my turn to carry him and I don’t want to put him down.” I realized that Jake had carried Jake through the storm from wherever they came from. Thunder rumbled again. I put down the clipboard. My boss wasn't around and insurance forms could wait until later, when life wasn't cutting through us like a hot blade and the rain wasn't so loud. I got up. “Wait here while I do some prep,” I said, and walked into the back room. I could hear Jake the Human murmuring to Jake the Dog. I closed the door and started to set up. My vision blurred. My hands moved automatically; the solution was put into the syringe, the table was wiped, everything was ready.
I opened the door, and Jake the Human looked at me with terror in his eyes. I knew then that Jake the Dog wasn’t his family’s pet, Jake the Dog was his family, and when it was done Jake the Human would walk home alone in the rain to an empty apartment with the kennel door open and the lights turned off. I paused. “Take him out one last time,” I said, and Jake the Human nodded and walked out the front door. I watched them stand in the parking lot, just the two of them, staring into the rain, waiting for something to arrive.
An eternity later, the bells tinkled again, and Jake the Human carried his friend through the waiting room, past the desk, past the flyers and scales and closed office doors, into the small unmarked room at the end of the hallway. His breath was coming fast now.
“Remember when those kids were running in the park and you chased them until they were all standing in a circle?” Jake the Human said, gasping as snot ran down his face. “Remember when we both couldn’t sleep so we went out to the park and ran laps until the sun came up, and we both fell asleep on a picnic bench and got woken up by the police?” He gently laid Jake the Dog on the table, who whined again as his legs bore his weight for the last time. “Remember when Karen left and I couldn’t get out of bed and you came and sat on my chest and licked my face until I started laughing and you started barking and we woke up our upstairs neighbor?” I looked at him and nodded, and he nodded back through his veil of tears. He grabbed his friend as I put in the syringe. “Remember when you were a little puppy and you peed all over my dissertation papers? Remember when you got lost in the forest and I looked for you for two days and when I started to eat my hamburger you came running out of a bush and tried to steal it?” Jake the Dog exhaled slowly, and his eyes began to droop. Jake the Human put his arms around his neck and held him. “Remember when you and me and Karen went to get ice cream and we met the mayor and you bit his niece because she was pulling your tail? Remember when you started yowling and we couldn’t figure out what was bothering you until we realized that you had bit your tail so hard it was bleeding? Remember when mom came over and made me dinner and you ate an entire steak out of a pan while she wasn’t looking?”
I felt Jake the Dog’s pulse begin to fade.
“I love you, buddy,” said Jake the Human. “I love you. You wait outside until I get there. I’ll bring your favorite toys. I love you. I'll bring a frisbee. I'll bring your stick.” He started to talk faster. “Thank you for everything. Your job is done. Everything got herded. Your job is done. You go to sleep now. You’re a good boy. I love you. You’re a good dog. You’re a good dog”
and then he was gone
| As she lies there in the hospital bed, you can see she's still wearing the charm necklace you bought for her one Mother's Day thirty or forty years ago. It was only a couple of bucks at one of those junk-shops downtown, but you had no idea, and she didn't care how much you spent. The metallic shiny lacquered shell had long since worn away to its plastic base, a rusty brown, worn from years of her having seldom taken it off. The heart-shaped pendant is closed shut, but you can see in your mind's eye the two cutout photographs pasted inside, the school-photo taken in first or second grade on one side, a picture of your old dog Toby, because what else were you supposed to put on the other side?
You try to picture Toby not like you remember him from that photo, but how he was in real life, as a real dog. But it's hard, he's been gone so long, and you've had so many more dogs in the years since. It's hard to even remember what it felt like, the stinging sadness when dad took him to the vet that last time. You remember being crushed, you didn't come out of your room for the rest of the day, but it's just a memory of a memory at this point, not a real feeling that's accessible anymore. Your mom promised it would get better, and it did.
She held you close and squeezed your hand, told you that you'd always be her baby boy. And now you sit on the edge of the hospital bed, her eyes are open but there's not too much life left inside. You squeeze her cold, bony hands and say in a deliberately loud voice, "Mom, it's me, I'm here." She moves her eyes toward your face and her lips twitch like they're about to say something, but it was only a flutter of activity, and now she's looking straight ahead again.
"Mom," the nurses told you this was it, that it wouldn't be much longer now, and even though you know this might be the last time, you have trouble making your words feel any more significant. You want them to be special, you want to let her know ... what? Something, anything, you've had plenty of time to prepare for this. "I love you mom," you say it because you mean it, yes, but you say it because it's automatic, and you silently curse that you can't think of anything better, your mom deserves better.
You close your eyes and try to picture her as she was, which is hard, because what did she look like a year ago, or ten years ago, or twenty? You've got her now, younger, you're a little kid again, it's raining outside and she's made you a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. She watches you eat and gives you a kiss on the cheek, smiling as she pulls away. She doesn't have to say it, you can see it in her eyes.
"Mom," you want her to say it again, you want her to say something. "Mom, I'm here," you lean in closer to her ear and squeeze her hand a little tighter. "Mom, I'm here for you, I love you."
She moves her eyes back your way again, and holds them a little longer this time. You want to feel it, you want to tell yourself that she doesn't need to say it, that it's there, just like when you were younger. You want to believe it, that even though she's not really looking, you want to believe she knows you're there, that she knows you know she loves her baby boy. But her breathing is shallow, it's barely there at all, and her hands are even colder and they never squeezed yours back. |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | **Sir! Excuse me, sir!**
Yes?
**Is your name Phillip?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed aka The Reader?**
Yes.
**I thought so. As your mortal enemy, that is why I have just thrown scalding hot coffee into your face.**
(sobs) Damn you, Eldridge J. Wright, aka The Writer! This isn't over! (sobs even harder)
**That was easy.**
(sobs for another 20 minutes)
*(freeze frame) (executive producer credit) (standing ovation) (Gallagher smashes a watermelon)* | As she lies there in the hospital bed, you can see she's still wearing the charm necklace you bought for her one Mother's Day thirty or forty years ago. It was only a couple of bucks at one of those junk-shops downtown, but you had no idea, and she didn't care how much you spent. The metallic shiny lacquered shell had long since worn away to its plastic base, a rusty brown, worn from years of her having seldom taken it off. The heart-shaped pendant is closed shut, but you can see in your mind's eye the two cutout photographs pasted inside, the school-photo taken in first or second grade on one side, a picture of your old dog Toby, because what else were you supposed to put on the other side?
You try to picture Toby not like you remember him from that photo, but how he was in real life, as a real dog. But it's hard, he's been gone so long, and you've had so many more dogs in the years since. It's hard to even remember what it felt like, the stinging sadness when dad took him to the vet that last time. You remember being crushed, you didn't come out of your room for the rest of the day, but it's just a memory of a memory at this point, not a real feeling that's accessible anymore. Your mom promised it would get better, and it did.
She held you close and squeezed your hand, told you that you'd always be her baby boy. And now you sit on the edge of the hospital bed, her eyes are open but there's not too much life left inside. You squeeze her cold, bony hands and say in a deliberately loud voice, "Mom, it's me, I'm here." She moves her eyes toward your face and her lips twitch like they're about to say something, but it was only a flutter of activity, and now she's looking straight ahead again.
"Mom," the nurses told you this was it, that it wouldn't be much longer now, and even though you know this might be the last time, you have trouble making your words feel any more significant. You want them to be special, you want to let her know ... what? Something, anything, you've had plenty of time to prepare for this. "I love you mom," you say it because you mean it, yes, but you say it because it's automatic, and you silently curse that you can't think of anything better, your mom deserves better.
You close your eyes and try to picture her as she was, which is hard, because what did she look like a year ago, or ten years ago, or twenty? You've got her now, younger, you're a little kid again, it's raining outside and she's made you a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. She watches you eat and gives you a kiss on the cheek, smiling as she pulls away. She doesn't have to say it, you can see it in her eyes.
"Mom," you want her to say it again, you want her to say something. "Mom, I'm here," you lean in closer to her ear and squeeze her hand a little tighter. "Mom, I'm here for you, I love you."
She moves her eyes back your way again, and holds them a little longer this time. You want to feel it, you want to tell yourself that she doesn't need to say it, that it's there, just like when you were younger. You want to believe it, that even though she's not really looking, you want to believe she knows you're there, that she knows you know she loves her baby boy. But her breathing is shallow, it's barely there at all, and her hands are even colder and they never squeezed yours back. |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | **Sir! Excuse me, sir!**
Yes?
**Is your name Phillip?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed?**
Yes.
**Phillip Reed aka The Reader?**
Yes.
**I thought so. As your mortal enemy, that is why I have just thrown scalding hot coffee into your face.**
(sobs) Damn you, Eldridge J. Wright, aka The Writer! This isn't over! (sobs even harder)
**That was easy.**
(sobs for another 20 minutes)
*(freeze frame) (executive producer credit) (standing ovation) (Gallagher smashes a watermelon)* | Rain fell in the night. I was three-quarters of the way through my graveyard shift, alone in the building.
The bells on the front door tingled as a man pushed the door open. I jumped; no headlights had turned into the parking lot, and I was not expecting anyone. There were no appointments this early in the morning.
His back was turned towards me, and as he turned around I saw he had a border collie clutched in his arms. He and the dog were completely drenched; I doubt they could have achieved a higher level of saturation if they had jumped into the ocean. His face was buried in its neck. He stood about ten feet away from the desk, swaying lightly, and I mentally took a photograph of the scene: tall, thin, wet, clutching his dog, swaying as lightning flashed. As I opened my mouth to speak, he pulled his face away from the dog, and my voice died in my throat. I knew.
The tears in his eyes were indiscriminate from the rain, but I knew they were there. He stared at the ground in between him and the desk as if it were the trek from base camp to the summit of a mountain. His grip tightened. He took a step, and hesitated. He took another step. He broke off and walked back to the door, propped it open with his foot, stood again with his back to me in the doorway. I strained to hear his voice.
“See it, buddy?” he said. His voice was raw. “Look at all that rain. You’re all wet. I’m all wet. Remember when you and me drove out to the country and the car got stuck and when I let you out you jumped straight into a mud puddle and then when we got back threw up on my suitcase?” The dog whined softly. He stuck his face in the dog’s neck again for a few seconds, then let up. “Take a long look, buddy. Take it all in. It was all there for you, you and me. All the birds and the worms and the fields. You saw it all.” Thunder rumbled.
The man turned around and looked at me. His grief was palpable. “My name is Jake,” he said, and stopped again. He took a step, and then another step, and then a few more and he was in front of me. His jaw was covered in stubble. Tears slid down his chin. “His name is Jake, too,” he said, and lifted his dog a little higher. “He’s a good dog,” he said, and buried his face in its fur. Jake the dog whined and licked his ear. Jake the Human pulled a torn-up rag doll out of his pocket and stuck it in the dog’s mouth, and the dog started to chew.
I looked at the dog, and I knew; the yellow eyes, unfocused, dry. The shallow breaths. The lolling tongue. It was time. I pulled out a clipboard. “I need to get some information,” I said, and Jake the Human looked up and interrupted me. “Can we just do it?” he said, and his voice cracked. “I don’t want to put him on the ground. He’s helped me too much. His legs hurt when I put him down, and he’s had a comfortable ride. He carried me when I needed it and now it’s my turn to carry him and I don’t want to put him down.” I realized that Jake had carried Jake through the storm from wherever they came from. Thunder rumbled again. I put down the clipboard. My boss wasn't around and insurance forms could wait until later, when life wasn't cutting through us like a hot blade and the rain wasn't so loud. I got up. “Wait here while I do some prep,” I said, and walked into the back room. I could hear Jake the Human murmuring to Jake the Dog. I closed the door and started to set up. My vision blurred. My hands moved automatically; the solution was put into the syringe, the table was wiped, everything was ready.
I opened the door, and Jake the Human looked at me with terror in his eyes. I knew then that Jake the Dog wasn’t his family’s pet, Jake the Dog was his family, and when it was done Jake the Human would walk home alone in the rain to an empty apartment with the kennel door open and the lights turned off. I paused. “Take him out one last time,” I said, and Jake the Human nodded and walked out the front door. I watched them stand in the parking lot, just the two of them, staring into the rain, waiting for something to arrive.
An eternity later, the bells tinkled again, and Jake the Human carried his friend through the waiting room, past the desk, past the flyers and scales and closed office doors, into the small unmarked room at the end of the hallway. His breath was coming fast now.
“Remember when those kids were running in the park and you chased them until they were all standing in a circle?” Jake the Human said, gasping as snot ran down his face. “Remember when we both couldn’t sleep so we went out to the park and ran laps until the sun came up, and we both fell asleep on a picnic bench and got woken up by the police?” He gently laid Jake the Dog on the table, who whined again as his legs bore his weight for the last time. “Remember when Karen left and I couldn’t get out of bed and you came and sat on my chest and licked my face until I started laughing and you started barking and we woke up our upstairs neighbor?” I looked at him and nodded, and he nodded back through his veil of tears. He grabbed his friend as I put in the syringe. “Remember when you were a little puppy and you peed all over my dissertation papers? Remember when you got lost in the forest and I looked for you for two days and when I started to eat my hamburger you came running out of a bush and tried to steal it?” Jake the Dog exhaled slowly, and his eyes began to droop. Jake the Human put his arms around his neck and held him. “Remember when you and me and Karen went to get ice cream and we met the mayor and you bit his niece because she was pulling your tail? Remember when you started yowling and we couldn’t figure out what was bothering you until we realized that you had bit your tail so hard it was bleeding? Remember when mom came over and made me dinner and you ate an entire steak out of a pan while she wasn’t looking?”
I felt Jake the Dog’s pulse begin to fade.
“I love you, buddy,” said Jake the Human. “I love you. You wait outside until I get there. I’ll bring your favorite toys. I love you. I'll bring a frisbee. I'll bring your stick.” He started to talk faster. “Thank you for everything. Your job is done. Everything got herded. Your job is done. You go to sleep now. You’re a good boy. I love you. You’re a good dog. You’re a good dog”
and then he was gone
|
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | If I could say a thousands things
I would
To make you stronger
To trust me
I know you more than you think I know
You've struggled
You've been in that dark place
Searching around for a flashlight
Wanting a floodlight
And nothing more than a firefly floats past
The dreams you thought up
Crushed because of your thought stupidity
Every wish on the table
Displayed for the whole world to see
And knocked down
Out of jealousy
Or maybe knocked down unknowingly
But everyone seemed to have night vision
Where you stumbled
They ran
Like a failure, you lay down in your own self hate
And waited for the one who never came
Maybe you never went through that
Or maybe it's just another dusty memory to be filed
And left on the shelf to rot
But for those living through it
That's all they see
And I know that
I got a note today
At my darkest hour
From somebody I barely know
Although I can see more than just another bug floating through the darkness
This note shines like a lighthouse on a foggy shore
And I hold on to this note
And you should too
Because it will stick with you forever
It's more than a spark
It's a flame to get your revolution ignited
Because you're strong enough to lead
And do you know why I know all this
It's because of our note
And it's because you're more powerful than you think
"I believe in you."
***
www.thearcherswriting.wordpress.com | Field report for planet SOLARIS III
There is strong evidence of a race having lived here, with many formations of stone standing in ways that must have been intended.
The only life found however is single-celled and carbon based, we have yet to discover anything else. Though there are a great quantity of bare endoskeletons in some of the structures.
The radiation levels on the surface are immense, I would suspect that to be the reason the world is so barren, though I cannot imagine an event that could have caused such cataclysmic radiation so quickly. If it was present before the race would not have developed to construct these buildings, so it must have been a sudden occurrence.
We have found evidence of writing, art and other cultural heritage from this race, we shall try and decipher their language but the copies we have found so far have been in poor condition, and it may take time.
My only hunch about this planet is that somehow there was a self-executed mass extinction event that involved large quantities of radioactive materials. Though why any race would do such a thing is beyond me, in all 370 worlds I have scouted I don't believe I've ever seen a race that would go as far as damage their only habitat.
The culture, crafts, intelligence and sense of community I feel this race must have had seems to point completely against this conclusion.
But that is all lost now, the race is extinct, so we can only hope to celebrate the scraps of culture they left behind.
As a side note there was an interesting find with one of the smaller endoskeletons, The skeleton's arms were wrapped around it. It seems to be a squishy representation of their physiology, It's purpose confused the team that found it, so we've sent it to you with this report, it may give more of an insight as to the appearance of these creatures. |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | My mouth struggled to let loose a single word. A single word is all I wanted to say.
"Help."
It might have been futile. When the earthquake hit, I'm sure many people fled or have found themselves in a situation similar to mine. I was trapped under the remains of a wall. I think my head was pinned against the ground. I could only look to my right. I was unable to move anything but my eyes. Hell, I couldn't even feel anything anymore.
I heard the word. But it didn't come from my mouth. It wasn't my voice. It was my boyfriend's.
My face was covered in blood and dust. I could feel it. My eyes were dried out. If any more moisture left them they would surely crack and fall out. I focused my eyes on him. He had blood running down the side of his face. His hair was tangled with stones and rocks. He was crawling on the ground, dragging himself across the road. A trail of blood followed him. His legs did not.
We made eye contact. He shouted my name. I was too weak to respond. With renewed vigour, he dragged himself faster than I thought possible.
Soon, he was by my side. Tear drops stained the ground beneath him. He noticed my eyes flick from his face to the ground. With no legs, he still tried to help me. He picked up bricks and tossed them aside. His motions were becoming less coordinated. He was passing out from blood loss.
"D-d-don't die," he said, exhaling, "I-I-I c-can get y-you out."
He was struggling to talk. Yet he was pouring all his energy into digging me up out of the ground. If it took both hands and he had to lay on his stomach while pulling it away from me, he would still attempt it.
"I-I-I-I think help is c-coming s-s-soon."
He collapsed then. He was out of breath. He looked up at me. Life was fading from his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry..."
He closed his eyes. His head fell to the ground. He exhaled for one last time as I watched helplessly. | Field report for planet SOLARIS III
There is strong evidence of a race having lived here, with many formations of stone standing in ways that must have been intended.
The only life found however is single-celled and carbon based, we have yet to discover anything else. Though there are a great quantity of bare endoskeletons in some of the structures.
The radiation levels on the surface are immense, I would suspect that to be the reason the world is so barren, though I cannot imagine an event that could have caused such cataclysmic radiation so quickly. If it was present before the race would not have developed to construct these buildings, so it must have been a sudden occurrence.
We have found evidence of writing, art and other cultural heritage from this race, we shall try and decipher their language but the copies we have found so far have been in poor condition, and it may take time.
My only hunch about this planet is that somehow there was a self-executed mass extinction event that involved large quantities of radioactive materials. Though why any race would do such a thing is beyond me, in all 370 worlds I have scouted I don't believe I've ever seen a race that would go as far as damage their only habitat.
The culture, crafts, intelligence and sense of community I feel this race must have had seems to point completely against this conclusion.
But that is all lost now, the race is extinct, so we can only hope to celebrate the scraps of culture they left behind.
As a side note there was an interesting find with one of the smaller endoskeletons, The skeleton's arms were wrapped around it. It seems to be a squishy representation of their physiology, It's purpose confused the team that found it, so we've sent it to you with this report, it may give more of an insight as to the appearance of these creatures. |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | I remember the way she looked at me as the needle went in. Big green eyes full of fear and pain. Soon they became dilated. She sought me out, her head nudging my hand. Purring.
The noises that escaped my throat as reality hit me.
The smell of the earth as my brother dug her a deep grave, it began to rain. How appropriate it was, as I was holding my dead friend.
My only friend, so quickly stilled.
I kissed her on her cold little nose, wrapping her in her favorite blanket. Giving her back to the earth.
Sometimes I see her in the corner of my eye, sometimes in my dreams.
But when I wake, I am alone and my bed is cold.
Where are you, little cat? | Field report for planet SOLARIS III
There is strong evidence of a race having lived here, with many formations of stone standing in ways that must have been intended.
The only life found however is single-celled and carbon based, we have yet to discover anything else. Though there are a great quantity of bare endoskeletons in some of the structures.
The radiation levels on the surface are immense, I would suspect that to be the reason the world is so barren, though I cannot imagine an event that could have caused such cataclysmic radiation so quickly. If it was present before the race would not have developed to construct these buildings, so it must have been a sudden occurrence.
We have found evidence of writing, art and other cultural heritage from this race, we shall try and decipher their language but the copies we have found so far have been in poor condition, and it may take time.
My only hunch about this planet is that somehow there was a self-executed mass extinction event that involved large quantities of radioactive materials. Though why any race would do such a thing is beyond me, in all 370 worlds I have scouted I don't believe I've ever seen a race that would go as far as damage their only habitat.
The culture, crafts, intelligence and sense of community I feel this race must have had seems to point completely against this conclusion.
But that is all lost now, the race is extinct, so we can only hope to celebrate the scraps of culture they left behind.
As a side note there was an interesting find with one of the smaller endoskeletons, The skeleton's arms were wrapped around it. It seems to be a squishy representation of their physiology, It's purpose confused the team that found it, so we've sent it to you with this report, it may give more of an insight as to the appearance of these creatures. |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | She always told me I was a good girl.
I know I'm a good girl.
But how long is right back?
I sat still wagging my tail. My paws digging into the dirt below me, looking at the passing cars, they drove so fast. Why do they have to go fast? What's the hurry? I never seen so many cars go in one direction, they should slow down, they might hurt someone.
And how long is right back? Mommy always told me that when she left to go do things outside home. And I would wait for her looking out the window at the driveway knowing she would be pulling up any minute.
Today she told me we're going for a walk (I love walks, they're the best.) We got out of the car, she tied my leash to this metal pole, she hugged me (Mommy always gave the best hugs ever, this one was a little longer than usual, she squeezed me nice and good) and said "I'll be right back sweetie."
Then she left.
I still sat waiting for her pull up, well, she wouldn't be pulling up to a driveway, but this dirty road. Gross. My paws have dirt all over them and my tail. All of it was gross. I can't wait for mommy to see all the gross dirt. Oh! And maybe give me a warm bath when we get home! Oh, mommy always knew how to give nice warm baths. I don't like the soap though, it tastes gross.
But seriously though, how long is right back?
Not that I mind. It's nice out, but lonely. I don't like being by myself. It's getting cold now too. The sky is all dark, I'm scared of the dark. But Mommy doesn't know that. When it gets dark I just cuddle with her on her bed and she makes me feel safe.
Oh! Maybe Mommy's helping those strange men move those boxes outside? Mommy had been putting things in the boxes the last couple days, talking on her phone a lot too. That has to be it. Mommy always was kind, she loved helping, and petting my belly.
It's colder now, and less of those fast cars are moving on the street in front of me, and it's quiet. I wish she would come now. I don't want to wait anymore. I'm starting to shiver, and I'm hungry. And every time I see bright lights my tired tail starts wagging. I want to see her car.
Maybe I shouldn't worry. Any minute now Mommy will come untie me from this stupid pole, and take me home.
I laid in the gross dirt and rested my head on my paws, staring at the empty street.
I'm a good girl, and Mommy will be right back. | Field report for planet SOLARIS III
There is strong evidence of a race having lived here, with many formations of stone standing in ways that must have been intended.
The only life found however is single-celled and carbon based, we have yet to discover anything else. Though there are a great quantity of bare endoskeletons in some of the structures.
The radiation levels on the surface are immense, I would suspect that to be the reason the world is so barren, though I cannot imagine an event that could have caused such cataclysmic radiation so quickly. If it was present before the race would not have developed to construct these buildings, so it must have been a sudden occurrence.
We have found evidence of writing, art and other cultural heritage from this race, we shall try and decipher their language but the copies we have found so far have been in poor condition, and it may take time.
My only hunch about this planet is that somehow there was a self-executed mass extinction event that involved large quantities of radioactive materials. Though why any race would do such a thing is beyond me, in all 370 worlds I have scouted I don't believe I've ever seen a race that would go as far as damage their only habitat.
The culture, crafts, intelligence and sense of community I feel this race must have had seems to point completely against this conclusion.
But that is all lost now, the race is extinct, so we can only hope to celebrate the scraps of culture they left behind.
As a side note there was an interesting find with one of the smaller endoskeletons, The skeleton's arms were wrapped around it. It seems to be a squishy representation of their physiology, It's purpose confused the team that found it, so we've sent it to you with this report, it may give more of an insight as to the appearance of these creatures. |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | I remember the way she looked at me as the needle went in. Big green eyes full of fear and pain. Soon they became dilated. She sought me out, her head nudging my hand. Purring.
The noises that escaped my throat as reality hit me.
The smell of the earth as my brother dug her a deep grave, it began to rain. How appropriate it was, as I was holding my dead friend.
My only friend, so quickly stilled.
I kissed her on her cold little nose, wrapping her in her favorite blanket. Giving her back to the earth.
Sometimes I see her in the corner of my eye, sometimes in my dreams.
But when I wake, I am alone and my bed is cold.
Where are you, little cat? | If I could say a thousands things
I would
To make you stronger
To trust me
I know you more than you think I know
You've struggled
You've been in that dark place
Searching around for a flashlight
Wanting a floodlight
And nothing more than a firefly floats past
The dreams you thought up
Crushed because of your thought stupidity
Every wish on the table
Displayed for the whole world to see
And knocked down
Out of jealousy
Or maybe knocked down unknowingly
But everyone seemed to have night vision
Where you stumbled
They ran
Like a failure, you lay down in your own self hate
And waited for the one who never came
Maybe you never went through that
Or maybe it's just another dusty memory to be filed
And left on the shelf to rot
But for those living through it
That's all they see
And I know that
I got a note today
At my darkest hour
From somebody I barely know
Although I can see more than just another bug floating through the darkness
This note shines like a lighthouse on a foggy shore
And I hold on to this note
And you should too
Because it will stick with you forever
It's more than a spark
It's a flame to get your revolution ignited
Because you're strong enough to lead
And do you know why I know all this
It's because of our note
And it's because you're more powerful than you think
"I believe in you."
***
www.thearcherswriting.wordpress.com |
That is your only goal. | [WP] Make the reader cry. | I remember the way she looked at me as the needle went in. Big green eyes full of fear and pain. Soon they became dilated. She sought me out, her head nudging my hand. Purring.
The noises that escaped my throat as reality hit me.
The smell of the earth as my brother dug her a deep grave, it began to rain. How appropriate it was, as I was holding my dead friend.
My only friend, so quickly stilled.
I kissed her on her cold little nose, wrapping her in her favorite blanket. Giving her back to the earth.
Sometimes I see her in the corner of my eye, sometimes in my dreams.
But when I wake, I am alone and my bed is cold.
Where are you, little cat? | My mouth struggled to let loose a single word. A single word is all I wanted to say.
"Help."
It might have been futile. When the earthquake hit, I'm sure many people fled or have found themselves in a situation similar to mine. I was trapped under the remains of a wall. I think my head was pinned against the ground. I could only look to my right. I was unable to move anything but my eyes. Hell, I couldn't even feel anything anymore.
I heard the word. But it didn't come from my mouth. It wasn't my voice. It was my boyfriend's.
My face was covered in blood and dust. I could feel it. My eyes were dried out. If any more moisture left them they would surely crack and fall out. I focused my eyes on him. He had blood running down the side of his face. His hair was tangled with stones and rocks. He was crawling on the ground, dragging himself across the road. A trail of blood followed him. His legs did not.
We made eye contact. He shouted my name. I was too weak to respond. With renewed vigour, he dragged himself faster than I thought possible.
Soon, he was by my side. Tear drops stained the ground beneath him. He noticed my eyes flick from his face to the ground. With no legs, he still tried to help me. He picked up bricks and tossed them aside. His motions were becoming less coordinated. He was passing out from blood loss.
"D-d-don't die," he said, exhaling, "I-I-I c-can get y-you out."
He was struggling to talk. Yet he was pouring all his energy into digging me up out of the ground. If it took both hands and he had to lay on his stomach while pulling it away from me, he would still attempt it.
"I-I-I-I think help is c-coming s-s-soon."
He collapsed then. He was out of breath. He looked up at me. Life was fading from his eyes.
"I-I'm sorry..."
He closed his eyes. His head fell to the ground. He exhaled for one last time as I watched helplessly. |
[WP] Your entire super hero career has been to help people, often with unconventional methods and the people are never on your side. Today a new "hero" shows up and says you've been the villain all along. | I hear him come in because he's loud. I was loud too when I was younger. Flashy. Anything for the spectators. Anything for the fame. He must have broken down an outer wall to get in, as if that were necessary. I'm sure he expects it to be on the front of the papers tomorrow. I hope the whole damned building collapses because of it. It won't hurt him, but it will make him feel like an idiot.
I point three fingers at the last three bodies, and the air blurs. Up close, it looks like heat distortion, but it's not hot. From far away, it looks like little white strings shoot out of my fingertips and latch onto what i'm moving. The Puppeteer--that's what the world has taken to calling me.
I flex my fingers and the strings bend and pull. The bodies slide across the tile and come to rest near the others. Twenty-seven in all. I take a tarp out of my pack and, with my power, I lay it over all the casualties so that I don't have to look at their staring, empty faces.
"Marion?"
I hear his footsteps because the building is silent now except for my own breathing--which is loud in the gas mask I'm wearing. Marion is what he calls me. Some idiot play on words about marionettes. He tried to get it to stick in the media, but they like their "Puppeteer." That should have been a lesson to him--that you can't get people to do whatever you want--but I don't think he learned it. Not yet, anyway.
"Marion! I know you're here!"
My real name, incidentally, is Charlie. Nobody will acknowledge it because it's too normal.
"Where are you, Marion?"
"Here," I say. It's muffled from the mask, and really I don't even know why I'm still wearing this damned thing anyway. I take it off and repeat myself. "I'm here."
He steps around the corner and faces me. Tall boots, loud colors. Fucking idiot youth. I wear all black because it's functional and comfortable. Subtle. But no, the reporters say I wear it because it matches my soul.
He's glowing, although that's nothing new. He always glows a little from whatever-the-hell happened to him to give him his gifts. He looks around, lets his gaze settle on the tarp.
I've been putting this moment off for too long, and all the things I always planned to say are slipping away. I stay silent.
"You're a monster," he says.
"I'm a lot of things."
I barely spit out the last word before he's dashing toward me. Overzealous punk. He's fast, and he hits hard. I know from experience. This time I'm ready, though. I flex my fingers and those not-heat lines shoot out again. My puppet strings.
I catch his hand in the air and he freezes two feet away from me. I wrap the strings around his wrists and ankles. I put nine of them on him and hold tight. His face contorts with rage and I fight the compulsion to laugh in his face. He thinks he's stronger than he is. I thought that too. Everything comes back around after all.
"That's not how it's going to go down," I say.
He struggles against the strings and I cinch them down. I bend his knees, cross his legs. I make him sit on the ground. I make the tenth string a coil and I float it under myself. I sit on it, and to any lookers-on it would look like I'm floating. Of course, there's nobody here to see this exchange. It's solely for my benefit, so that I can look down on him.
"I doubt much of this is going to penetrate your thick skull, but I should try. I really just want to let you sink, but contrary to what everyone seems to think, I have morals. I have sympathy."
"You don't have any of that!" he says. "You're evil!"
I roll my eyes. "Turn off the hero act, kid. There's nobody here to see it except me, and I'm not impressed."
He glares at me. If he had heat vision, I'm sure he'd be melting my face right now.
"I'm done," I say. "I'm tired. I'm weak. And I'm passing that baton to you, whether you like it or not. You're new at this, so listen to the journeyman." I take a deep breath. "You're going to have to make choices. Tough ones. With any luck, you'll make the right ones. But know that no matter what you do, people will hate you for it. They will find the worst things you do among all the good ones, and magnify them.
"There will be a missile strike headed for a bridge, and you'll know that there's a man in one car with sensitive intel that can save the world. You'll save him, and watch a school bus full of eight-year-olds turn into a fireball, and people will hate you for it. You'll hate yourself for it.
"You'll hear about a sinkhole that's about to open up under a crowded city, and you'll go and try to keep as many people safe as possible. You'll tear yourself into ten pieces trying to hold up buildings and put out fires, and people will still die. And the news. The news will say *you* opened the fucking sinkhole."
I pause to look at the tarp.
"You'll hear about idiot scientists toying with viruses and screwing up. You'll go to ground zero and tell them how it has to be. They'll beg for their lives, but you know that if they leave the building the infection will spread and wipe out millions. They show you pictures of their wives and children, and grovel on their hands and knees. They'll apologize to you, like you're God and can forgive them. And then you'll snap their necks, because it *has* to be done, and you *have* to do it because you're *special.*
"And the people won't say, 'He prevented an outbreak!' They'll say, 'He killed twenty-seven scientists!' You think your fans will save you, but the screams of terror are always louder than the screams of joy."
I'm not sure how much of this he's taking in, because I can't look at him anymore. I don't even care. Let him make his own mistakes now, I've said what I needed to say.
I relax the strings, pull them back in. He doesn't dash at me again. He doesn't move.
I lower myself to the ground, and then, for the first time in my life, I point the strings at myself. I aim into my own chest, flex my fingers.
I tear myself apart. | "What? Come again?"
"You're the villian," he said matter-of-factly. The arrogance of it all. Him, in his silver suit with red cap, flying above the rubble. Judging me!
"That's impossible, I save lives!"
"How so?" he asked me.
"Like, last week, for example. I blasted that whole hospital full of radiation to help the cancer victims!"
"You gave more people cancer than you cured!" he said.
"Well, what about that alligator that got stuck on the boat a few weeks back. I saved his life!" I cried.
"You sunk a ferry full of people and cars! It cost hundreds of thousands in insurance claims and the people had to be fished out of the river by the fire department!" he yelled.
"Well, what about when I saved that little girl from getting hit by that ball at the Yankee's game?"
"SHE WAS TRYING TO CATCH IT, ASSHOLE!"
"C'mon, it was heading right at her."
"YEAH, RIGHT AT HER GLOVE!"
I was starting to get a little bit offended. Here I am, all my hard work, being portrayed as less than helpful. "What about those kind fellas that had gotten locked out of that steel room? I helped them get the door open."
"You helped four guys rob a bank! That was a vault! It was supposed to keep them out!"
"The girl with the red baloon!"
"She was allergic to latex!"
"The plane that almost crashed into a lake!" I was getting desperate now.
"You dropped it on top of an elementry school." He said. "Hundreds of little kids died!"
Wow, was it really true? "What about that Army that was invading Florida six months ago? I stopped an entire invading Army, c'mon!"
"You mean the national guard trying to provide relief to the hurricane victims? Good job, guy."
"Well mother fuck..." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | My neighbor was a bit of a pyromaniac growing up, which was fine. We weren't old enough to drive anywhere. Our parents both worked long hours, and -- to be honest -- at that age, I would have been friends with just about anyone.
So pryo on bud! And, yeah, count me in too.
We started innocently enough, burning the hair off my little sister's Barbie Dolls. Is it weird that the dolls' hair smells better to me after a good singe? My neighbor disagreed, but what did he know.
Warning labels with the words "flammable" became harbingers of awesome afternoons to come. And boy did they.
As I got older, my interests switched to girls and our quests to find the next great kabob grew less and less frequent.
When I got my first girlfriend, my neighbor invited to two of us over to play a game he called "Fahrenheit 451" in an effort to rekindle (I know, I'm sorry) our friendship.
I was Guy Montag, my lady friend was Clarisse McClellan (even back then I was never the faithful type) and my neighbor was "The Hound."
Best. time. ever.
For the sake of keeping her real name out of things, I'll just say that "Ms. McClellan" didn't bother to hang around with me for too much longer.
I blamed my neighbor for freaking out the potential love of my life and I ditched him and our little hobby in the process.
As it turned out, "Ms. McClellan" wasn't the only girl that would eventually stop hanging out with me. There were more. A lot more and with my neighbor long gone, there was no one left to blame.
I started to put the moves on every women I met. At any given point, I would be secretly seeing at least three of those monsters at once. But deep down I knew they'd eventually leave me.
Sometimes, I'd help them end things just to feel a part of the process.
I could have been sneaking around with 15 at a time. It didn't change things. I knew that each and every one would eventually go. Whether they found out about the others or not wasn't the real issue.
The problem was with the now middle-aged, stupid, unlovable me.
It was around my 50th birthday that a thought dawned on me.
The last time that I could remember being happy -- like, truly friggin happy -- was when I was burning things with my freak of a neighbor.
I could still remember his number by heart.
I got drunk and called it one night.
"Hey, can [name redacted] come over and play?" I think I m-m-mumbled into the phone.
"Um, I think you have the wrong number buddy," a man in what sounded like his early 20's replied, before laughing just loud enough for me to hear and hanging up the phone.
I could tell he hand not intended for me to hear him laugh. It didn't matter. Screw that guy.
The bottle in my hand burst with the pressure of my grip. I didn't pick it up. Instead, I got another.
I drank until there was nothing left in the house. Anything to escape this. Then, I went to the liquor store for more.
I walked the overly-lit isles with a hand over half of my face to help manage the spinning until my free eye -- and then both of my eyes -- locked on something familiar.
A warning label!
"I bet this will burn.." I thought to my stupid still-unlovable self, as I grabbed a hold of the clear glass bottle.
The fact that the cashier needed two different credit cards to cover the cost of the liquid didn't matter to me in the least.
I stumbled back home, poured an oversized tumbler for myself, and dug through three different drawers before I managed to find a working lighter.
God my life was a mess.
Halfway through the first sip of whatever I'd purchased, a thought occurred to me.
Up went the bottom of the glass, its contents pouring all over my face and chest (it was colder than you'd expect). I grabbed the still half-full bottle and doused a circle around myself with the rest.
The smell of the room burnt my nose. I loved it.
I flicked on the lighter with a cheshire cat smile.
I don't remember much else, other than sitting there, in the heat of the moment. | Waiting in line at the food bank with my mother,I awkwardly shuffle at her side. My eyes on the floor, only looking up to catch the eyes of another hungry soul who had, in that moment of gripping hunger that gnaws at the insides got in line, and waited...and waited. Hoping that the generosity of strangers was not about to run short anytime soon.
Its not what most people call a happy childhood, A world away from the normal memories of your parents taking you the zoo, of buying you that first bike, of taking the family portrait where you all look so serene and stupidly happy. The bread and butter of the middle class who live in a world where paycheck to paycheck is a distant term, used in the reports you watch on the news, to describe the life of those people you tell your kids to stay away from, or feel sorry for, or both.
I grew up always wanting, needing, and always seeing those who never had to.
I don't fully remember the first time I bought some change to the world, balanced the scales. The black spots in my memory ooze red from what I did but I am only doing what needs to be done. The news called me the dime killer. seems right. It'll seem right soon to the man kneeling in front of my feet. The last think he'll taste is the true price of a life without considering others. I throw the roll of dimes onto the floor and push my pistol against his temple
"Now, put your money where your mouth is." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I used to love peoplewatching. Every group has its variances, such as weight, intelligence, or haircolor. I'd actively seek large gatherings, whether at a mall, the local Walmart, some random party an acquaintence invites me to, you get the idea. See, I made up a game where I'd watch and puzzle who is what kind of person. It's not very hard to figure out rankings on looks or volume, but things like intelligence and political alignment requires a fair bit of subtlety, if you're playing by the rules.
I put a lot of thought into my game, and for a long time I really enjoyed it. The problem is, I took it a little too far. As I kept playing my game, I learned how predictable people are, and even the traits I thought beyond my grasp became mere child's play to identify. This made me even more popular at parties as the idiots began to think I was some sort of psychic, while coworkers found my assessments, though accurate, in bad taste.
For a little while, this new aspect of play reignited my passion for the game, and I kept going. It didn't take long before the novelty wore off, and I was back in my slump. At parties, I was too popular; at work, I was ostracized. Some folks might say I got what was coming to me, and they're probably be right. That's when I knew the game was over, and this epiphany opened my eyes to just how completely hollow my life was.
I stopped going to parties, and the invitations slowed to a trickle. In a matter of months, they'd come full stop. Since I nolonger judged and ridiculed my coworkers, my job performance improved. I became more approachable, making *real* friends for the first time in ages. I met an awesome gal, settled down, and lived a pretty normal life. I really did manage to make something meaningful out of my meager existance, and cried (in the manliest way possible, of course) with joy when I carried my wife over the threshold of our new home. The rules that had once been second nature became trivial, and I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that sure, it's easy to point out other people's flaws when you hold yourself on a pedistal, but it's far more rewarding to live your life intentionally overlooking everyone else's flaws in favor of finding and fixing your own. Ignorance really is bliss. | Waiting in line at the food bank with my mother,I awkwardly shuffle at her side. My eyes on the floor, only looking up to catch the eyes of another hungry soul who had, in that moment of gripping hunger that gnaws at the insides got in line, and waited...and waited. Hoping that the generosity of strangers was not about to run short anytime soon.
Its not what most people call a happy childhood, A world away from the normal memories of your parents taking you the zoo, of buying you that first bike, of taking the family portrait where you all look so serene and stupidly happy. The bread and butter of the middle class who live in a world where paycheck to paycheck is a distant term, used in the reports you watch on the news, to describe the life of those people you tell your kids to stay away from, or feel sorry for, or both.
I grew up always wanting, needing, and always seeing those who never had to.
I don't fully remember the first time I bought some change to the world, balanced the scales. The black spots in my memory ooze red from what I did but I am only doing what needs to be done. The news called me the dime killer. seems right. It'll seem right soon to the man kneeling in front of my feet. The last think he'll taste is the true price of a life without considering others. I throw the roll of dimes onto the floor and push my pistol against his temple
"Now, put your money where your mouth is." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was led down a dark corridor, each step heavier than the last. Centurions to either side of me, Cassius and Gaius? Something like that. I’d like to believe I could take them down singlehandedly, and maybe I could have twenty years ago. But now I am slow, and my limbs do not course with fire as they once did. They are shackled, and the blisters and sores burn with the slightest movement.
Finally, I reach the end. A blinding light, greeted by thousands of yells and jeers. As I walk into the middle of the stage, I see rocks being tossed towards me. The merciful: rotting fruit. I do not look at any one of those barbaric apes calling my name, savoring the inevitable taste of blood upon this dusty floor.
Finally, the man of the hour himself appears. Emperor Caligula, in his so-called glory. He sits down, amused to see me in my battered state. He stands up, and the crowd hushes.
“Brothers and sisters of Rome! Today we have the execution of the traitor, Marcus Aemilius Lepidus, for treason against the state. We have a special performance from him today: Damnatio ad bestias. And no less, by the undefeated champion, slayer of over 200 men! Should Lepidus actually slay this one, he shall be set free.
Bullshit. If I had somehow mustered the ability to slay this lion, Caligula would just throw something else at me. And this treason? I walked in on him fucking his sister’s brains out within my own private study. Long live the emperor, indeed.
Behind me, the guards removed my shackles, and threw me a rusted gladius. As they left, I could hear the gates creak open as something stirred behind it. Once the opening was wide enough, it lunged out. Hundreds of pounds of muscle and claw, charging at me. I readied myself, prepared to stab it in the mouth as it’s maw gaped at me.
I didn’t stand a chance. As the beast tore itself into my stomach, tearing at my face as I screamed, Caligula laughed.
“What’s the matter, dear Marcus? Cat got your tongue?”
| Waiting in line at the food bank with my mother,I awkwardly shuffle at her side. My eyes on the floor, only looking up to catch the eyes of another hungry soul who had, in that moment of gripping hunger that gnaws at the insides got in line, and waited...and waited. Hoping that the generosity of strangers was not about to run short anytime soon.
Its not what most people call a happy childhood, A world away from the normal memories of your parents taking you the zoo, of buying you that first bike, of taking the family portrait where you all look so serene and stupidly happy. The bread and butter of the middle class who live in a world where paycheck to paycheck is a distant term, used in the reports you watch on the news, to describe the life of those people you tell your kids to stay away from, or feel sorry for, or both.
I grew up always wanting, needing, and always seeing those who never had to.
I don't fully remember the first time I bought some change to the world, balanced the scales. The black spots in my memory ooze red from what I did but I am only doing what needs to be done. The news called me the dime killer. seems right. It'll seem right soon to the man kneeling in front of my feet. The last think he'll taste is the true price of a life without considering others. I throw the roll of dimes onto the floor and push my pistol against his temple
"Now, put your money where your mouth is." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Late to the party but here's my first wp submission:
The creature awoke on the first of May and laid still awhile in the morning sun. The early rays barely warmed his small bones, but to him it was a warm bath after his long years of training. He had spent what seemed like a lifetime preparing, and today he was finally allowed out of the mound and into the human world, the world that started at the top of his world and stretched on to the heavens where the gods resided in their golden seats.
All around the village, preparations were being made. The human world was aflutter with excitement and merriment. Bakers were decorating towering white cakes with roses and lily of the valley, minstrels were warming their voices and tuning their instruments, ladies were tightening corsets and bustling satin skirts and weaving multi-strand braids through their hair. Men were spending their silver on shaves and shoes and spirits, and children were pulled by their mothers from their games and bathed and scrubbed until their skin was pink and sweet-smelling again.
The creature walked through the village until he came to the grand house in the center. This was the one. The large blue home with the rose garden behind it. Today the garden was filled with matching white chairs, all in neat rows and columns, and at the end they faced a lovely arch which was grown over with pink roses. Behind this, he sat, unable to be seen by the human folk, and he waited.
Time ticked by, he knew not how to measure. Finally, the garden was bustling with people, and then, at long last, they were seated quietly facing the arch. Slowly, people began to walk down the center path between the rows of seats, ending in two lines on either side of the arch. Two by two, ladies and gentlemen walked the aisle and split at the end. A row of three women, a row of three men. A little girl with a basket of flowers and petals. A plump lady with crinkled eyes and a tall young man who kept coughing nervously. A man with a gray mustache and a beaming young lady with roses in her hair.
This was it. This was his moment. At long, long last, he would put his training to work. The creature stood. He lifted his bow and reached behind him to retrieve a slender arrow with a point like a dragon's tooth. He aimed carefully, his eyes piercing his subject, and he let it go.
The arrow split as it whistled through the air. The marks were hit: the beaming young lady and one of the gentlemen to the side of the arch blinked. She looked at him, and he at her. She smiled coyly and his heart skipped a beat.
Suddenly, the creature whirled through space and came to with a large pop back in the mound. His mentor was raging furiously at him. "No, Cupid, how could you?! You have royally ruined this occasion and single-handedly caused the scandal of the century for this poor village. You were supposed to hit one of her ladies in waiting, the golden-haired maid beside her. What have I told you about weddings, Cupid?"
Cupid swallowed back tears. He had forgotten the age-old rule about weddings from his training, and he was unlikely to get another chance like this one for a long time to come. He looked at his mentor, his face white and sullen, and recited, "Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." | Waiting in line at the food bank with my mother,I awkwardly shuffle at her side. My eyes on the floor, only looking up to catch the eyes of another hungry soul who had, in that moment of gripping hunger that gnaws at the insides got in line, and waited...and waited. Hoping that the generosity of strangers was not about to run short anytime soon.
Its not what most people call a happy childhood, A world away from the normal memories of your parents taking you the zoo, of buying you that first bike, of taking the family portrait where you all look so serene and stupidly happy. The bread and butter of the middle class who live in a world where paycheck to paycheck is a distant term, used in the reports you watch on the news, to describe the life of those people you tell your kids to stay away from, or feel sorry for, or both.
I grew up always wanting, needing, and always seeing those who never had to.
I don't fully remember the first time I bought some change to the world, balanced the scales. The black spots in my memory ooze red from what I did but I am only doing what needs to be done. The news called me the dime killer. seems right. It'll seem right soon to the man kneeling in front of my feet. The last think he'll taste is the true price of a life without considering others. I throw the roll of dimes onto the floor and push my pistol against his temple
"Now, put your money where your mouth is." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | Waiting in line at the food bank with my mother,I awkwardly shuffle at her side. My eyes on the floor, only looking up to catch the eyes of another hungry soul who had, in that moment of gripping hunger that gnaws at the insides got in line, and waited...and waited. Hoping that the generosity of strangers was not about to run short anytime soon.
Its not what most people call a happy childhood, A world away from the normal memories of your parents taking you the zoo, of buying you that first bike, of taking the family portrait where you all look so serene and stupidly happy. The bread and butter of the middle class who live in a world where paycheck to paycheck is a distant term, used in the reports you watch on the news, to describe the life of those people you tell your kids to stay away from, or feel sorry for, or both.
I grew up always wanting, needing, and always seeing those who never had to.
I don't fully remember the first time I bought some change to the world, balanced the scales. The black spots in my memory ooze red from what I did but I am only doing what needs to be done. The news called me the dime killer. seems right. It'll seem right soon to the man kneeling in front of my feet. The last think he'll taste is the true price of a life without considering others. I throw the roll of dimes onto the floor and push my pistol against his temple
"Now, put your money where your mouth is." | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It never made sense why Alice never played with her cat. She did acknowledge him, sort of. A little girl with long brown hair always wearing green dresses made entirely of silk she had everything a child her age could want. Although her parents came from a long line of old money, they always made sure Alice had her chores in which she cared for all of her animals. She had a small dog named Simon and even a Pony called Marie that rested with her family’s other Horses in the stables. She loved her pets. She fed them, took care of them, even showed them off to her friends at school. But for some reason, though, she seemed to be afraid of her cat. He was brown and spotty, almost like a tiger. He loved to play with the other animals ever since her parents brought him home from their house on the beach. None of the animals seemed to want to play with such an overexcited cat, chasing imaginary mice all over the yard. One evening he even broke her mother’s favorite vase while chasing said imaginary friends. This cat, you could say, was not very popular. He didn’t even have a name. Day after day he kept to himself watching Alice play with the others from the window wondering why he had no friends.
One day Alice was taking her mid afternoon nap while all of a sudden, the horses stared to get a little frisky in the barn and made a lot of noise that woke her up suddenly. Even her Pony, Marie, became roweled. She heard her dog bark and wondered what was going on.
“Stop it!” she yelled at her animals.
“What’s going on here?” she uttered.
As she looked around the stable, she saw something weaving around in the hay.
“A mouse! A Mouse!” she screamed.
“Cat! Cat! Where are you? Come and get this mouse!” she yelled some more.
The cat was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was not feeling welcome. Who knows where he wondered off?
“Perhaps another family?” she thought.
Suddenly the mouse was not alone. He had another much bigger mouse with him. The bigger mouse charged at Alice. Scared and frozen, Alice stood in shock as the big vermin headed in her direction, faster and faster.
“Cat!” she screamed and then fell to the floor unconscious.
As Alice awoke in her bed, she realized it was just a dream. Her cat sitting by her bed licking his paws clean.
“Oh, Cat! How I’ve missed you!” she said picking him up and squeezing him tight.
“I guess I don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone.”
| https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | A shock of pain jolted through my head as the car door slammed behind me. I let out a growl as it dissipated to the dull throb as it had been all morning. The depressing convenience store in front of me had been a safe-haven after late nights of drinking- normally nights spent alone. I've come to realize the employees here know me better than any of my friends.
I went to push open the door and slammed into it full force, just to bring another wave of pain to the back of my skull. Through squinted eyes, I look at the door to see in red, capital letters, "PULL." I heeded to the sun-faded suggestion and pulled the door open to have a wave of air-conditioning berrate my face- refreshing.
I stumble towards the coffee machine, itching to drink every last drop I could fit into a cup. As I was about to pull the lever to release the caffeinated goodness, I saw a light flash:
"NOT FRESH IF LIGHT IS BLINKING!"
But it was too late. I needed the coffee. A stale hazelnut scent filled the air and my mouth watered as I brought the cup to my nose.
I shuffled towards the register and set it on the counter in front of the young woman working. *"She must be new,"* I thought as I read "Janet" on her name tag.
She looked at me and smiled, "Do you have your loyalty card?"
I groggily dug into my back pocket only to realize I forgot my wallet. At home. I looked up to her and gave a disappointed smile, "I forgot my wallet at home... Sorry."
Her face lit up, "Oh, well if you know the phone number linked to it, I can look you up!" I rattled off my number as she punched it in. She smiled and looked at me and gave an energetic smile, "Sir, you have enough store credit to get this coffee free!"
I nodded and accepted. For a moment I thought I would have to go without my morning coffee.
But I guess there's credit where it's due. | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The Dragon
The young man entered the dragons cave. It was a long haul up the hill and his father's sword weighed heavily upon him as did the ancient Dragon Shield. The shield was made of a single scale of an ancient dragon and the only substance capable of deflecting the dragons fiery breath. The cave was not dark for clinging to the wall thousands of microscopic plants sent forth an eerie blue light. The young man was fearful but resolute in his purpose. Should he succeed in his quest to kill the dragon great power would be his as well as fame and fortune.
He heard a rustling noise and turned to the right. It was a dark alcove and the light from the cave did not penetrate the darkness. He brought his shield around to face it and peeked around the edge. His sword gripped tightly in his hand hovered an inch above the ground and the flash of reflected light and gave away the shaking fear that gripped him.
Slowly, two enormous green eyes appeared in the darkness. The young man could see the iris of each focus upon him.
"So," rumbled a deep cavernous voice from the darkness, "a brave knight summons the courage to challenge me! Know this, I am not easily vanquished and you are but a young lad. Mind you, I appreciate your courage but I discount your intelligence. Whosoever challenges me is a fool and dies by it! However, should you be victorious it will not be as you imagine."
"I may not be strong but I have courage and I will slay you!" Said the young man. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
"Indeed, for that is truer than you know – Then battle it shall be!" Said the Dragon as orange yellow and crimson flame spread across the top of the cave.
The young man sheltered behind the shield as the flames rolled past him. There was a smell of ash and age in the hot flame but he did not lose faith. No, indeed he advanced into the flame pressing his shield ahead and dragging his sword behind him.
The dragons foot stamp down directly in front of his shield and small rocks ricocheted off the walls. The young man did not waver in his purpose. The flame had stopped which allowed him to bring forth his sword and thrust it into the chest of the Dragon before him.
Hot blood spilled from the wound completely covering the young man. The shield and his sword melted in the liquid without a hint of heat. It was a crashing noise as the Dragon fell then there was nothing left but darkness and silence. The young man also fell unconscious to the floor the cave barely aware that his body fell on an enormous stack of gold coins.
The young man awoke feeling a new strength throughout his body. He had rarely felt this good before bit did sometimes after intense physical exercise. The cave was no longer dark. He could see it clearly although the colors tended more towards the red end of the spectrum. Below him and far back into the darkened cave he could see mound after mound of precious gold.
"I am now the richest man in the land!" He thought. Raising his head he shouted, "I am the richest man in the land!"
Something wasn't right. His voice was too deep it reverberated too long off the walls of the cave. His throat burned ever so slightly. He cleared his throat. Suddenly, the cave was illuminated as he saw a long stream of flame before him.
He looked down and saw the melted remains of his sword and shield but they were now tiny. He got up and tried to walk but his back would not allow him to stand erect so he crawled. Moments later he stood outside the cave. Water from a nearby spring pooled a short distance from the entrance. His throat was dry so he went to get a drink. As he looked into the still water the face of a mighty Dragon looked back.
An acid tear sizzled on a rock as the dragon took to the sky driven by hunger.
"Indeed," he thought, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger!" | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | When I think of home, I think of my red rose bush decadently sitting at the edge of my front lawn. The little aged and weathered garden gnome eternally watching over my small patch of earth. The crow that perches on top of my blue tin mailbox each day, whispering his secrets into the box whenever he wishes.
I also think about the neighbor, Katherine. Her beautiful blonde hair that runs like silk down her neck, and her long slender body that shone every morning as she walked her raggedy brown Scotty dog. She always waved back. She always peered into my house looking for me, wondering where I was, not knowing I was staring back. I wished she stopped by and said hello, and to my surprise she did one day. She caught me while I was in bed. Her yellow sun dress waved in the air and her blonde hair danced in my own living room. It pained me to see her smile turn into a look of shock. A pain rose from my shivered spine as she turned to meet my face. I had to cry as I did it, she had found my secret just like the crow. Wrapped up in a tarp stained in red sitting at my kitchen table awaiting breakfast.
Poor Katherine. She had always waved back.
When I think of home I think of my rose bush, the secretive crow, and my blue tin mailbox. I don't think of the white walls that keep me in. I think of Katherine. Poor Katherine. She still waves from time to time, always trying to peer in to see what I'm doing.
I guess curiosity killed the Kat.
| https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | Bill felt the cool metal of the 9mm pressed against his temple. His eyes were parched and red from both lack of sleep and tears. The rope that bound his hands and feet dug into his bare skin.
He didn't know why he was there. There was no reason Bill could think of that could have prompted this man to capture him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf, helpless. His captor screamed at him;
"Do I have to repeat myself?! Stand up!"
With shaky legs he resembled a new born fawn standing for the first time. His captor tucked his gun away and pulled out measuring tape.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Bill asked. A deep seated fear began to consume him, one more intense than ever before.
"Shhh." His captor replied in an almost soothing tone; the kind of tone a mother would use towards her crying baby.
The captor took Bill's height measurement then walked to the wall behind them. Bill had not noticed the wall before. It was well lit from many different angles by different colored stage lights. On the wall were painted squares 'a bit larger than someone's head', Bill thought. Every square on the wall was at a different hight, numbered, and painted different colors; and each were spaced out a few feet from each other. The reason for these numbered squares baffled Bill, though his confusion turned to fear as he noticed the dried, crudely wiped-off blood stained into all of them.
Bill's captor began measuring the hight of each square until he decided on one. He then pulled out his gun and a digital camera, pointed both at Bill and said,
"Back to Square one." | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | The day I discovered I had cancer was probably the second worst day of my life. Most of my life has been filled with misery and despair, and hearing the news, I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being punished for something I didn't know I did.
I had been in remission for a couple of years. I had cancer in my throat. I didn't smoke, so it didn't make sense to me, but I was always bad with biology in high school. I would go in and out of appointments every month to check if my cancer had returned. It didn't. When I first found the lump, I thought I was a goner. But now I know I am. I've just heard the worst news of my life. I have a second form of cancer and a new lump, now in my breast. I'm about to return home to my husband and share the bad news.
"Hi Honey." I didn't want to say the bad news, but my husband knew right away.
"One lump or two?" | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | He had been in therapy for years, but he couldn't shake the habit. It was habitual...no shrink, no drug has ever really helped. Some had quelled the feeling, but nothing could completely kill it. That said, he kept up with the therapy because the court ordered him to, so he walked into the door of yet another new psychiatrists office.
Did that make it six? No, seven. Maybe seven over the past few years, he struggled to remember at this point. It was like asking someone how many times they took a piss last Thursday.
He sat down on the psychiatrists couch.
"So tell me about the latest incident".
He shrugged. Talking about it still made him embarrassed. "I was the supermarket and the urge hit me. I could help myself" he said sheepishly.
"We all have urges sometimes, but what is the attraction to masturbating outside?"
This was a new doctor, so he had to retread old ground with him sometimes.
"Some times, you just need to beat around the bush". | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was a simple deal, or so I thought. There I was at my lowest point, homeless, broke, with a needle in my arm. The guy in leathers came to me, glowing faintly, but it could have been the drugs. I asked him to help me.
He did.
He became the voice on my shoulder. I caught breaks at every chance. Made money, got rich, enjoyed power. Then he whispered for me to kill. And I did. And I loved it. The bodies stacked up, but eventually I was caught.
The nurses in the chamber fixed the buckles on my limbs tight to the metal bed. I looked to the window where the families of my victims sat side by side with the Police who had chased me. Eager to watch the "State" bring justice. I was sure that my keeper had let me go. I'd fulfilled a bit of the devil's chaos, and now was my time to come join him.
Then I heard a quiet voice. Too quiet to make out.
Everyone left the chamber. A voice came over the loud speaker, but I didn't hear because I was straining to hear the voice. Some minutes went by, but then I heard the gas hiss into the room. At first, my breath caught, I coughed a couple times.
Suddenly I felt power. Strength. The room was a green haze. I pulled at my restraints and they came free. I smiled, suddenly sure that my job wasn't over. Smoothly I sat up on the table, and over the shrieking coming from the other side of the glass, I heard the voice. Oh so clear now.
*What does not kill you makes you stronger.* | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It was useless.
Three years since the accident, and I finally was able to crank out a C+ on an 8th grade general knowledge test. Then came the flood of words, branded into my mind from copious misuse. It was all bullshit. They meant absolutely nothing. I could even watch the way Dr. Vaughn's mouth moved, and know which meaningless phrase was about to be spat upon me.
"You're making real progress here, Fink." he drawled. I could tell his heart wasn't in this any more than mine. Fucking "real progress." It was as if he KNEW I was getting nowhere, but wanted to reaffirm me so I wouldn't give up on myself. Any hope I had for recovery was long gone.
"Yeah, yeah." I muttered as he wheeled me back to my room. Even if I could learn to learn again, I sure as hell wouldn't walk. Well, not for a long time anyways. It's hard to walk after you are run over by a dozing bus driver. Really fucking hard.
The worst part was feeling the same. I could read. I could write. I could speak like an adult. When the accident happened, I was in grad school. Two more months and I would be employed, ready to start my life. But no. Of course not. My fate was sealed from the start of it all. My head is as good as a rusty bucket with a hole in the bottom. I can't retain information. It took me three years, and what do I have to show for it? A god damn smiley face sticker next to a C+ with "you're making real progress." Yeah.
The worst part was my family. During holidays I could come home. My mom would cry on the drive over, makeup caked on her face like lavender mud. My dad hardly made eye contact with me anymore. I knew they didn't mean to be disappointed, but I could tell that they were. Their trophy son turned mush-brain, or at least the equivalent of that, condemned to a hospital bed with bi-annual promises to be sent home soon "for good."
"You need any help son?" Dr. Vaughn asked.
"I got it, I got it." I grunt as I pull myself into my bed from the wheelchair.
I zoned out while Dr. Vaughn read some chart to me and chattered about meaningless enzymes and tissue and the works. I knew what I was going to do. I had been planning this for weeks. Dr. Vaughn eventually shut his mouth and left my room. Well, time to write the note, I guess.
"Mom, Dad, and to any whom it may concern,
I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for dealing with all of this bullshit and the bills, and for trying to comfort me during these three terrible years. I'm sorry I am not the son that I used to be. I'm sorry I am not smart like used to be. I am so sorry that for all the good you were able to bring into my life, this is how it is going to end."
I paused. My hand trembled as I wrote. Beads of sweat dripped from my forehead onto the notepad. Strangely, though, there were no tears at all. Probably because I knew this was what had to be done. I removed the vial from the drawer. It's funny how such a small amount of liquid can make someone's heart seize. I continued writing.
"I know the doctors have been doing their best to get me back to my old self. I know they believe they can reverse a "good chunk" of the brain damage. I know you have spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to make me normal again, but I have given up. I think you have given up too. I know you still pay for the therapy, and the operations, but you guys gave up long before I did. I don't blame you. I just don't want to live like this anymore."
With that, I tossed back the vial. I hope that nurse knew what she was talking about. I couldn't afford for this to not work. My vision began to blur. I picked up the pen, and scrawled the rest of my note.
"I'm sorry, and I love you so much. I really don't blame you for anything. I cannot be fixed, and I have no hope of being fixed.
You can't fix stupid." | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I was sitting on the back porch, having a nice bourbon and coke. Enjoying the first days of summer. But my mind was still racing. That's why I was already drinking at 12:30pm. My brain wasn't used to the fact that I had retired yet. I am by nature, a workaholic.
And I start to think to myself, maybe I worked too hard. Maybe I didn't focus on what mattered. And then I really start to wonder that when I hear commotion from the front room of the house.
I grabbed my Glock I had laying on the table next to my drink and I darted up from the wicker chair faster than any 60 year old I knew. But I felt my knees creak. I was getting too old for this shit. And my heart starting racing for two reasons. One: This house was my retirement house. As in, no one but the top members of the family were supposed to know where I was. And two: My wife is in the living room watching TV.
When I get to the next room I see her being held by some crony. hand over her mouth.
"Let her go, man."
"That can happen. I just need you to tell me one thing. The code."
"The code to what?" I said, but I knew what he meant. The code to my security box, with all my emergency cash, priceless jewels, as well as paperwork with locations of safe-houses, and other incriminating paperwork.
The man shoved his pistol into my wife's temple. "Tell me now."
My wife screamed through his hand and tears started streaming down her face.
"It's Avalon. Now please don't hurt my baby..."
"We don't plan on it." he said. Then he turned the gun to me and he pulled the trigger.
And as the bullet careened toward my skull where it would lodge itself in fractions of a second, I thought to myself... "What mattered the most? Did work matter? Did I live right?"
I watched my wife in those split-seconds, and realized it was her. I should have spent my time on her. Not getting this giant house I would never get to enjoy with her. She was the thing I loved the most, and taking her for granted was my biggest regret. She was the answer.
And as I felt the bullet enter, I stared at her. Because you always find it in the last place that you look. | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | We all knew that it would happen one day. When I was a kid, there were movies about it. Some called it a singularity and they said that it was bound to happen if we kept on the path we were on.
It never mattered how much we were told that our technology was taking over our lives, we always craved more. It all started with smartphones and then what they called wearable tech, then they introduce the self driving cars and the refrigerators that would place online orders for your favorite food automatically when you were about to run out. The trend continued until eventually people were getting brain chip implants to control other devices.
Like always the rich were the first adopters and the technology trickled down to the rest of us over time. Only the poorest of people couldn't afford the implants. Only the poorest of us were left when the Chinese artificial intelligence broke its bounds and started taking over.
The AI saw humans as a parasite on the world that needed to be controlled in order to ensure its continued function. It used electrical signals through the chips to hijack our nervous systems and control us.
The few of us that are left spend our days hiding and hunting for food, living out our meager existance as best we can.
Today there was a raid on our small hunting party. One of the human drones managed to sneak up on us, I didn't see it until after it grabbed me in a bear hug. Lucky for me our leader smashed its head with a rock before it killed me.
We ran back to the cave we were using as our home. We thought we had managed to get away, we thought we were in the clear, but somehow they tracked us down.
Now I see that it was all my fault, I wasn't careful enough, I didn't see it coming. The caves hid us well enough from their aerial scans, but not from this. They tracked me to our home and trapped us.
It was too late by the time I realized.... i had a chip on my shoulder.
(first submission I hope its not buried, please tell me what you guys think.)
edit now i have a chip back to had.. still sounds weird but makes more sense | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | “Something’s coming.”
I hadn’t been sleeping, not really anyway. Just resting my eyes, I swear. I cleared my throat as quietly as I could.
“Is it her?”
Mon shook his head, “I can’t tell yet.” He was leaning against a chest high chunk of cinderblock, scanning out past the ruptured asphalt and rusted out cars for any movement. His eyes were better, so he had the scope. The slab of collapsed concrete that made up the roof of our hiding place only left a gap about a foot tall for us to peer out of. Plenty of view to see things coming before they could see us.
That was the idea anyway.
“It’s got to be her right?” I sat up straighter against the wall and ran my fingers through the can of bullets next to me. I knew how many there were, but counting them was a comfort in its own way.
Mon ignored my question, “How many left?”
“Seven.” He knew the answer before I said it. “Do you think she’s bringing water?”
“Dunno if it’s her yet.”
I nodded and felt the sweat beading on the back of my neck.
“Hey, don’t tell Sun I was sleeping.”
I glanced up, but Mon didn't say anything. He just kept his eye pressed against the rotting rubber of the scope, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
“Please don’t tell him, I don’t want him to get angry.” Mon just made a noncommittal sound and kept his attention on whatever he was watching. “It’s gotta be her. It’s past time for her to get here. I hope she found water. She must have found something-” I know I was babbling but at least I was keeping my voice down. “-after last time I’m sure she was careful.”
“Get ready.” Mon’s voice was barely above a whisper but it shut me up right away.
I scrambled to my knees and grabbed my rifle. As I loaded a bullet and pushed the bolt home I muttered, “Six left.”
My chest hit the wall and I braced as best I could, scanning for whatever had caught Mon’s attention.
There, moving slowly, carefully between the cars was a shape. In the gray dusk it looked human. But the Strange always did, at least until they got too close. That’s why Mon had the scope, because we had to be sure. You couldn't let a Strange get too close…
I aimed as best I could and strained to make out any detail. Whoever, whatever it was, was being careful, keeping to cover, no wonder Mon couldn't make it out.
*Please have red hair*, I thought as I rested my finger against the trigger.
“Is it her?” I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help it.
“Aim.”
I swallowed and tightened my finger, the figure would have no choice but to pass into the open now. I strained my eyes for any hint of color, but the figure was just gray moving against gray. It was in the open now, and I could hear Mon letting out a long slow breath. I did the same, preparing to fire.
*What if it’s her?* I shoved the thought to the back of my mind. Too late now, you couldn’t let the Strange get too close.
Mon’s breath hitched, “Wait!” his voice was a hiss. “It’s her!”
I released the trigger and slumped aside, relief flooding me. A moment later and we would have killed her. And then where would we be? “Thank God.”
Mon nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thank God, it’s Friday.” | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | "Just take it man."
"What the hell? I don't even want her."
"She's all I got man. It's either her or the clothes off my back."
"She's not even cute. No offense man but she's kind of gross."
"Listen man, you got me my dope, and a man must pay his debts. I'm not going out and robbing people - you know that. She'll do whatever you want. Just take her out first and she'll love you."
"Fine but I might just take her to the pound. I hate dogs"
"Yep well payback is always a bitch" | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | I had been watching her for days. Through the window of the dress shop downtown, while "reading" on a bench in the park, following her on her walks to work each morning. I always remained concealed; barely registering in the periphery, a shadow on the wall.
That's how it has to be. Someone that beautiful would never willingly want someone like me. Her skin is the perfect porcelain complement to her silky raven hair that cascades down past her shoulders. The smile that dances on her lips when she says good morning to the barista, the ferocity in her eyes when she is running that final mile every afternoon, that lean body compelling me to come closer. She makes me feel sub-human. She makes me feel less than.
I am not worthy.
I know where she lives. I know her studio apartment just up the street from the main downtown drag. I've been inside. I want to know her insides. I just want to know what she is like on the inside.
Sometimes I think I can read her mind. I've been with her long enough that I know which days she will order a cappuccino... I know that she'll buy the blouse on Thursday. I bet anything she'll cut her run short on Tuesday. I know her.
The first time I crept into her apartment was on a Friday. She was at work. I knew because I watched her greet her boss and co-workers with that ungodly smile that sent shivers up my spine.
She smiled at me that way once. It was the first time I saw her. I timidly walked into the coffee shop she loves so much. I wasn't expecting to meet my life's obsession that day. I approached the counter, intimidated by the variety of choices available to me. She saw the confounded look on my face and she said "My favorite is the hazelnut cappuccino. Try that, and I know you'll thank me." And she smiled. That smile. It was like something came alive in me when she smiled at me. I felt this - this stirring inside. I knew this would be something special.
I stammered out some stupid reply like, "thanks," and looked away.
Idiot.
I entered her apartment on a Friday. I used the spare key that she lovingly leaves for me underneath the welcome mat. She is very considerate that way. I think she knew I was planning on entering her apartment to look around. What I found was unbelievable.
Music. Paintings. Sculptures. Poems. She is an artist. Something I didn't know about her. I was taken aback. I read through her journals and writings, and my heart exploded with love and admiration. More than ever, I knew she was my life's goal. That soul - that beautiful soul.
Today isn't Friday. Today is Sunday. I followed her on her jog, which went a bit longer than usual, but that's okay. Today was going to be a big day, I think it would be best if she was a little tired out. The clouds were ominous. Big, dark, looming - it's like they knew what was about to happen.
Suddenly it is pouring. The rain on the pavement can barely conceal the pounding of my heart. She is running towards me. Oh no, no, no. She can't see me. This isn't part of the plan.
She runs right past me without a second look. As it should be.
I slowly follow her to her apartment. The rain turning violent. The wind so strong it nearly pushes her down. I hear a clap of thunder from the heavens.
She is inside her apartment now. I think she may hear me, just outside. She is very quiet, but the rain outside may be muffling any sounds from within.
I am clasping the key from under the mat. This is the key to my everything. I need to touch her. I need to know her insides. I slide the key into the lock.
"Hey! Who is there!?" Her body is up against the door. So is mine. We are so close. Just a few inches of wood keeps us apart.
I turn the key and push on the door, but she pushes back.
"Who's there? What do you want? I'm calling the police! I saw you following me today! I see you following me every day!"
I'm panicked. Push the door just a bit further. It's opening. Just a bit further, and now I've got my foot in the door. | https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ss49euDqwHA
this may be up your alley too for something that doesn't mean what we all thought it did. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | It never made sense why Alice never played with her cat. She did acknowledge him, sort of. A little girl with long brown hair always wearing green dresses made entirely of silk she had everything a child her age could want. Although her parents came from a long line of old money, they always made sure Alice had her chores in which she cared for all of her animals. She had a small dog named Simon and even a Pony called Marie that rested with her family’s other Horses in the stables. She loved her pets. She fed them, took care of them, even showed them off to her friends at school. But for some reason, though, she seemed to be afraid of her cat. He was brown and spotty, almost like a tiger. He loved to play with the other animals ever since her parents brought him home from their house on the beach. None of the animals seemed to want to play with such an overexcited cat, chasing imaginary mice all over the yard. One evening he even broke her mother’s favorite vase while chasing said imaginary friends. This cat, you could say, was not very popular. He didn’t even have a name. Day after day he kept to himself watching Alice play with the others from the window wondering why he had no friends.
One day Alice was taking her mid afternoon nap while all of a sudden, the horses stared to get a little frisky in the barn and made a lot of noise that woke her up suddenly. Even her Pony, Marie, became roweled. She heard her dog bark and wondered what was going on.
“Stop it!” she yelled at her animals.
“What’s going on here?” she uttered.
As she looked around the stable, she saw something weaving around in the hay.
“A mouse! A Mouse!” she screamed.
“Cat! Cat! Where are you? Come and get this mouse!” she yelled some more.
The cat was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was not feeling welcome. Who knows where he wondered off?
“Perhaps another family?” she thought.
Suddenly the mouse was not alone. He had another much bigger mouse with him. The bigger mouse charged at Alice. Scared and frozen, Alice stood in shock as the big vermin headed in her direction, faster and faster.
“Cat!” she screamed and then fell to the floor unconscious.
As Alice awoke in her bed, she realized it was just a dream. Her cat sitting by her bed licking his paws clean.
“Oh, Cat! How I’ve missed you!” she said picking him up and squeezing him tight.
“I guess I don’t know what I’ve got until it’s gone.”
| We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | A shock of pain jolted through my head as the car door slammed behind me. I let out a growl as it dissipated to the dull throb as it had been all morning. The depressing convenience store in front of me had been a safe-haven after late nights of drinking- normally nights spent alone. I've come to realize the employees here know me better than any of my friends.
I went to push open the door and slammed into it full force, just to bring another wave of pain to the back of my skull. Through squinted eyes, I look at the door to see in red, capital letters, "PULL." I heeded to the sun-faded suggestion and pulled the door open to have a wave of air-conditioning berrate my face- refreshing.
I stumble towards the coffee machine, itching to drink every last drop I could fit into a cup. As I was about to pull the lever to release the caffeinated goodness, I saw a light flash:
"NOT FRESH IF LIGHT IS BLINKING!"
But it was too late. I needed the coffee. A stale hazelnut scent filled the air and my mouth watered as I brought the cup to my nose.
I shuffled towards the register and set it on the counter in front of the young woman working. *"She must be new,"* I thought as I read "Janet" on her name tag.
She looked at me and smiled, "Do you have your loyalty card?"
I groggily dug into my back pocket only to realize I forgot my wallet. At home. I looked up to her and gave a disappointed smile, "I forgot my wallet at home... Sorry."
Her face lit up, "Oh, well if you know the phone number linked to it, I can look you up!" I rattled off my number as she punched it in. She smiled and looked at me and gave an energetic smile, "Sir, you have enough store credit to get this coffee free!"
I nodded and accepted. For a moment I thought I would have to go without my morning coffee.
But I guess there's credit where it's due. | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | *Berlin, 1921.*
*Tears are streaming down my face again as I place the roses on Gunther's grave. He was my best friend. It had been 5 years since his death on the Western Front, 5 years since I lost all faith in modern medicine. He caught a shot in the chest from the Tommies, and I carried him limping to the medics' tent. They told me that it was likely not fatal, that if they could just remove the bullet and seal the wound in time he could return home to his wife and children.*
*But did a stitch in time save?*
*Nein.* | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. | |
[WP] Write a story in which the last line is a common phrase, such as, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," but when we get to that line, it should have a totally different meaning from the common one. | At an outdoor table at the nicest café in Beverly Hills, a blonde sipped her coffee. Across the street in a van that was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, two men watched.
"Pretty little thing, huh Mickey?" said one man to the other.
"I guess."
"Her names Meadow, but you can think of her as a $200,000 paycheck, if you like."
"Suddenly she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Mickey grinned.
"That's the spirit."
"You always get us the best jobs, Marc."
"I know, I know. And this one'll be easy, too."
"Oh hey- some chick just showed up on a motorcycle. She's sitting at Meadow's table. That supposed to happen?"
"Probably the reporter. Apparently Meadow's supposed to be doing some sort of interview today."
_______________________________________________________________
Deena Horrowitz, self proclaimed journalist extraordinaire, was trying very hard not to hate Meadow Jones, self proclaimed America's sweetheart. Hating the starlet would make it harder to write a sympathetic article about her, and then Deena's boss would have another talk with her about how fashion magazines don't print articles written in scathingly sarcastic tones. Deena would like to keep her job, and that meant being able to find the good in the silicon enhanced scarecrow across from her.
"...And that's how I made Steven Segall cry," Meadow finished, wrapping up a story that Deena hadn't been even remotely listening to.
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Do you want to hear about the time Mathew McCaunaghey asked me out? Or, I mean, his publicist asked my publicist if I wanted to be photographed with him at a Knick's game, which is basically the same thing."
"Mm-hmm," replied Deena.
"Haha, I know, right?!" Meadow laughed. "You know what I love about you, Dina?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are a fantasmic listener!"
"Mm-hmm."
_______________________________________________________________
Mickey drove the car in a tight squeeling U-turn so that the side door faced the café table where Meadow and Deena were sitting. In about five seconds flat, Marc had opened the side door and yanked Meadow out of her seat, pulling her inside the van, as Deena watched on in shock. Mickey floored it, and the van rocketed away.
_____________________________________________________________
Shit, thought Deena. Now she'd gone and done it. She'd lost the starlet, straight up lost her. Deena turned to glare at Meadow's security guard, sitting at the next table over. He was still calmly sipping his cappuccino, as though nothing had happened.
"Hello?!" Deena called, grabbing his attention. "Aren't you going to do something about this?"
"Eh, Meadow'll be fine. Those thugs just want money, and she's got that."
"So what, someone in her family pays off the ransom, and then she gets let go?"
"Something like that."
"That'll take forever! My print deadline is tonight."
"Not my problem, kid."
Deena groaned. She left a twenty on the table for the waitress, and then got on her motorcycle, taking off after the kidnappers and leaving Meadow's useless security guard behind.
"Do me a favor and at least call the cops or something, ok?" Deena told the guard before she left.
The security guard continued to sip his cappuccino.
_______________________________________________________
"Is someone following us?" asked Mickey, spying Deena in his rearview mirror.
"It's that journalist," said Marc, taking a look for himself.
"What, is she crazy?" Mickey complained.
"Just make a couple quick turns and you'll lose her," said Meadow.
_______________________________________________________
After Deena had been tailing the kidnappers for something like twenty minutes, the car finally came to a squealing halt. Deena, suddenly keenly aware of the fact that she was totally unarmed and had no back up, nevertheless stopped her bike. Meadow might have been obnoxious, spoiled, and shallow- but she at least deserved someone to give two shits about her safety, or at least that's what Deena was telling herself. She was on something of an adrenaline high, feeling like a real hero, ready to face whatever thugs got out of the car. She glared at Micky and Marc when they stepped out.
And then Meadow stepped out as well.
"What the hell are you doing?" asked Meadow.
"...Saving you?" responded Deena, her voice sounding as confused as she felt.
"I don't need saving! I'm being kidnapped! This is the best thing that's happened to my career in ages!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, is this whole thing a publicity stunt?" asked Deena, suddenly realizing why Meadow's security guard had been so blasé.
"Meadow, maybe telling a reporter about this isn't the best..."
"Oh, what the hell does it matter? You two are going to make sure she doesn't talk anyway."
"They are?" squeaked Deena, backing away.
'We are?" asked Mickey, who hadn't signed up for this.
"We are," said Marc, who knew this meant he could charge double their agreed upon fee. "C'mon Mickey, we'll just rough her up a bit," Marc lunged for Deena and grabbed her arm before she could try anything stupid. "No need to give her the full sleeper treatment."
"You don't understand," said Deena, trying to reason with them. "I'm just a journalist, I was just trying to do my job."
Meadow watched as Mickey stomped a steel toed boot down on Deena's leg. Deena screamed, and Meadow might have felt even the tiniest bit bad. That is, until Deena started screaming a string of curses at her.
"God, there's no need to be rude, Dina," Meadow said, laughing at her. "I'm just giving you your big break."
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very welcome and appreciated. | We were the best of friends, though complete opposites. Spent the days chasing each other through the yard, into the house and did so for many years. I always knew he'd be the first to go.. Everyone knows cats live longer. But what happens when Im gone ? Well I know hes in a better place now. All dogs go to heaven. |
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