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[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | They said that loving someone just lets them get close enough to shove a knife in your ribs, but I managed to do that all on my own. I had a mission, but I let him distract me and now here I am, driven to extreme action. I won’t be distracted anymore. I can’t. Revenge allows no room for deviations. It was time to get back on track.
There was a reason for everything I did, for every building that I burned. He refused to understand me even when he knew what I had done throughout the entirety of our affair. Fire had brought us together, and in the end, it was what tore us apart.
He saw me through the flames of the first building, the first step to the completion of my revenge. I was crying then as I watched the abandoned apartment building burn. I had lived there a long time ago. And then my father was murdered by the landlord. The police found no evidence and so Daddy went unavenged for years.
I spent years connecting the dots, following the evidence all the way to the landlord of that seemingly idyllic apartment. He owned other buildings too. I burned them down one by one.
The firefighter was the only one to see me at the site of the first arson. He was attractive and seemed to have no interest in getting me arrested. Perhaps the fact that the burning of the building resulted in very little collateral damage was a point in my favor. I told him my sad story and after he was done for the day we went to dinner at a cheap diner a few blocks over. It was surreal and for a few months I was the kind of happy I hadn’t been in fifteen years.
We did quirky and exciting things together, putting romance movie protagonists to shame. But I still had a mission. One by one I burned every piece of property the scum that killed my father owned. He had fled the scene of each of my arsons, managing to escape alive, all because I wasn’t careful. I was distracted. I was intent on not giving that murderer another chance to escape punishment.
My firefighter lover looked the other way as I chased my prey. The landlord had little refuge left, until only one building was left. I was so close to avenging my father, and the life that was taken from me.
But love makes you stupid.
He had grown distant as I closed in and I thought perhaps he’d stand by as I completed what I set out to do. But I wasn’t going to let evil escape me on this final battle ground, so I had to take more drastic measures. He found out, of course, and tried to dissuade me, telling me to let it go, but in the end his efforts were too late. But I had sixteen years to think of this moment and not even someone I loved for over a year could change my mind. I had chosen my path. I wouldn’t turn back now.
I watched the building explode from a café a cross the street. I didn’t even blink, bringing my wide latte cup to my lips and taking a sip. It was a shame that drinking the coffee ruined the foam pattern the barista so kindly created.
People screamed, people died, clouds of dust were everywhere. But I got him.
They came for me then. I drank my latte calmly as they approached, intent on handcuffing me. I gave no resistance and I said nothing. I saw him outside though. He wasn’t part of the first responder team, but I knew he would be suiting up and joining in the fray soon enough. I expected him to look disgusted, but all I could see on his face as I was led away was a crushing sorrow.
I know, my love. I broke my own heart too.
| Just like that it was over. Faster than that collapsing building on 12th street that brought us together; our love had ignited and went out in a fiery explosion. I wasn't lamb enough for her, no matter how much I loved her, I was scorned. I sat, weeping in the pew we once prayed in, asking God why he would bring something so precious into my life, only to snatch it up again and drive her from me.
She made my life hell both literally and figuratively before meeting her face to face. The fervor of her fire starting was causing property owners around the city lose their *minds*. I don't blame them, that spectacular chemistry she used, she was unstoppable. Melting foundations, the tarmac a molten sluice, it was violent--but beautiful. Fire so hot that water was just added fuel to it and only made it burn hotter and faster. We could do nothing but let it burn and hope it didn't spread.
Then, just there across the street hiding in the alley of her 12th burning, I saw her. That alabaster angel. The light that played across her beautiful face, as she stood praying for the corrupt souls the fire was meant to cleanse. I knew in that moment, by God and Michael, the archangel, our love was meant to be. But it would not be so. My faith was not strong enough for her and my desires of the flesh too strong, she rebuked me. I had no one again.
I knew I must get her back, so I prayed to God day after day, give me a sign, how might I be her champion again in love and Christ? Then, one fateful night, He delivered.
During evening mass, one of the altar boys tripped up the stairs holding candles, the priest, may God rest his soul, used far too much fabric softener from the bodega up the street for his own good. Everyone thought his smoking would kill him, but instead immolation stole the air from his lungs. As he thrashed on the altar and my congregation panicked, I knew then what God told me I had to do and slipped away.
You see, officer, that's why I have been burning down building after building these last few weeks. I hoped that one of them would draw her in, like a moth to flame, just one last time so she could see how strong my faith was and how I too could cleanse the unclean souls of this city...
END INTERVIEW 3:27:34 AM 7/1995
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | Just like that it was over. Faster than that collapsing building on 12th street that brought us together; our love had ignited and went out in a fiery explosion. I wasn't lamb enough for her, no matter how much I loved her, I was scorned. I sat, weeping in the pew we once prayed in, asking God why he would bring something so precious into my life, only to snatch it up again and drive her from me.
She made my life hell both literally and figuratively before meeting her face to face. The fervor of her fire starting was causing property owners around the city lose their *minds*. I don't blame them, that spectacular chemistry she used, she was unstoppable. Melting foundations, the tarmac a molten sluice, it was violent--but beautiful. Fire so hot that water was just added fuel to it and only made it burn hotter and faster. We could do nothing but let it burn and hope it didn't spread.
Then, just there across the street hiding in the alley of her 12th burning, I saw her. That alabaster angel. The light that played across her beautiful face, as she stood praying for the corrupt souls the fire was meant to cleanse. I knew in that moment, by God and Michael, the archangel, our love was meant to be. But it would not be so. My faith was not strong enough for her and my desires of the flesh too strong, she rebuked me. I had no one again.
I knew I must get her back, so I prayed to God day after day, give me a sign, how might I be her champion again in love and Christ? Then, one fateful night, He delivered.
During evening mass, one of the altar boys tripped up the stairs holding candles, the priest, may God rest his soul, used far too much fabric softener from the bodega up the street for his own good. Everyone thought his smoking would kill him, but instead immolation stole the air from his lungs. As he thrashed on the altar and my congregation panicked, I knew then what God told me I had to do and slipped away.
You see, officer, that's why I have been burning down building after building these last few weeks. I hoped that one of them would draw her in, like a moth to flame, just one last time so she could see how strong my faith was and how I too could cleanse the unclean souls of this city...
END INTERVIEW 3:27:34 AM 7/1995
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | Just like that it was over. Faster than that collapsing building on 12th street that brought us together; our love had ignited and went out in a fiery explosion. I wasn't lamb enough for her, no matter how much I loved her, I was scorned. I sat, weeping in the pew we once prayed in, asking God why he would bring something so precious into my life, only to snatch it up again and drive her from me.
She made my life hell both literally and figuratively before meeting her face to face. The fervor of her fire starting was causing property owners around the city lose their *minds*. I don't blame them, that spectacular chemistry she used, she was unstoppable. Melting foundations, the tarmac a molten sluice, it was violent--but beautiful. Fire so hot that water was just added fuel to it and only made it burn hotter and faster. We could do nothing but let it burn and hope it didn't spread.
Then, just there across the street hiding in the alley of her 12th burning, I saw her. That alabaster angel. The light that played across her beautiful face, as she stood praying for the corrupt souls the fire was meant to cleanse. I knew in that moment, by God and Michael, the archangel, our love was meant to be. But it would not be so. My faith was not strong enough for her and my desires of the flesh too strong, she rebuked me. I had no one again.
I knew I must get her back, so I prayed to God day after day, give me a sign, how might I be her champion again in love and Christ? Then, one fateful night, He delivered.
During evening mass, one of the altar boys tripped up the stairs holding candles, the priest, may God rest his soul, used far too much fabric softener from the bodega up the street for his own good. Everyone thought his smoking would kill him, but instead immolation stole the air from his lungs. As he thrashed on the altar and my congregation panicked, I knew then what God told me I had to do and slipped away.
You see, officer, that's why I have been burning down building after building these last few weeks. I hoped that one of them would draw her in, like a moth to flame, just one last time so she could see how strong my faith was and how I too could cleanse the unclean souls of this city...
END INTERVIEW 3:27:34 AM 7/1995
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| Just like that it was over. Faster than that collapsing building on 12th street that brought us together; our love had ignited and went out in a fiery explosion. I wasn't lamb enough for her, no matter how much I loved her, I was scorned. I sat, weeping in the pew we once prayed in, asking God why he would bring something so precious into my life, only to snatch it up again and drive her from me.
She made my life hell both literally and figuratively before meeting her face to face. The fervor of her fire starting was causing property owners around the city lose their *minds*. I don't blame them, that spectacular chemistry she used, she was unstoppable. Melting foundations, the tarmac a molten sluice, it was violent--but beautiful. Fire so hot that water was just added fuel to it and only made it burn hotter and faster. We could do nothing but let it burn and hope it didn't spread.
Then, just there across the street hiding in the alley of her 12th burning, I saw her. That alabaster angel. The light that played across her beautiful face, as she stood praying for the corrupt souls the fire was meant to cleanse. I knew in that moment, by God and Michael, the archangel, our love was meant to be. But it would not be so. My faith was not strong enough for her and my desires of the flesh too strong, she rebuked me. I had no one again.
I knew I must get her back, so I prayed to God day after day, give me a sign, how might I be her champion again in love and Christ? Then, one fateful night, He delivered.
During evening mass, one of the altar boys tripped up the stairs holding candles, the priest, may God rest his soul, used far too much fabric softener from the bodega up the street for his own good. Everyone thought his smoking would kill him, but instead immolation stole the air from his lungs. As he thrashed on the altar and my congregation panicked, I knew then what God told me I had to do and slipped away.
You see, officer, that's why I have been burning down building after building these last few weeks. I hoped that one of them would draw her in, like a moth to flame, just one last time so she could see how strong my faith was and how I too could cleanse the unclean souls of this city...
END INTERVIEW 3:27:34 AM 7/1995
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | "Why do you wear the gloves?"
She turned to the man startled. He was tall and blond and lean strong looking. He wore a shirt proclaiming LAFD, he must be a firefighter then. "What do you mean?" She replied.
"Every time I have seen you you have been wearing those gloves."
Once again the pit of fear in her stomach made her laugh in a nervous sort of way brushing off his comment. "Oh, it's nothing. I just like the style"
no one could know the secret. it was her most haunting flaw. she didn't even realize she was holding her hands behind her back ringing them nervously. now as the man still stood there staring he seemed to shrug and go on.
"Would you like to go out? "
Could she? could she of all people go on a date with a firefighter? She was about to decline before seeing him smile and his blue eyes look at her in such a way she couldn't resist.
"Uh, sure" She mumbled. "you like to put out fires?"
"isn't there something beautiful about fire though? the way it consumes and lights up everything. except for the smoke of course" She asked him.
"not really it just destroys." he replied
"but.. it gives you warmth as well and lighting ! " She had to stop herself from going off in a tangent of how fire made her feel alive. startung them, seeing them destroy things. she had to stop herself before she told this man she loved her darkest secret.
"at what cost?" he replied. "sure small campfires are just fine but I know you.. you're not talking about that." he looked at her in almost a knowing way..
her hear skipped a beat. he couldn't know? could he? no. he had never seen her hands. but if he did know? maybe he could accept her for this even. no he could never know. he was a protector and she was a destroyer.
"you're right."she finally agreed.
he just looked at her.
she couldn't take it any longer. she was doing this for him, not giving in to the temptation. she had gone 989 days without setting a fire, since they met, since she had fell in love with her firefighter, without watching something be burned that she had made. she couldn't keep herself away any longer. she needed to see something aflame.
she made a promise to herself. one last big one and she was done with it all. she just wanted something big she could really remember and relish in before retiring at being an arsonist.
twelve hours of plotting before she decided to burn down her house. but she wanted to be inside. not outside looking at it as an observer. she wanted to be in the fire as it happened.
she would run out the backdoor of the house when it all became too much she decided. before the fire went too far or she got hurt. simple as that.
it was the second best moment of her life. after meeting the firefighter of course. she layed on the ground of the living room watching it all around.. consume the house. she had a face mask too to prevent smoke inhalation.
the fire was becoming too much and too hot so she decided to leave the house now.
just as she made it out the back and turned to look at her piece of art she saw him through the door. he was standing inside the house. her gut twisted in on itself and pulled air out of her chest.
she saw her firefighter there in the middle staring at her as the second floor of the house crashed down onto him.
"Oh God! no! no!" She cried.
"as soon as he heard the address he ran here.. was looking for you.. " She heard another fighter talking to her and more yelling all around. but didn't hear much more than that running toward the house and into the fire after him.
"I always knew" he said. "but now I hate you. I hate you! we are over"
the house collapsed.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| "Why do you wear the gloves?"
She turned to the man startled. He was tall and blond and lean strong looking. He wore a shirt proclaiming LAFD, he must be a firefighter then. "What do you mean?" She replied.
"Every time I have seen you you have been wearing those gloves."
Once again the pit of fear in her stomach made her laugh in a nervous sort of way brushing off his comment. "Oh, it's nothing. I just like the style"
no one could know the secret. it was her most haunting flaw. she didn't even realize she was holding her hands behind her back ringing them nervously. now as the man still stood there staring he seemed to shrug and go on.
"Would you like to go out? "
Could she? could she of all people go on a date with a firefighter? She was about to decline before seeing him smile and his blue eyes look at her in such a way she couldn't resist.
"Uh, sure" She mumbled. "you like to put out fires?"
"isn't there something beautiful about fire though? the way it consumes and lights up everything. except for the smoke of course" She asked him.
"not really it just destroys." he replied
"but.. it gives you warmth as well and lighting ! " She had to stop herself from going off in a tangent of how fire made her feel alive. startung them, seeing them destroy things. she had to stop herself before she told this man she loved her darkest secret.
"at what cost?" he replied. "sure small campfires are just fine but I know you.. you're not talking about that." he looked at her in almost a knowing way..
her hear skipped a beat. he couldn't know? could he? no. he had never seen her hands. but if he did know? maybe he could accept her for this even. no he could never know. he was a protector and she was a destroyer.
"you're right."she finally agreed.
he just looked at her.
she couldn't take it any longer. she was doing this for him, not giving in to the temptation. she had gone 989 days without setting a fire, since they met, since she had fell in love with her firefighter, without watching something be burned that she had made. she couldn't keep herself away any longer. she needed to see something aflame.
she made a promise to herself. one last big one and she was done with it all. she just wanted something big she could really remember and relish in before retiring at being an arsonist.
twelve hours of plotting before she decided to burn down her house. but she wanted to be inside. not outside looking at it as an observer. she wanted to be in the fire as it happened.
she would run out the backdoor of the house when it all became too much she decided. before the fire went too far or she got hurt. simple as that.
it was the second best moment of her life. after meeting the firefighter of course. she layed on the ground of the living room watching it all around.. consume the house. she had a face mask too to prevent smoke inhalation.
the fire was becoming too much and too hot so she decided to leave the house now.
just as she made it out the back and turned to look at her piece of art she saw him through the door. he was standing inside the house. her gut twisted in on itself and pulled air out of her chest.
she saw her firefighter there in the middle staring at her as the second floor of the house crashed down onto him.
"Oh God! no! no!" She cried.
"as soon as he heard the address he ran here.. was looking for you.. " She heard another fighter talking to her and more yelling all around. but didn't hear much more than that running toward the house and into the fire after him.
"I always knew" he said. "but now I hate you. I hate you! we are over"
the house collapsed.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | "Why do you wear the gloves?"
She turned to the man startled. He was tall and blond and lean strong looking. He wore a shirt proclaiming LAFD, he must be a firefighter then. "What do you mean?" She replied.
"Every time I have seen you you have been wearing those gloves."
Once again the pit of fear in her stomach made her laugh in a nervous sort of way brushing off his comment. "Oh, it's nothing. I just like the style"
no one could know the secret. it was her most haunting flaw. she didn't even realize she was holding her hands behind her back ringing them nervously. now as the man still stood there staring he seemed to shrug and go on.
"Would you like to go out? "
Could she? could she of all people go on a date with a firefighter? She was about to decline before seeing him smile and his blue eyes look at her in such a way she couldn't resist.
"Uh, sure" She mumbled. "you like to put out fires?"
"isn't there something beautiful about fire though? the way it consumes and lights up everything. except for the smoke of course" She asked him.
"not really it just destroys." he replied
"but.. it gives you warmth as well and lighting ! " She had to stop herself from going off in a tangent of how fire made her feel alive. startung them, seeing them destroy things. she had to stop herself before she told this man she loved her darkest secret.
"at what cost?" he replied. "sure small campfires are just fine but I know you.. you're not talking about that." he looked at her in almost a knowing way..
her hear skipped a beat. he couldn't know? could he? no. he had never seen her hands. but if he did know? maybe he could accept her for this even. no he could never know. he was a protector and she was a destroyer.
"you're right."she finally agreed.
he just looked at her.
she couldn't take it any longer. she was doing this for him, not giving in to the temptation. she had gone 989 days without setting a fire, since they met, since she had fell in love with her firefighter, without watching something be burned that she had made. she couldn't keep herself away any longer. she needed to see something aflame.
she made a promise to herself. one last big one and she was done with it all. she just wanted something big she could really remember and relish in before retiring at being an arsonist.
twelve hours of plotting before she decided to burn down her house. but she wanted to be inside. not outside looking at it as an observer. she wanted to be in the fire as it happened.
she would run out the backdoor of the house when it all became too much she decided. before the fire went too far or she got hurt. simple as that.
it was the second best moment of her life. after meeting the firefighter of course. she layed on the ground of the living room watching it all around.. consume the house. she had a face mask too to prevent smoke inhalation.
the fire was becoming too much and too hot so she decided to leave the house now.
just as she made it out the back and turned to look at her piece of art she saw him through the door. he was standing inside the house. her gut twisted in on itself and pulled air out of her chest.
she saw her firefighter there in the middle staring at her as the second floor of the house crashed down onto him.
"Oh God! no! no!" She cried.
"as soon as he heard the address he ran here.. was looking for you.. " She heard another fighter talking to her and more yelling all around. but didn't hear much more than that running toward the house and into the fire after him.
"I always knew" he said. "but now I hate you. I hate you! we are over"
the house collapsed.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | "Why do you wear the gloves?"
She turned to the man startled. He was tall and blond and lean strong looking. He wore a shirt proclaiming LAFD, he must be a firefighter then. "What do you mean?" She replied.
"Every time I have seen you you have been wearing those gloves."
Once again the pit of fear in her stomach made her laugh in a nervous sort of way brushing off his comment. "Oh, it's nothing. I just like the style"
no one could know the secret. it was her most haunting flaw. she didn't even realize she was holding her hands behind her back ringing them nervously. now as the man still stood there staring he seemed to shrug and go on.
"Would you like to go out? "
Could she? could she of all people go on a date with a firefighter? She was about to decline before seeing him smile and his blue eyes look at her in such a way she couldn't resist.
"Uh, sure" She mumbled. "you like to put out fires?"
"isn't there something beautiful about fire though? the way it consumes and lights up everything. except for the smoke of course" She asked him.
"not really it just destroys." he replied
"but.. it gives you warmth as well and lighting ! " She had to stop herself from going off in a tangent of how fire made her feel alive. startung them, seeing them destroy things. she had to stop herself before she told this man she loved her darkest secret.
"at what cost?" he replied. "sure small campfires are just fine but I know you.. you're not talking about that." he looked at her in almost a knowing way..
her hear skipped a beat. he couldn't know? could he? no. he had never seen her hands. but if he did know? maybe he could accept her for this even. no he could never know. he was a protector and she was a destroyer.
"you're right."she finally agreed.
he just looked at her.
she couldn't take it any longer. she was doing this for him, not giving in to the temptation. she had gone 989 days without setting a fire, since they met, since she had fell in love with her firefighter, without watching something be burned that she had made. she couldn't keep herself away any longer. she needed to see something aflame.
she made a promise to herself. one last big one and she was done with it all. she just wanted something big she could really remember and relish in before retiring at being an arsonist.
twelve hours of plotting before she decided to burn down her house. but she wanted to be inside. not outside looking at it as an observer. she wanted to be in the fire as it happened.
she would run out the backdoor of the house when it all became too much she decided. before the fire went too far or she got hurt. simple as that.
it was the second best moment of her life. after meeting the firefighter of course. she layed on the ground of the living room watching it all around.. consume the house. she had a face mask too to prevent smoke inhalation.
the fire was becoming too much and too hot so she decided to leave the house now.
just as she made it out the back and turned to look at her piece of art she saw him through the door. he was standing inside the house. her gut twisted in on itself and pulled air out of her chest.
she saw her firefighter there in the middle staring at her as the second floor of the house crashed down onto him.
"Oh God! no! no!" She cried.
"as soon as he heard the address he ran here.. was looking for you.. " She heard another fighter talking to her and more yelling all around. but didn't hear much more than that running toward the house and into the fire after him.
"I always knew" he said. "but now I hate you. I hate you! we are over"
the house collapsed.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| "Why do you wear the gloves?"
She turned to the man startled. He was tall and blond and lean strong looking. He wore a shirt proclaiming LAFD, he must be a firefighter then. "What do you mean?" She replied.
"Every time I have seen you you have been wearing those gloves."
Once again the pit of fear in her stomach made her laugh in a nervous sort of way brushing off his comment. "Oh, it's nothing. I just like the style"
no one could know the secret. it was her most haunting flaw. she didn't even realize she was holding her hands behind her back ringing them nervously. now as the man still stood there staring he seemed to shrug and go on.
"Would you like to go out? "
Could she? could she of all people go on a date with a firefighter? She was about to decline before seeing him smile and his blue eyes look at her in such a way she couldn't resist.
"Uh, sure" She mumbled. "you like to put out fires?"
"isn't there something beautiful about fire though? the way it consumes and lights up everything. except for the smoke of course" She asked him.
"not really it just destroys." he replied
"but.. it gives you warmth as well and lighting ! " She had to stop herself from going off in a tangent of how fire made her feel alive. startung them, seeing them destroy things. she had to stop herself before she told this man she loved her darkest secret.
"at what cost?" he replied. "sure small campfires are just fine but I know you.. you're not talking about that." he looked at her in almost a knowing way..
her hear skipped a beat. he couldn't know? could he? no. he had never seen her hands. but if he did know? maybe he could accept her for this even. no he could never know. he was a protector and she was a destroyer.
"you're right."she finally agreed.
he just looked at her.
she couldn't take it any longer. she was doing this for him, not giving in to the temptation. she had gone 989 days without setting a fire, since they met, since she had fell in love with her firefighter, without watching something be burned that she had made. she couldn't keep herself away any longer. she needed to see something aflame.
she made a promise to herself. one last big one and she was done with it all. she just wanted something big she could really remember and relish in before retiring at being an arsonist.
twelve hours of plotting before she decided to burn down her house. but she wanted to be inside. not outside looking at it as an observer. she wanted to be in the fire as it happened.
she would run out the backdoor of the house when it all became too much she decided. before the fire went too far or she got hurt. simple as that.
it was the second best moment of her life. after meeting the firefighter of course. she layed on the ground of the living room watching it all around.. consume the house. she had a face mask too to prevent smoke inhalation.
the fire was becoming too much and too hot so she decided to leave the house now.
just as she made it out the back and turned to look at her piece of art she saw him through the door. he was standing inside the house. her gut twisted in on itself and pulled air out of her chest.
she saw her firefighter there in the middle staring at her as the second floor of the house crashed down onto him.
"Oh God! no! no!" She cried.
"as soon as he heard the address he ran here.. was looking for you.. " She heard another fighter talking to her and more yelling all around. but didn't hear much more than that running toward the house and into the fire after him.
"I always knew" he said. "but now I hate you. I hate you! we are over"
the house collapsed.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | I knew I'd seen her before. So many times before and in so many places. I had thought it a dream, I thought she was my dream.
A relationship is like starting a fire. There must be a spark.
She had blonde hair and green eyes, I thought this was a very strange combination in this city. Something so beautiful was sometimes hard to find. I was soaked in sweat and soot when she came up and offered a bottle of water.
"I know the man who lives in that house. He's on vacation and will not be happy when he gets back. He had just bought a new television." She said. I was taken aback. Usually people are scared of fire but she was oddly calm and very confident in her approach. " The house is a total loss. I think the TV will be the least of his worries when he gets back. How'd you get past the police lines?" I said. " I just stepped under them. No one is really watching them. Everyone is watching what's left of the house." I had never seen any girl like her. I kind of lost myself for a second as she waited for a reply. " Are you alright?" she said. "Yeah, sorry. I am really hot and tired. Thank you for the water by the way." I said. She smiled, "Anytime. I really appreciate the firemen in this city. There has been a lot of work you guys lately. In fact, I work up on a coffee shop on 5th street. If you come by tomorrow or Wednesday, I will buy you a coffee on my break." I smiled, "Deal! I am always up for a free cup."
I went for coffee. We talked for hours after her shift. She was a student at the university. Strangely enough just a few years younger than me. Apparently she had been in some trouble in her teenage years and delayed going until her late 20's. We went out 3 more times in the next 2 weeks.
The second ingredient is fuel. A fire needs fuel to grow.
As I drove to her apartment, I realized this was the first time I had seen where she lived. I called her to come down as I pulled up but she invited me up instead. She stood there in nothing but a nightgown as she opened the door and pulled me in. "Are you sure you're ready for this." I said. "Absolutely." She replied.
We made love for the first time that night.
The third ingredient oxygen. A fire needs oxygen to live and thrive.
The months past as such. I worked a lot, so from time to time it was hard to see her. She sometimes grew impatient with the amount of work that I was having to do. But there was so much work these days. The city was literally burning. One evening she showed up when I was working a fire downtown.
"We need to talk," she said. I had just come from inside the burning house. I replied," Babe, what are you doing here?! Its dangerous!" " I can handle myself! But we need to talk!" she said. I replied, " Sorry, but I'm a little busy right now! Can't this wait until later?' She said, " I guess it will have to. Can you come by the house when you are done?"
If a fire lacks anything of these ingredients it will cease to start. But when a fire starts too fast sometimes it can blow up in your face.
I parked my truck on the street and walked up the stoop. I rang the bell and was buzzed up. The note on the door said, "Come in and sit down." I pushed the door open and a wooden chair was there surrounded by candles. She was nowhere to be seen so I followed the directions from the sign.
Her voice called from darkness, " Put your hands behind your back and I will give a nice surprise."
I did. She tied my hands and legs with rope to the chair. As she came around into the light I could see the fire from the candles in her beautiful green eyes. She was fully clothed.
"Going to give me a little show?" I said.
" Yeah this is going to be all over the news." She replied.
She produced a can of gasoline from behind the table.
" I knew you looked familiar." I said. "Why?"
"If I can't have you all the time, then no one else can," She said.
" What are you talking about? I haven't been seeing anyone else,' I replied.
"Our mistress is one in the same. She keeps us up at night. She keeps us warm and keeps us safe," she said.
"What?" I said.
"Don't talk like you don't know! You want the fire as much as I do," she replied.
"I put fires out for a living!" I yelled.
"You have a relationship. She puts food on your table and provides you warmth. I want her for myself," she replied.
She started to pour the gasoline on everything in the apartment.
Fire was her mistress and I was her latest victim.
She lit a match and threw it as she walked from the room.
I could see her from the window as the flames grew around me and the sirens started to wail.
Fire is beautiful but fire can be cruel.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| I knew I'd seen her before. So many times before and in so many places. I had thought it a dream, I thought she was my dream.
A relationship is like starting a fire. There must be a spark.
She had blonde hair and green eyes, I thought this was a very strange combination in this city. Something so beautiful was sometimes hard to find. I was soaked in sweat and soot when she came up and offered a bottle of water.
"I know the man who lives in that house. He's on vacation and will not be happy when he gets back. He had just bought a new television." She said. I was taken aback. Usually people are scared of fire but she was oddly calm and very confident in her approach. " The house is a total loss. I think the TV will be the least of his worries when he gets back. How'd you get past the police lines?" I said. " I just stepped under them. No one is really watching them. Everyone is watching what's left of the house." I had never seen any girl like her. I kind of lost myself for a second as she waited for a reply. " Are you alright?" she said. "Yeah, sorry. I am really hot and tired. Thank you for the water by the way." I said. She smiled, "Anytime. I really appreciate the firemen in this city. There has been a lot of work you guys lately. In fact, I work up on a coffee shop on 5th street. If you come by tomorrow or Wednesday, I will buy you a coffee on my break." I smiled, "Deal! I am always up for a free cup."
I went for coffee. We talked for hours after her shift. She was a student at the university. Strangely enough just a few years younger than me. Apparently she had been in some trouble in her teenage years and delayed going until her late 20's. We went out 3 more times in the next 2 weeks.
The second ingredient is fuel. A fire needs fuel to grow.
As I drove to her apartment, I realized this was the first time I had seen where she lived. I called her to come down as I pulled up but she invited me up instead. She stood there in nothing but a nightgown as she opened the door and pulled me in. "Are you sure you're ready for this." I said. "Absolutely." She replied.
We made love for the first time that night.
The third ingredient oxygen. A fire needs oxygen to live and thrive.
The months past as such. I worked a lot, so from time to time it was hard to see her. She sometimes grew impatient with the amount of work that I was having to do. But there was so much work these days. The city was literally burning. One evening she showed up when I was working a fire downtown.
"We need to talk," she said. I had just come from inside the burning house. I replied," Babe, what are you doing here?! Its dangerous!" " I can handle myself! But we need to talk!" she said. I replied, " Sorry, but I'm a little busy right now! Can't this wait until later?' She said, " I guess it will have to. Can you come by the house when you are done?"
If a fire lacks anything of these ingredients it will cease to start. But when a fire starts too fast sometimes it can blow up in your face.
I parked my truck on the street and walked up the stoop. I rang the bell and was buzzed up. The note on the door said, "Come in and sit down." I pushed the door open and a wooden chair was there surrounded by candles. She was nowhere to be seen so I followed the directions from the sign.
Her voice called from darkness, " Put your hands behind your back and I will give a nice surprise."
I did. She tied my hands and legs with rope to the chair. As she came around into the light I could see the fire from the candles in her beautiful green eyes. She was fully clothed.
"Going to give me a little show?" I said.
" Yeah this is going to be all over the news." She replied.
She produced a can of gasoline from behind the table.
" I knew you looked familiar." I said. "Why?"
"If I can't have you all the time, then no one else can," She said.
" What are you talking about? I haven't been seeing anyone else,' I replied.
"Our mistress is one in the same. She keeps us up at night. She keeps us warm and keeps us safe," she said.
"What?" I said.
"Don't talk like you don't know! You want the fire as much as I do," she replied.
"I put fires out for a living!" I yelled.
"You have a relationship. She puts food on your table and provides you warmth. I want her for myself," she replied.
She started to pour the gasoline on everything in the apartment.
Fire was her mistress and I was her latest victim.
She lit a match and threw it as she walked from the room.
I could see her from the window as the flames grew around me and the sirens started to wail.
Fire is beautiful but fire can be cruel.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | I knew I'd seen her before. So many times before and in so many places. I had thought it a dream, I thought she was my dream.
A relationship is like starting a fire. There must be a spark.
She had blonde hair and green eyes, I thought this was a very strange combination in this city. Something so beautiful was sometimes hard to find. I was soaked in sweat and soot when she came up and offered a bottle of water.
"I know the man who lives in that house. He's on vacation and will not be happy when he gets back. He had just bought a new television." She said. I was taken aback. Usually people are scared of fire but she was oddly calm and very confident in her approach. " The house is a total loss. I think the TV will be the least of his worries when he gets back. How'd you get past the police lines?" I said. " I just stepped under them. No one is really watching them. Everyone is watching what's left of the house." I had never seen any girl like her. I kind of lost myself for a second as she waited for a reply. " Are you alright?" she said. "Yeah, sorry. I am really hot and tired. Thank you for the water by the way." I said. She smiled, "Anytime. I really appreciate the firemen in this city. There has been a lot of work you guys lately. In fact, I work up on a coffee shop on 5th street. If you come by tomorrow or Wednesday, I will buy you a coffee on my break." I smiled, "Deal! I am always up for a free cup."
I went for coffee. We talked for hours after her shift. She was a student at the university. Strangely enough just a few years younger than me. Apparently she had been in some trouble in her teenage years and delayed going until her late 20's. We went out 3 more times in the next 2 weeks.
The second ingredient is fuel. A fire needs fuel to grow.
As I drove to her apartment, I realized this was the first time I had seen where she lived. I called her to come down as I pulled up but she invited me up instead. She stood there in nothing but a nightgown as she opened the door and pulled me in. "Are you sure you're ready for this." I said. "Absolutely." She replied.
We made love for the first time that night.
The third ingredient oxygen. A fire needs oxygen to live and thrive.
The months past as such. I worked a lot, so from time to time it was hard to see her. She sometimes grew impatient with the amount of work that I was having to do. But there was so much work these days. The city was literally burning. One evening she showed up when I was working a fire downtown.
"We need to talk," she said. I had just come from inside the burning house. I replied," Babe, what are you doing here?! Its dangerous!" " I can handle myself! But we need to talk!" she said. I replied, " Sorry, but I'm a little busy right now! Can't this wait until later?' She said, " I guess it will have to. Can you come by the house when you are done?"
If a fire lacks anything of these ingredients it will cease to start. But when a fire starts too fast sometimes it can blow up in your face.
I parked my truck on the street and walked up the stoop. I rang the bell and was buzzed up. The note on the door said, "Come in and sit down." I pushed the door open and a wooden chair was there surrounded by candles. She was nowhere to be seen so I followed the directions from the sign.
Her voice called from darkness, " Put your hands behind your back and I will give a nice surprise."
I did. She tied my hands and legs with rope to the chair. As she came around into the light I could see the fire from the candles in her beautiful green eyes. She was fully clothed.
"Going to give me a little show?" I said.
" Yeah this is going to be all over the news." She replied.
She produced a can of gasoline from behind the table.
" I knew you looked familiar." I said. "Why?"
"If I can't have you all the time, then no one else can," She said.
" What are you talking about? I haven't been seeing anyone else,' I replied.
"Our mistress is one in the same. She keeps us up at night. She keeps us warm and keeps us safe," she said.
"What?" I said.
"Don't talk like you don't know! You want the fire as much as I do," she replied.
"I put fires out for a living!" I yelled.
"You have a relationship. She puts food on your table and provides you warmth. I want her for myself," she replied.
She started to pour the gasoline on everything in the apartment.
Fire was her mistress and I was her latest victim.
She lit a match and threw it as she walked from the room.
I could see her from the window as the flames grew around me and the sirens started to wail.
Fire is beautiful but fire can be cruel.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | I knew I'd seen her before. So many times before and in so many places. I had thought it a dream, I thought she was my dream.
A relationship is like starting a fire. There must be a spark.
She had blonde hair and green eyes, I thought this was a very strange combination in this city. Something so beautiful was sometimes hard to find. I was soaked in sweat and soot when she came up and offered a bottle of water.
"I know the man who lives in that house. He's on vacation and will not be happy when he gets back. He had just bought a new television." She said. I was taken aback. Usually people are scared of fire but she was oddly calm and very confident in her approach. " The house is a total loss. I think the TV will be the least of his worries when he gets back. How'd you get past the police lines?" I said. " I just stepped under them. No one is really watching them. Everyone is watching what's left of the house." I had never seen any girl like her. I kind of lost myself for a second as she waited for a reply. " Are you alright?" she said. "Yeah, sorry. I am really hot and tired. Thank you for the water by the way." I said. She smiled, "Anytime. I really appreciate the firemen in this city. There has been a lot of work you guys lately. In fact, I work up on a coffee shop on 5th street. If you come by tomorrow or Wednesday, I will buy you a coffee on my break." I smiled, "Deal! I am always up for a free cup."
I went for coffee. We talked for hours after her shift. She was a student at the university. Strangely enough just a few years younger than me. Apparently she had been in some trouble in her teenage years and delayed going until her late 20's. We went out 3 more times in the next 2 weeks.
The second ingredient is fuel. A fire needs fuel to grow.
As I drove to her apartment, I realized this was the first time I had seen where she lived. I called her to come down as I pulled up but she invited me up instead. She stood there in nothing but a nightgown as she opened the door and pulled me in. "Are you sure you're ready for this." I said. "Absolutely." She replied.
We made love for the first time that night.
The third ingredient oxygen. A fire needs oxygen to live and thrive.
The months past as such. I worked a lot, so from time to time it was hard to see her. She sometimes grew impatient with the amount of work that I was having to do. But there was so much work these days. The city was literally burning. One evening she showed up when I was working a fire downtown.
"We need to talk," she said. I had just come from inside the burning house. I replied," Babe, what are you doing here?! Its dangerous!" " I can handle myself! But we need to talk!" she said. I replied, " Sorry, but I'm a little busy right now! Can't this wait until later?' She said, " I guess it will have to. Can you come by the house when you are done?"
If a fire lacks anything of these ingredients it will cease to start. But when a fire starts too fast sometimes it can blow up in your face.
I parked my truck on the street and walked up the stoop. I rang the bell and was buzzed up. The note on the door said, "Come in and sit down." I pushed the door open and a wooden chair was there surrounded by candles. She was nowhere to be seen so I followed the directions from the sign.
Her voice called from darkness, " Put your hands behind your back and I will give a nice surprise."
I did. She tied my hands and legs with rope to the chair. As she came around into the light I could see the fire from the candles in her beautiful green eyes. She was fully clothed.
"Going to give me a little show?" I said.
" Yeah this is going to be all over the news." She replied.
She produced a can of gasoline from behind the table.
" I knew you looked familiar." I said. "Why?"
"If I can't have you all the time, then no one else can," She said.
" What are you talking about? I haven't been seeing anyone else,' I replied.
"Our mistress is one in the same. She keeps us up at night. She keeps us warm and keeps us safe," she said.
"What?" I said.
"Don't talk like you don't know! You want the fire as much as I do," she replied.
"I put fires out for a living!" I yelled.
"You have a relationship. She puts food on your table and provides you warmth. I want her for myself," she replied.
She started to pour the gasoline on everything in the apartment.
Fire was her mistress and I was her latest victim.
She lit a match and threw it as she walked from the room.
I could see her from the window as the flames grew around me and the sirens started to wail.
Fire is beautiful but fire can be cruel.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| I knew I'd seen her before. So many times before and in so many places. I had thought it a dream, I thought she was my dream.
A relationship is like starting a fire. There must be a spark.
She had blonde hair and green eyes, I thought this was a very strange combination in this city. Something so beautiful was sometimes hard to find. I was soaked in sweat and soot when she came up and offered a bottle of water.
"I know the man who lives in that house. He's on vacation and will not be happy when he gets back. He had just bought a new television." She said. I was taken aback. Usually people are scared of fire but she was oddly calm and very confident in her approach. " The house is a total loss. I think the TV will be the least of his worries when he gets back. How'd you get past the police lines?" I said. " I just stepped under them. No one is really watching them. Everyone is watching what's left of the house." I had never seen any girl like her. I kind of lost myself for a second as she waited for a reply. " Are you alright?" she said. "Yeah, sorry. I am really hot and tired. Thank you for the water by the way." I said. She smiled, "Anytime. I really appreciate the firemen in this city. There has been a lot of work you guys lately. In fact, I work up on a coffee shop on 5th street. If you come by tomorrow or Wednesday, I will buy you a coffee on my break." I smiled, "Deal! I am always up for a free cup."
I went for coffee. We talked for hours after her shift. She was a student at the university. Strangely enough just a few years younger than me. Apparently she had been in some trouble in her teenage years and delayed going until her late 20's. We went out 3 more times in the next 2 weeks.
The second ingredient is fuel. A fire needs fuel to grow.
As I drove to her apartment, I realized this was the first time I had seen where she lived. I called her to come down as I pulled up but she invited me up instead. She stood there in nothing but a nightgown as she opened the door and pulled me in. "Are you sure you're ready for this." I said. "Absolutely." She replied.
We made love for the first time that night.
The third ingredient oxygen. A fire needs oxygen to live and thrive.
The months past as such. I worked a lot, so from time to time it was hard to see her. She sometimes grew impatient with the amount of work that I was having to do. But there was so much work these days. The city was literally burning. One evening she showed up when I was working a fire downtown.
"We need to talk," she said. I had just come from inside the burning house. I replied," Babe, what are you doing here?! Its dangerous!" " I can handle myself! But we need to talk!" she said. I replied, " Sorry, but I'm a little busy right now! Can't this wait until later?' She said, " I guess it will have to. Can you come by the house when you are done?"
If a fire lacks anything of these ingredients it will cease to start. But when a fire starts too fast sometimes it can blow up in your face.
I parked my truck on the street and walked up the stoop. I rang the bell and was buzzed up. The note on the door said, "Come in and sit down." I pushed the door open and a wooden chair was there surrounded by candles. She was nowhere to be seen so I followed the directions from the sign.
Her voice called from darkness, " Put your hands behind your back and I will give a nice surprise."
I did. She tied my hands and legs with rope to the chair. As she came around into the light I could see the fire from the candles in her beautiful green eyes. She was fully clothed.
"Going to give me a little show?" I said.
" Yeah this is going to be all over the news." She replied.
She produced a can of gasoline from behind the table.
" I knew you looked familiar." I said. "Why?"
"If I can't have you all the time, then no one else can," She said.
" What are you talking about? I haven't been seeing anyone else,' I replied.
"Our mistress is one in the same. She keeps us up at night. She keeps us warm and keeps us safe," she said.
"What?" I said.
"Don't talk like you don't know! You want the fire as much as I do," she replied.
"I put fires out for a living!" I yelled.
"You have a relationship. She puts food on your table and provides you warmth. I want her for myself," she replied.
She started to pour the gasoline on everything in the apartment.
Fire was her mistress and I was her latest victim.
She lit a match and threw it as she walked from the room.
I could see her from the window as the flames grew around me and the sirens started to wail.
Fire is beautiful but fire can be cruel.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | The truck rolled up to the latest fire in their small backwater town. The boys and I hopped off the truck but before I could get to work reeling our hose, the chief pulled me aside and handed me a singed silk scarf, obviously from the building currently engulfed. His look said it all... But he still had more to say.
" Ben... I am sorry but I am talking to the police. We all know who's that is, you spent hours bragging about it back at the station."
My mind was elsewhere... On the first night we met. I was out for lunch at the local dive and she had drunkenly dumped a beer on me, mumbled sorry, and began making herself at home at my table. I was smitten then, she was beautiful even stinking of beer with lipstick smeared everywhere at 11:30 am. We spent the rest of the day talking at that table while she sobered up. The list of things we had in common was massive, my phone bill even larger than that over the next couple of months. We where passionate, I felt more alive than I had in years! Despite our mutual jealousy over each other and bickering, I was happy.
A long time went by before the first fire... Her finger prints where found. My girl, Carissa had definitely been there. I was in denial, consumed by the flame of this red haired beauty! The boys messed them up so they couldn't be filed as evidence. This was the third fire. The scarf was for our 1 year anniversary last week and she had loved it! Now it sat stinking of smoke from a fire she had no business being near. It couldn't be ignored.
The chief nudged me , "You ok?"
"No." I said throwing on my helmet.
Things where almost finished and I was sitting drinking some water when her car pulled up to the scene. She jumped out. Carissa sprinted twoard me and was attempting to hug me before I had time to react but just sat there.
"Are you ok? I didn't know you where on duty today... Did anything happen?"
"Actually yes.." I said as the police sgt. Who had talked to our chief stepped over.
"M'am..." He said quietly, pulling gently at her arm. She desperately looked back and forth between us
" no.. No please! I didn't mean to! Ben, please do something... Help me!"
"I can't give you the help you need." I said as she was cuffed. "This is out of my hands Carissa.". She broke out sobbing but hung her head and stayed silent. I never saw her again but supposedly she ended up in jail more than once for arson and still is in now.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| The truck rolled up to the latest fire in their small backwater town. The boys and I hopped off the truck but before I could get to work reeling our hose, the chief pulled me aside and handed me a singed silk scarf, obviously from the building currently engulfed. His look said it all... But he still had more to say.
" Ben... I am sorry but I am talking to the police. We all know who's that is, you spent hours bragging about it back at the station."
My mind was elsewhere... On the first night we met. I was out for lunch at the local dive and she had drunkenly dumped a beer on me, mumbled sorry, and began making herself at home at my table. I was smitten then, she was beautiful even stinking of beer with lipstick smeared everywhere at 11:30 am. We spent the rest of the day talking at that table while she sobered up. The list of things we had in common was massive, my phone bill even larger than that over the next couple of months. We where passionate, I felt more alive than I had in years! Despite our mutual jealousy over each other and bickering, I was happy.
A long time went by before the first fire... Her finger prints where found. My girl, Carissa had definitely been there. I was in denial, consumed by the flame of this red haired beauty! The boys messed them up so they couldn't be filed as evidence. This was the third fire. The scarf was for our 1 year anniversary last week and she had loved it! Now it sat stinking of smoke from a fire she had no business being near. It couldn't be ignored.
The chief nudged me , "You ok?"
"No." I said throwing on my helmet.
Things where almost finished and I was sitting drinking some water when her car pulled up to the scene. She jumped out. Carissa sprinted twoard me and was attempting to hug me before I had time to react but just sat there.
"Are you ok? I didn't know you where on duty today... Did anything happen?"
"Actually yes.." I said as the police sgt. Who had talked to our chief stepped over.
"M'am..." He said quietly, pulling gently at her arm. She desperately looked back and forth between us
" no.. No please! I didn't mean to! Ben, please do something... Help me!"
"I can't give you the help you need." I said as she was cuffed. "This is out of my hands Carissa.". She broke out sobbing but hung her head and stayed silent. I never saw her again but supposedly she ended up in jail more than once for arson and still is in now.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | The truck rolled up to the latest fire in their small backwater town. The boys and I hopped off the truck but before I could get to work reeling our hose, the chief pulled me aside and handed me a singed silk scarf, obviously from the building currently engulfed. His look said it all... But he still had more to say.
" Ben... I am sorry but I am talking to the police. We all know who's that is, you spent hours bragging about it back at the station."
My mind was elsewhere... On the first night we met. I was out for lunch at the local dive and she had drunkenly dumped a beer on me, mumbled sorry, and began making herself at home at my table. I was smitten then, she was beautiful even stinking of beer with lipstick smeared everywhere at 11:30 am. We spent the rest of the day talking at that table while she sobered up. The list of things we had in common was massive, my phone bill even larger than that over the next couple of months. We where passionate, I felt more alive than I had in years! Despite our mutual jealousy over each other and bickering, I was happy.
A long time went by before the first fire... Her finger prints where found. My girl, Carissa had definitely been there. I was in denial, consumed by the flame of this red haired beauty! The boys messed them up so they couldn't be filed as evidence. This was the third fire. The scarf was for our 1 year anniversary last week and she had loved it! Now it sat stinking of smoke from a fire she had no business being near. It couldn't be ignored.
The chief nudged me , "You ok?"
"No." I said throwing on my helmet.
Things where almost finished and I was sitting drinking some water when her car pulled up to the scene. She jumped out. Carissa sprinted twoard me and was attempting to hug me before I had time to react but just sat there.
"Are you ok? I didn't know you where on duty today... Did anything happen?"
"Actually yes.." I said as the police sgt. Who had talked to our chief stepped over.
"M'am..." He said quietly, pulling gently at her arm. She desperately looked back and forth between us
" no.. No please! I didn't mean to! Ben, please do something... Help me!"
"I can't give you the help you need." I said as she was cuffed. "This is out of my hands Carissa.". She broke out sobbing but hung her head and stayed silent. I never saw her again but supposedly she ended up in jail more than once for arson and still is in now.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | The truck rolled up to the latest fire in their small backwater town. The boys and I hopped off the truck but before I could get to work reeling our hose, the chief pulled me aside and handed me a singed silk scarf, obviously from the building currently engulfed. His look said it all... But he still had more to say.
" Ben... I am sorry but I am talking to the police. We all know who's that is, you spent hours bragging about it back at the station."
My mind was elsewhere... On the first night we met. I was out for lunch at the local dive and she had drunkenly dumped a beer on me, mumbled sorry, and began making herself at home at my table. I was smitten then, she was beautiful even stinking of beer with lipstick smeared everywhere at 11:30 am. We spent the rest of the day talking at that table while she sobered up. The list of things we had in common was massive, my phone bill even larger than that over the next couple of months. We where passionate, I felt more alive than I had in years! Despite our mutual jealousy over each other and bickering, I was happy.
A long time went by before the first fire... Her finger prints where found. My girl, Carissa had definitely been there. I was in denial, consumed by the flame of this red haired beauty! The boys messed them up so they couldn't be filed as evidence. This was the third fire. The scarf was for our 1 year anniversary last week and she had loved it! Now it sat stinking of smoke from a fire she had no business being near. It couldn't be ignored.
The chief nudged me , "You ok?"
"No." I said throwing on my helmet.
Things where almost finished and I was sitting drinking some water when her car pulled up to the scene. She jumped out. Carissa sprinted twoard me and was attempting to hug me before I had time to react but just sat there.
"Are you ok? I didn't know you where on duty today... Did anything happen?"
"Actually yes.." I said as the police sgt. Who had talked to our chief stepped over.
"M'am..." He said quietly, pulling gently at her arm. She desperately looked back and forth between us
" no.. No please! I didn't mean to! Ben, please do something... Help me!"
"I can't give you the help you need." I said as she was cuffed. "This is out of my hands Carissa.". She broke out sobbing but hung her head and stayed silent. I never saw her again but supposedly she ended up in jail more than once for arson and still is in now.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| The truck rolled up to the latest fire in their small backwater town. The boys and I hopped off the truck but before I could get to work reeling our hose, the chief pulled me aside and handed me a singed silk scarf, obviously from the building currently engulfed. His look said it all... But he still had more to say.
" Ben... I am sorry but I am talking to the police. We all know who's that is, you spent hours bragging about it back at the station."
My mind was elsewhere... On the first night we met. I was out for lunch at the local dive and she had drunkenly dumped a beer on me, mumbled sorry, and began making herself at home at my table. I was smitten then, she was beautiful even stinking of beer with lipstick smeared everywhere at 11:30 am. We spent the rest of the day talking at that table while she sobered up. The list of things we had in common was massive, my phone bill even larger than that over the next couple of months. We where passionate, I felt more alive than I had in years! Despite our mutual jealousy over each other and bickering, I was happy.
A long time went by before the first fire... Her finger prints where found. My girl, Carissa had definitely been there. I was in denial, consumed by the flame of this red haired beauty! The boys messed them up so they couldn't be filed as evidence. This was the third fire. The scarf was for our 1 year anniversary last week and she had loved it! Now it sat stinking of smoke from a fire she had no business being near. It couldn't be ignored.
The chief nudged me , "You ok?"
"No." I said throwing on my helmet.
Things where almost finished and I was sitting drinking some water when her car pulled up to the scene. She jumped out. Carissa sprinted twoard me and was attempting to hug me before I had time to react but just sat there.
"Are you ok? I didn't know you where on duty today... Did anything happen?"
"Actually yes.." I said as the police sgt. Who had talked to our chief stepped over.
"M'am..." He said quietly, pulling gently at her arm. She desperately looked back and forth between us
" no.. No please! I didn't mean to! Ben, please do something... Help me!"
"I can't give you the help you need." I said as she was cuffed. "This is out of my hands Carissa.". She broke out sobbing but hung her head and stayed silent. I never saw her again but supposedly she ended up in jail more than once for arson and still is in now.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| I've spent
this whole fling
putting out
your fires.
That's the way
you want it.
You've a flair
for drama
but you can't see
mine.
And every effort
I make
you trample
and ruin.
You're in it for
attention.
Find it
somewhere else.
This is why
in my line of work
we don't do
repeat customers. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | I've spent
this whole fling
putting out
your fires.
That's the way
you want it.
You've a flair
for drama
but you can't see
mine.
And every effort
I make
you trample
and ruin.
You're in it for
attention.
Find it
somewhere else.
This is why
in my line of work
we don't do
repeat customers. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | I've spent
this whole fling
putting out
your fires.
That's the way
you want it.
You've a flair
for drama
but you can't see
mine.
And every effort
I make
you trample
and ruin.
You're in it for
attention.
Find it
somewhere else.
This is why
in my line of work
we don't do
repeat customers. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| I've spent
this whole fling
putting out
your fires.
That's the way
you want it.
You've a flair
for drama
but you can't see
mine.
And every effort
I make
you trample
and ruin.
You're in it for
attention.
Find it
somewhere else.
This is why
in my line of work
we don't do
repeat customers. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| He was a firefighter
She was an arsonist
Can I make it any more obvious?
The boning was great
But she couldn’t stay
What more can I say
He wanted her
She’d never tell… secretly she wanted to burn his house down, oh well.
And all of their friends
Knew something was up
When they spotted gasoline cans on his fire truck
He was a firefighter
She said “whoops sorry I dropped this match”
And watched the whole thing burn
With smoke in her face
She walked out of that place
She needed to get some fresh air in her lungs
Ten minutes later
He shows up mad
Watching the fire, he’s all alone
She got arrested
That turned out fine
Turns out arsonists look good in orange
She calls him collect
He contemplates life
And then answers the phone
Edit: formatting | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | It was 3am. One of those god forsaken rainy nights where even the crazies seek shelter. We'd gotten the call two hours ago. Nine alarms. Every engine within 20 minutes drive responding to the blaze.
The old apartment building had been a torrent of flame. We ran in to save anyone we could. To fight the demon flame. Like we always do.
We lost old Joe and the Captain to a back draft on the fifth floor. Why Joe opened that door I'll never know. Must have been exhaustion or maybe in the heat and smokey dimness he got disoriented. We'll never know.
I was on my wagon, the fire finally out, ruined with grief and pain and exhaustion. That's when I saw her. Wrapped in a soaked grey blanket. Just another victim of the fire. Or so I thought at the time.
She saw my look, my haunted hangdog expression. She came over. We talked. She comforted. She stroked my back and shoulders. Held me. The animal in me was awake, my human mind sleeping. All I wanted was to fuck. To feel alive. It's not like this was the first time a woman approached me after a fire.
Somehow, we ended at my place. I don't remember how we got there. I didn't care. Her tongue was in my mouth, my hands were on her ass. She pinned me against the wall, surprisingly strong, mashing her soft, warm body against mine. We stripped out of our soaked and sudden clothes. I was hard. She was wet. I took her for the first time right there on the coffee table. She bit and scratched and bucked like a wild thing. She screamed her ecstasy. The neighbors banged on their floors, their walls, their ceilings. The next time was on the rug. Then the shower. The bathroom sink. The bed. The kitchen.
We slept. We woke. We fucked. I didn't have a shift for 48 hours. We made use of it all.
I woke at 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon. There was no trace of her. I moved to get out of bed, shower, dress. No, wait, I tried to move. But I was tied. Ankles and wrists secured to the bed frame. Huh. Forgot about that...
And that's when I heard it. Beep. Beep. Beep. One a second. Low quiet. And then... Warmth and light.
And that's the last thing I remember before I ended up here talking to you. Where are we exactly? | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He was a boy, she was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?**
**He fought fires, fought them all day
What more can I say?**
**He wanted her, he tried to tell
But that part didn't end so well.**
**And why all the flames flew up she knows
It was all planned when he gave her the rose**
**He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.**
Five days ago,
She was at home
Dreaming of fires
And how they burn
She lit up a flame
So small so tame
Til the couch caught - it's not a game
She calls 911,they already know
And they've brought their hoses to quench the glow
She gets outside and stands back to see
Her home's burning but she feels so free.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
After it was all put out
He saw her standing about
He said I think we'll be friends
And that's how the story ends
Too bad that you couldn't see
The monster that girl could be
There is more that meets the eye
I see the soul that is inside
He was a boy, and she was a girl
Can I make it anymore obvious?
He was in love, haven't you heard
How he rocked her insane world
He was a fireman, but she had an evil plan
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a propane can, and fire starter to fan
She needed to wipe him from the earth.
*(edit - added in the rest of the song, original part is bolded)* | *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | **He Said:**
 
We met at a bar, 3AM, I was just coming off my shift
She was alone, lighting matches at the corner bar stool
Her eyes focused on flames
There was heat between us instantly
 
I was still wearing my badge when I introduced myself
She put a match between her lips
Struck it with a strangely graceful precision
and put it out against my chest
I was done
 
Fire in my veins,
boiling blood,
the same adreline that drove me into burning buildings
the same part of me that saved children, mothers, and fathers
kept me following the trail of burnt matches to her bedroom
 
I never knew which part of her I would get
Fire: too hot, too bright
Lava: slow, scorching
Embers: burning, greedy
Sparks: waiting, wanting, desperate
 
Scorch marks up and down her arms
Across her tender chest
Small disasters in her wake
Countless fires I’ve fought
I wanted to be her water.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
She’s there.
alone
in the shadows
a match against her lips
 
*Tell me the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
I already know.
*Tell me the truth*
I beg, I shake her
*Tell me.*
She does.
And I know
I’m begging her to lie.
So she doesn’t.
She doesn't.
 
 
**She Said:**
 
I met him in a bar, 3AM, he must have been just coming off his shift
He looked exhausted, but alive
like he just saved the world
He was life, I was destruction
There was steam between us instantly
 
His blue eyes watched me, mesmerized,
as I struck a match between my lips
He didn’t flinch when I put it out against his chest
He was water
I was done
 
Water pulling me under
but I mix it with gasoline
Currents dragging me deeper
but I pollute the sea
following him to his bedroom
on the nights he couldn’t sleep
balancing elements until neither of us could breathe
 
Scorch marks on his chest
where no one can see
I’d burn him, while he soothed me.
I was his fire,
leaving small disasters in my wake,
knowing sirens could not stay away.
I was too much for him.
 
Two casualties, 10 hours
smoke inhalation, damaged lungs
blackened frame
everything gone
 
I’m there.
Alone
in the shadows
a match against my lips
 
*Tell him the truth*
my throat constricts
*Say it*
He thinks he already knows.
*Tell him the truth*
He begs, He shakes me
*Tell him.*
I don't.
He’s begging me to lie.
So I do.
I do.
 
| *I miss you so much.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*You were everything to me.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
*It didn't have to be this way.*
SSSSSHHHHHHH
"Captain! We're done hosing this end. Going around back now."
........
*I miss you so much.*
Gasoline pours.
*You were everything to me.*
Match strikes.
*It didn't have to be this way.*
Alarm sounds.
........
"I got this one, guys."
"But Captain, you've been responding all week."
Siren blares.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *For some reason I just want to write the ending*
. . . And as the foam filled the apartment choking the wicked fire, Greg leaned out the fourth story window shouting to a sprinting Bethany, "NICE TRY BITCH I LINED THE WALLS WITH EXTINGUISHERS!" | The first time he spots her she is barefoot in the grass, on the lawn of a burning house along a sleepy street.
The neighbours wake quickly though, lights flipping on in quaint Victorian houses — a chain reaction spreading the length of homes. People trail from doors left ajar to wonder and nose into the details of the fire. Someone with a sensible mind has already called the fire department: a firetruck edges up to the curb, firefighters spilling like water from its doors and hoses unfurling like snakes.
She's advancing towards the house, uncaring of other people's attempts to give it a wide berth. The scent of smoke is strong in the air, like a vice around a throat. Her fingers are curled around the neck of a glass bottle.
He jogs up to her side. "Miss, is this your house? Please keep away, we've got it under control."
She pauses mid-stride; There is no fear in her eyes as she turns to him. A breeze has whipped her hair into a frenzy, shining a rusty brass in the twilight. "It's not, no." Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her nightgown as she speaks. "But it must be safe now, with you here." Mid-sentence her lips form a smile.
Somewhere within him he feels the tug of a string. Drawn like wind to a fire. "Not that close. I must insist that you stay away."
Her eyes flutter closed. "Okay."
She allows him to lead her to safety by the hand. Then, as surely as she'd known that he would rescue her, she whispers in his ear a question of his dinner plans tonight.
 
-----
 
In-between courses he rummages through his pocket and produces a cigarette, but not a lighter. He looks around, until his gaze falls on the candles lit at the centre of their table.
"Is that a cigarette I see, Mister Fireman?" she enquires playfully, setting down her wineglass.
A shrug, as he leans forward with the cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "A routine," he mumbles, talking around the stick held by his teeth. The tip of the cigarette lights eventually, a glow of red as he sucks in a breath. Holding it in his throat like cool marbles on a palm. He leans back in his chair and blows the smoke to the side.
She watches, light flickering in her eyes as she recites a quote from some long-lost book. Or from nowhere.
"It is a fire that kills from within." Then with her fingers she pinches the candle's flame, snuffing it.
 
-----
 
They are standing next to his car when it rains — a summery sort of rain that shakes leaves and beats down on tin roofs in a lost rhythm of its own. A rhythm mirroring the hammer in their hearts as they kiss, her arms twined desperately around his neck as his circle her waist: two lovers unshaken by the downpour.
 
-----
 
He never asks what she does, only watching silently as the pinned maps on the walls of the spare room grow and grow, an atlas come alive by the patient nurturing of her own hands. Red lines charting routes, demarcating zones, circling areas of importance. Cartography? Traffic? Geoscience?
When she's stuck the last of the maps onto the wall he accosts her from behind, reaching for her hand and pressing his lips against the skin.
She laughs, gravelly and sharp, swatting away his hand. And yet she leans into him, a happy sigh on her lips.
He doesn't care for specifics. He really doesn't.
 
-----
 
He wakes to an empty house.
A glance at his watch displeases him, as he rolls out of bed and slams doors in his wake. Doors opened and closed, drawers yanked opened and slapped closed. The entirety of things swept off a countertop. Worry stitched into his brow, his hands press against the back of his head as he surveys the house from its centre — a dusk-orange light pouring in rectangles into every room. She's not here, *not here.* Leaving him behind. Gone.
A click echoes in the hallway, before the door at the end swings open.
He exhales, made whole again.
She lingers at the doorway for a while, gaze skipping over everything else before falling on him. An easy smile breaks across her face, but doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Hey—"
Her words die out as he envelops her in a hug, face pushed into the crook of her neck. She smells of gasoline, grass seeds, and summer.
"It's seven." His tone is scathing, betrayed.
"I know." Her hand comes up, hesitating before patting him reassuringly on the back. "Drove right into a gridlock on the way home. I'm sorry."
When he lets go of her his eyes trail down to the jug of gasoline in her hand.
Following his gaze she simply answers, "Oh, for the car, that old thing. Always leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere without gas."
She brushes past him and heads down the corridor. He hears her footsteps hesitate outside her room, before pacing down the hallway and out into the garage.
He flops down onto the sofa, lighting a cigarette as a fire truck siren wails in the distance.
 
-----
 
Through the crack in the door he sees her. And it, whatever it is: bottles upon bottles glistening, freshly rinsed, waiting to be filled.
His nose wrinkles at the sharp tang of petrol — the jug from days before, standing uncapped on the floor next to her knee.
 
-----
 
"You are too much. Too much, you know that?" She bites out as she stands next to the street-facing window with folded arms, watching a plume of smoke rise up a few roads down.
The words hit him like a wave, enough to push him back a few steps. He wills the words away with a shake of his head. "It's only because I love you."
"Love?" She shoots him a disbelieving look. "When have you *loved?* Everyday I come home I put up with the same nonsense you spout about missing me, when all you want to do is lock me up in this, this... hell!"
He sees a vision of his hand punching her before he can feel his fists clench, rage coursing like fire in his veins. He settles for the wall instead, feeling the tiles splinter from the force.
She jumps, stepping backwards with a hand clasped over her heart. She flicks from him to the damaged wall and back again, eyes strung wide open.
*No no not fear you've never feared anything before not me don't fear me*
The rough sputter of the car exhaust wakes him, only to find that he's somehow rushed out of the house and started up his car. He needs an escape, a distraction to soothe the pulsing red within him.
A few turns later he's on the main street, his driving steady enough to not arouse any unwanted attention. The radio's tuned to static, so his mind turns inwards — to his memories of her.
The gasoline. The routes. Glass bottles lined up in a row. Double shifts at work. More fires blamed on the scorch of summer. Fire. *Fire.*
It all clicks, unpleasant and nauseating in its truth. He can feel his heart hurl against his ribs as he slams the brakes, ripping the steering wheel abruptly left as he speeds towards home, whatever it still means.
 
-----
 
It's like that day, that first day, when the backdrop of the burning house rendered her hair aflame, when shadows danced over exposed skin and imbued her with such a *fragile* quality. Like someone to be protected.
But in the living room, with all the traces of them ablaze—scattered polaroids, paperbacks that they'd read to each other, her beloved maps soaked in red—in the centre, she is hardened, and washed of his ways, different except for the same orange light that dances across her face.
He is robbed of his breath still, although less gracefully than in the past.
Holding his gaze she lifts up an object for him to see, palm sized and sterile-white despite the growing fire.
The rage dies out, replaced by a stark coldness in his veins despite the heat.
She throws the test strip, the one with a blue line across its clear, clear screen, into the flames, together with everything else. Her eyes never leave his as she circles around the burning heap, brushes past him wordlessly, and heads out the door — driving away in her car the same manner he did minutes before.
His hand slowly reaches into his pocket for his phone, punching in the number for the fire department.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | "How am I supposed to put out all your fires for you?" He approached the occupied motel bed dressed head-to-toe in uniform.
"You always find a way." The words trickled out of her mouth seductively, her lips forming a wide grin, "Blaine?" There was a moment's hesitation. "Helmet off." Her eyes followed his broad, strong hands up to the top of his head and watched with quiet exhilaration as he uncovered himself. Intense flaming locks, smoothed down from his hat. They were the one fire he'd never put out; she was irreversibly enticed by their likeness to flame.
As Blaine held her gaze, he briefly acknowledged the lustful, longing shift that occurred in her when he removed his helmet. Tucking this aside away, he beheld her nakedness. She curled into herself on the bed, flipping her light hair over one shoulder, and beckoned for him.
.
Smoke stung his lungs and maddening beeping flooded through his semi-conscious mind; he bolted upright. She was gone. In her place, red-hot flames surrounded the room, licking up the walls and jumping at the ceiling. With a loud burst, the television at the other end of the room exploded, sending small shards of glass and plastic in all directions. There was a commotion outside. Blaine swiftly slid on his shirt and jacket and, having slept in his station pants, began lacing his boots.
When the door was finally forced open, the only occupant of the room was the great blaze, consuming all the evidence that two opposites had made love the previous night -- aside from Blaine's name attached to the room, of course.
"So, let me get this straight." Back at the station, the chief's eyes were level with Blaine's, his mustache tickling the ends of Blaine's nose, "You impulsively get a room for one night, the next day the room catches fire -- endangering the safety of everyone at the motel -- and you show up forty minutes late without your helmet?" She'd stolen his helmet.
"Sounds pretty damn fishy, huh?" It was worth a shot to try and joke with the chief.
The chief's eyes bulged slightly, a dollop of saliva permeated his pursed lips. "Fishy? Pretty damn fishy is *right*!" Blaine regretted using the word 'fishy' as the chief had a terrible habit of spraying his speech, especially when he was excited. As soon as the chief inhaled in preparation to berate Blaine more, the station alarm went off. "We'll get back to this," the chief's eyes were hard. With everyone rushing about to get ready, Blaine glanced at the monitor that relayed the address of the fire:
440 Main St. S.
He hurried into a side closet, and consulted a worn map posted on the wall.
"So you'll know it's me," she'd whispered so many nights before, placing the tip of her index finger lightly against his chest, "I'll make a heart."
"A heart?" He looked down at her as she traced a heart repeatedly against his breast and laughed to himself, "That is pure insanity." He may have been in love with her.
She straightened herself over him and, through red lips, said, "I'm insane."
Two tips of a heart craned to meet at 440 South Main Street.
As they roared down the city streets, past large buildings, weaving through panicked traffic, it occurred to Blaine that she *was* absolutely insane. The fire engine wailed around a corner and the source for the pillar of smoke that could be seen for miles emerged. She'd taken it upon herself to ignite an old, abandoned church that had been an eyesore of the town for many years. The firefighters pulled up adjacent to the two-story building, which was weathered and beaten and already tilting awkwardly from the damage of the conflagration. Two men began hooking a hose up to the hydrant right outside the church, while two others used the truck's own hose.
"*We've got word there is a woman inside*." The radio on his hip buzzed with urgency, and Blaine peered up at the doomed church, a lump heavy in his throat.
Was he in love?
Without a helmet, in spiteful ignorance of all the calls after him, Blaine sprinted through the gaping entrance of the church, into the inferno she'd created for him. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with nearly unbearable heat, smoke, and fear. The only light in the church was cast through a very large hole in the roof, through the second story which had almost completely caved in. This light helped illuminate the pews, which were all heavily charred and ablaze. Blaine continued to run, straight down the aisle, calling for his flame. No response. Maybe he was the crazy one.
Several gruff shouts followed him in, but now Blaine was in the belly of the church, accompanied only by the heat and the smoke and the groaning sound of the building's wavering structural integrity. The smoke began to choke him as he searched the many back rooms, and several flames lapped at his legs and arms. Upon the discovery of the stairs, Blaine heard the unmistakable notes of an organ being played from above. Was this just a game to her? He carefully climbed his way to her, barely avoiding falling through the staircase where some of the steps had the misfortune of caving through.
He emerged to the second story, where the parts of the floor that had not fallen through surrounded a massive chasm of ever-expanding fiery death threatening to defeat the building. The majority of the smoke leaked out the hole in the roof, leaving the remainder to be illuminated by the sunlight. Across the room sat an organ; a woman sitting placidly on the stool.
Blaine took another step towards her, "This is too muc--" As he stepped, a small, flaming beam from above knocked him on the head. The dull onset of pain followed the woman's sudden outcry. Blaine felt himself fall to the floor, but not before a searing, white-hot rush overtook the crown of his head. The pomade he had been using caught fire, and Blaine writhed in agony as his scalp burned. A shriek sounded across the room and moments later, the woman joined Blaine, repeatedly assaulting his head with her hands, doing anything she could do to extinguish his flaming head. Blaine rolled over onto his back, the floor warming with the fire below, and attempted to stifle the pain that threatened to take his consciousness from him. He opened his bleary eyes through tears and saw the arsonist bent over him, her light hair shrouding his face. Her lips quivered.
"How am I supposed to put out all your fires for you?"
Blaine's radio had been silent for a while, but now it cracked with imminence: "*Blaine! Get the **hell** out of there, kid*--" The radio gargled something unintelligible. Blaine's scalp was numb now, but he judged by the way her eyes flitted back and forth to it, it had caught fire for the last time. They locked eyes as she held him, and heard the floor beginning to cave in below them.
"...*Underground... fallout shelter*...." The plastic on the radio had begun to melt, "...*stored*...."
She began to yank him up, "I don't want to die like this." He struggled to his feet.
The radio burbled its last transmission: "...*gasoline*...." The base of the church fell through.
The mushroom cloud became famous for its heart shape.
| The first time he spots her she is barefoot in the grass, on the lawn of a burning house along a sleepy street.
The neighbours wake quickly though, lights flipping on in quaint Victorian houses — a chain reaction spreading the length of homes. People trail from doors left ajar to wonder and nose into the details of the fire. Someone with a sensible mind has already called the fire department: a firetruck edges up to the curb, firefighters spilling like water from its doors and hoses unfurling like snakes.
She's advancing towards the house, uncaring of other people's attempts to give it a wide berth. The scent of smoke is strong in the air, like a vice around a throat. Her fingers are curled around the neck of a glass bottle.
He jogs up to her side. "Miss, is this your house? Please keep away, we've got it under control."
She pauses mid-stride; There is no fear in her eyes as she turns to him. A breeze has whipped her hair into a frenzy, shining a rusty brass in the twilight. "It's not, no." Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her nightgown as she speaks. "But it must be safe now, with you here." Mid-sentence her lips form a smile.
Somewhere within him he feels the tug of a string. Drawn like wind to a fire. "Not that close. I must insist that you stay away."
Her eyes flutter closed. "Okay."
She allows him to lead her to safety by the hand. Then, as surely as she'd known that he would rescue her, she whispers in his ear a question of his dinner plans tonight.
 
-----
 
In-between courses he rummages through his pocket and produces a cigarette, but not a lighter. He looks around, until his gaze falls on the candles lit at the centre of their table.
"Is that a cigarette I see, Mister Fireman?" she enquires playfully, setting down her wineglass.
A shrug, as he leans forward with the cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "A routine," he mumbles, talking around the stick held by his teeth. The tip of the cigarette lights eventually, a glow of red as he sucks in a breath. Holding it in his throat like cool marbles on a palm. He leans back in his chair and blows the smoke to the side.
She watches, light flickering in her eyes as she recites a quote from some long-lost book. Or from nowhere.
"It is a fire that kills from within." Then with her fingers she pinches the candle's flame, snuffing it.
 
-----
 
They are standing next to his car when it rains — a summery sort of rain that shakes leaves and beats down on tin roofs in a lost rhythm of its own. A rhythm mirroring the hammer in their hearts as they kiss, her arms twined desperately around his neck as his circle her waist: two lovers unshaken by the downpour.
 
-----
 
He never asks what she does, only watching silently as the pinned maps on the walls of the spare room grow and grow, an atlas come alive by the patient nurturing of her own hands. Red lines charting routes, demarcating zones, circling areas of importance. Cartography? Traffic? Geoscience?
When she's stuck the last of the maps onto the wall he accosts her from behind, reaching for her hand and pressing his lips against the skin.
She laughs, gravelly and sharp, swatting away his hand. And yet she leans into him, a happy sigh on her lips.
He doesn't care for specifics. He really doesn't.
 
-----
 
He wakes to an empty house.
A glance at his watch displeases him, as he rolls out of bed and slams doors in his wake. Doors opened and closed, drawers yanked opened and slapped closed. The entirety of things swept off a countertop. Worry stitched into his brow, his hands press against the back of his head as he surveys the house from its centre — a dusk-orange light pouring in rectangles into every room. She's not here, *not here.* Leaving him behind. Gone.
A click echoes in the hallway, before the door at the end swings open.
He exhales, made whole again.
She lingers at the doorway for a while, gaze skipping over everything else before falling on him. An easy smile breaks across her face, but doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Hey—"
Her words die out as he envelops her in a hug, face pushed into the crook of her neck. She smells of gasoline, grass seeds, and summer.
"It's seven." His tone is scathing, betrayed.
"I know." Her hand comes up, hesitating before patting him reassuringly on the back. "Drove right into a gridlock on the way home. I'm sorry."
When he lets go of her his eyes trail down to the jug of gasoline in her hand.
Following his gaze she simply answers, "Oh, for the car, that old thing. Always leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere without gas."
She brushes past him and heads down the corridor. He hears her footsteps hesitate outside her room, before pacing down the hallway and out into the garage.
He flops down onto the sofa, lighting a cigarette as a fire truck siren wails in the distance.
 
-----
 
Through the crack in the door he sees her. And it, whatever it is: bottles upon bottles glistening, freshly rinsed, waiting to be filled.
His nose wrinkles at the sharp tang of petrol — the jug from days before, standing uncapped on the floor next to her knee.
 
-----
 
"You are too much. Too much, you know that?" She bites out as she stands next to the street-facing window with folded arms, watching a plume of smoke rise up a few roads down.
The words hit him like a wave, enough to push him back a few steps. He wills the words away with a shake of his head. "It's only because I love you."
"Love?" She shoots him a disbelieving look. "When have you *loved?* Everyday I come home I put up with the same nonsense you spout about missing me, when all you want to do is lock me up in this, this... hell!"
He sees a vision of his hand punching her before he can feel his fists clench, rage coursing like fire in his veins. He settles for the wall instead, feeling the tiles splinter from the force.
She jumps, stepping backwards with a hand clasped over her heart. She flicks from him to the damaged wall and back again, eyes strung wide open.
*No no not fear you've never feared anything before not me don't fear me*
The rough sputter of the car exhaust wakes him, only to find that he's somehow rushed out of the house and started up his car. He needs an escape, a distraction to soothe the pulsing red within him.
A few turns later he's on the main street, his driving steady enough to not arouse any unwanted attention. The radio's tuned to static, so his mind turns inwards — to his memories of her.
The gasoline. The routes. Glass bottles lined up in a row. Double shifts at work. More fires blamed on the scorch of summer. Fire. *Fire.*
It all clicks, unpleasant and nauseating in its truth. He can feel his heart hurl against his ribs as he slams the brakes, ripping the steering wheel abruptly left as he speeds towards home, whatever it still means.
 
-----
 
It's like that day, that first day, when the backdrop of the burning house rendered her hair aflame, when shadows danced over exposed skin and imbued her with such a *fragile* quality. Like someone to be protected.
But in the living room, with all the traces of them ablaze—scattered polaroids, paperbacks that they'd read to each other, her beloved maps soaked in red—in the centre, she is hardened, and washed of his ways, different except for the same orange light that dances across her face.
He is robbed of his breath still, although less gracefully than in the past.
Holding his gaze she lifts up an object for him to see, palm sized and sterile-white despite the growing fire.
The rage dies out, replaced by a stark coldness in his veins despite the heat.
She throws the test strip, the one with a blue line across its clear, clear screen, into the flames, together with everything else. Her eyes never leave his as she circles around the burning heap, brushes past him wordlessly, and heads out the door — driving away in her car the same manner he did minutes before.
His hand slowly reaches into his pocket for his phone, punching in the number for the fire department.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | "*What?*"
"What do you mean, what? You don't like it?"
"The romance was hot? The break up was explosive?"
"Heh, yeah, I fig-"
"Dave. Look at me."
"Uh, yeah?"
"This is an obituary. You are terrible at your job. You are terrible, Dave." | The first time he spots her she is barefoot in the grass, on the lawn of a burning house along a sleepy street.
The neighbours wake quickly though, lights flipping on in quaint Victorian houses — a chain reaction spreading the length of homes. People trail from doors left ajar to wonder and nose into the details of the fire. Someone with a sensible mind has already called the fire department: a firetruck edges up to the curb, firefighters spilling like water from its doors and hoses unfurling like snakes.
She's advancing towards the house, uncaring of other people's attempts to give it a wide berth. The scent of smoke is strong in the air, like a vice around a throat. Her fingers are curled around the neck of a glass bottle.
He jogs up to her side. "Miss, is this your house? Please keep away, we've got it under control."
She pauses mid-stride; There is no fear in her eyes as she turns to him. A breeze has whipped her hair into a frenzy, shining a rusty brass in the twilight. "It's not, no." Her fingers fiddle with the hem of her nightgown as she speaks. "But it must be safe now, with you here." Mid-sentence her lips form a smile.
Somewhere within him he feels the tug of a string. Drawn like wind to a fire. "Not that close. I must insist that you stay away."
Her eyes flutter closed. "Okay."
She allows him to lead her to safety by the hand. Then, as surely as she'd known that he would rescue her, she whispers in his ear a question of his dinner plans tonight.
 
-----
 
In-between courses he rummages through his pocket and produces a cigarette, but not a lighter. He looks around, until his gaze falls on the candles lit at the centre of their table.
"Is that a cigarette I see, Mister Fireman?" she enquires playfully, setting down her wineglass.
A shrug, as he leans forward with the cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth. "A routine," he mumbles, talking around the stick held by his teeth. The tip of the cigarette lights eventually, a glow of red as he sucks in a breath. Holding it in his throat like cool marbles on a palm. He leans back in his chair and blows the smoke to the side.
She watches, light flickering in her eyes as she recites a quote from some long-lost book. Or from nowhere.
"It is a fire that kills from within." Then with her fingers she pinches the candle's flame, snuffing it.
 
-----
 
They are standing next to his car when it rains — a summery sort of rain that shakes leaves and beats down on tin roofs in a lost rhythm of its own. A rhythm mirroring the hammer in their hearts as they kiss, her arms twined desperately around his neck as his circle her waist: two lovers unshaken by the downpour.
 
-----
 
He never asks what she does, only watching silently as the pinned maps on the walls of the spare room grow and grow, an atlas come alive by the patient nurturing of her own hands. Red lines charting routes, demarcating zones, circling areas of importance. Cartography? Traffic? Geoscience?
When she's stuck the last of the maps onto the wall he accosts her from behind, reaching for her hand and pressing his lips against the skin.
She laughs, gravelly and sharp, swatting away his hand. And yet she leans into him, a happy sigh on her lips.
He doesn't care for specifics. He really doesn't.
 
-----
 
He wakes to an empty house.
A glance at his watch displeases him, as he rolls out of bed and slams doors in his wake. Doors opened and closed, drawers yanked opened and slapped closed. The entirety of things swept off a countertop. Worry stitched into his brow, his hands press against the back of his head as he surveys the house from its centre — a dusk-orange light pouring in rectangles into every room. She's not here, *not here.* Leaving him behind. Gone.
A click echoes in the hallway, before the door at the end swings open.
He exhales, made whole again.
She lingers at the doorway for a while, gaze skipping over everything else before falling on him. An easy smile breaks across her face, but doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Hey—"
Her words die out as he envelops her in a hug, face pushed into the crook of her neck. She smells of gasoline, grass seeds, and summer.
"It's seven." His tone is scathing, betrayed.
"I know." Her hand comes up, hesitating before patting him reassuringly on the back. "Drove right into a gridlock on the way home. I'm sorry."
When he lets go of her his eyes trail down to the jug of gasoline in her hand.
Following his gaze she simply answers, "Oh, for the car, that old thing. Always leaving me stranded in the middle of nowhere without gas."
She brushes past him and heads down the corridor. He hears her footsteps hesitate outside her room, before pacing down the hallway and out into the garage.
He flops down onto the sofa, lighting a cigarette as a fire truck siren wails in the distance.
 
-----
 
Through the crack in the door he sees her. And it, whatever it is: bottles upon bottles glistening, freshly rinsed, waiting to be filled.
His nose wrinkles at the sharp tang of petrol — the jug from days before, standing uncapped on the floor next to her knee.
 
-----
 
"You are too much. Too much, you know that?" She bites out as she stands next to the street-facing window with folded arms, watching a plume of smoke rise up a few roads down.
The words hit him like a wave, enough to push him back a few steps. He wills the words away with a shake of his head. "It's only because I love you."
"Love?" She shoots him a disbelieving look. "When have you *loved?* Everyday I come home I put up with the same nonsense you spout about missing me, when all you want to do is lock me up in this, this... hell!"
He sees a vision of his hand punching her before he can feel his fists clench, rage coursing like fire in his veins. He settles for the wall instead, feeling the tiles splinter from the force.
She jumps, stepping backwards with a hand clasped over her heart. She flicks from him to the damaged wall and back again, eyes strung wide open.
*No no not fear you've never feared anything before not me don't fear me*
The rough sputter of the car exhaust wakes him, only to find that he's somehow rushed out of the house and started up his car. He needs an escape, a distraction to soothe the pulsing red within him.
A few turns later he's on the main street, his driving steady enough to not arouse any unwanted attention. The radio's tuned to static, so his mind turns inwards — to his memories of her.
The gasoline. The routes. Glass bottles lined up in a row. Double shifts at work. More fires blamed on the scorch of summer. Fire. *Fire.*
It all clicks, unpleasant and nauseating in its truth. He can feel his heart hurl against his ribs as he slams the brakes, ripping the steering wheel abruptly left as he speeds towards home, whatever it still means.
 
-----
 
It's like that day, that first day, when the backdrop of the burning house rendered her hair aflame, when shadows danced over exposed skin and imbued her with such a *fragile* quality. Like someone to be protected.
But in the living room, with all the traces of them ablaze—scattered polaroids, paperbacks that they'd read to each other, her beloved maps soaked in red—in the centre, she is hardened, and washed of his ways, different except for the same orange light that dances across her face.
He is robbed of his breath still, although less gracefully than in the past.
Holding his gaze she lifts up an object for him to see, palm sized and sterile-white despite the growing fire.
The rage dies out, replaced by a stark coldness in his veins despite the heat.
She throws the test strip, the one with a blue line across its clear, clear screen, into the flames, together with everything else. Her eyes never leave his as she circles around the burning heap, brushes past him wordlessly, and heads out the door — driving away in her car the same manner he did minutes before.
His hand slowly reaches into his pocket for his phone, punching in the number for the fire department.
| |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | *For some reason I just want to write the ending*
. . . And as the foam filled the apartment choking the wicked fire, Greg leaned out the fourth story window shouting to a sprinting Bethany, "NICE TRY BITCH I LINED THE WALLS WITH EXTINGUISHERS!" | Six more minutes until the building burnt down. "*Come on.*" Caitlyn muttered to herself, watching the door. Smoke was eaking into the room from the lower floors, but it wasn't enough to obscure her sight yet. Instead, the air took on a taste of soot and ash, and breathing became just a little harder than normal.
She breifly considered that he *wasn't* going to come, or that he'd gotten buried under some rubble, but she dismissed the thoughts. He *always* came when she lit a blaze, and she'd chosen this building specifically for its structure. Though the guys in her gang used to joke and tease her about her having dropped out of high school almost a decade ago, but she was actually quite smart. She didn't remember what a square root was or how to denote quadratic equations, but she knew materials' breaking points. Their *melting* points. She'd estimated how long each room would last before collapsing, how long it would take for the fire to spread to this room, and how long it would take for the floors above to collapse on top of her. Five more minutes until it all came crashing down.
She tapped her foot, and resisted the urge to sigh. She wished she could explain to him just how hard it was to set all this up. But then, he wasn't ever this late before, and so she tried to calm down. A rumble as a part of a lower floor collapsed. She fidgeted in her chair, thinking about all the fire just one floor down. She could get out. She could go through the doorway, through the kitchen area, into the stairwell, up to the forth floor, up the fire-escape, across the small gap between the buildings, and to freedom. Then, she could look back and see the beautiful disastor she'd created.
But then, she wouldn't be able to see *him*, and that was half the fun, nowadays. She allowed herself a sigh. Sometimes, she thought about this messed up relationship of hers. She'd light a fire, and he'd rush in to try to stop her. She'd banter, and he'd try to convince her to get mental help. Every time. You'd think that after the twelfth time of her turning it around, of her asking him to join her, he'd quit asking.
But, no, he'd always ask. Maybe he knew her well enough to know the truth: she'd considered giving it up and joining the real world (even if she'd be confined to a mental institution). Maybe then, they could talk for longer than two minutes at a time, under less "dire" circumstances. But then what would she do? Arson was what she was good at; it was *all* she was good at, since she'd quit trying everything else. Everything else was all just too hard.
Four minutes until the building collapses. *Why isn't he here?!* She wondered what he could be planning, but that wasn't her fortè. She'd never been able to understand people very well. She remembered how, after the upteenth incident of someone getting upset out of nowhere over something that happened a week ago, she screamed at her mother (one of the only times she ever screamed) "*I'm sorry! I didn't know I'd hurt you! But you have to tell me! I can't tell!*"
She could still remember the slow change of her mother's expression. Her mother's expression was now the look you'd give when you came across a wounded bird. Pity. Her mother started talking about psychiatrists and getting help, but Caitlyn stopped listening, and broke down crying. Sometime during her mother's attempt at comfort, Caitlyn interrupted her and said "*There's nothing wrong with me.*" Her mother tried to comfort her at that, but it seemed obvious to Caitlyn that her mother thought she was broken.
That was the day Caitlyn decided that society had nothing for her, that she'd never fit in in school. She decided that she'd never be able to understand people, that she was... not broken, but *different* from everyone else. She had no place in society, she figured. And so, she sneaked out of her house that day. She'd hesitated when she thought of leaving her parents, the only people she knew very well, but... she'd just end up hurting them if she stayed, she reasoned. Caitlyn still didn't know if she regretted running away. Maybe she just wanted to escape. Or, maybe, she was done with people getting angry at her.
People still got mad at her for her hobby, of course, but that's OK. She had a role now: the role of the villain. And, speaking of roles, where was the hero of the piece? Three more minutes until the building collapsed! Did he not figure out the clue she left last time? No, he always figured it out. He was smart en----
A loud crash shook her out of her thoughts. The room was now a little too hot for her liking, and some of the floors had small bits of fire that had burnt up. The floorboards creaked far loader than they normally should, the sound of heavy boots walking. Raymond was here. But he looked... sad. He didn't make eye contact.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
--
----
End of Part I. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | "How am I supposed to put out all your fires for you?" He approached the occupied motel bed dressed head-to-toe in uniform.
"You always find a way." The words trickled out of her mouth seductively, her lips forming a wide grin, "Blaine?" There was a moment's hesitation. "Helmet off." Her eyes followed his broad, strong hands up to the top of his head and watched with quiet exhilaration as he uncovered himself. Intense flaming locks, smoothed down from his hat. They were the one fire he'd never put out; she was irreversibly enticed by their likeness to flame.
As Blaine held her gaze, he briefly acknowledged the lustful, longing shift that occurred in her when he removed his helmet. Tucking this aside away, he beheld her nakedness. She curled into herself on the bed, flipping her light hair over one shoulder, and beckoned for him.
.
Smoke stung his lungs and maddening beeping flooded through his semi-conscious mind; he bolted upright. She was gone. In her place, red-hot flames surrounded the room, licking up the walls and jumping at the ceiling. With a loud burst, the television at the other end of the room exploded, sending small shards of glass and plastic in all directions. There was a commotion outside. Blaine swiftly slid on his shirt and jacket and, having slept in his station pants, began lacing his boots.
When the door was finally forced open, the only occupant of the room was the great blaze, consuming all the evidence that two opposites had made love the previous night -- aside from Blaine's name attached to the room, of course.
"So, let me get this straight." Back at the station, the chief's eyes were level with Blaine's, his mustache tickling the ends of Blaine's nose, "You impulsively get a room for one night, the next day the room catches fire -- endangering the safety of everyone at the motel -- and you show up forty minutes late without your helmet?" She'd stolen his helmet.
"Sounds pretty damn fishy, huh?" It was worth a shot to try and joke with the chief.
The chief's eyes bulged slightly, a dollop of saliva permeated his pursed lips. "Fishy? Pretty damn fishy is *right*!" Blaine regretted using the word 'fishy' as the chief had a terrible habit of spraying his speech, especially when he was excited. As soon as the chief inhaled in preparation to berate Blaine more, the station alarm went off. "We'll get back to this," the chief's eyes were hard. With everyone rushing about to get ready, Blaine glanced at the monitor that relayed the address of the fire:
440 Main St. S.
He hurried into a side closet, and consulted a worn map posted on the wall.
"So you'll know it's me," she'd whispered so many nights before, placing the tip of her index finger lightly against his chest, "I'll make a heart."
"A heart?" He looked down at her as she traced a heart repeatedly against his breast and laughed to himself, "That is pure insanity." He may have been in love with her.
She straightened herself over him and, through red lips, said, "I'm insane."
Two tips of a heart craned to meet at 440 South Main Street.
As they roared down the city streets, past large buildings, weaving through panicked traffic, it occurred to Blaine that she *was* absolutely insane. The fire engine wailed around a corner and the source for the pillar of smoke that could be seen for miles emerged. She'd taken it upon herself to ignite an old, abandoned church that had been an eyesore of the town for many years. The firefighters pulled up adjacent to the two-story building, which was weathered and beaten and already tilting awkwardly from the damage of the conflagration. Two men began hooking a hose up to the hydrant right outside the church, while two others used the truck's own hose.
"*We've got word there is a woman inside*." The radio on his hip buzzed with urgency, and Blaine peered up at the doomed church, a lump heavy in his throat.
Was he in love?
Without a helmet, in spiteful ignorance of all the calls after him, Blaine sprinted through the gaping entrance of the church, into the inferno she'd created for him. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with nearly unbearable heat, smoke, and fear. The only light in the church was cast through a very large hole in the roof, through the second story which had almost completely caved in. This light helped illuminate the pews, which were all heavily charred and ablaze. Blaine continued to run, straight down the aisle, calling for his flame. No response. Maybe he was the crazy one.
Several gruff shouts followed him in, but now Blaine was in the belly of the church, accompanied only by the heat and the smoke and the groaning sound of the building's wavering structural integrity. The smoke began to choke him as he searched the many back rooms, and several flames lapped at his legs and arms. Upon the discovery of the stairs, Blaine heard the unmistakable notes of an organ being played from above. Was this just a game to her? He carefully climbed his way to her, barely avoiding falling through the staircase where some of the steps had the misfortune of caving through.
He emerged to the second story, where the parts of the floor that had not fallen through surrounded a massive chasm of ever-expanding fiery death threatening to defeat the building. The majority of the smoke leaked out the hole in the roof, leaving the remainder to be illuminated by the sunlight. Across the room sat an organ; a woman sitting placidly on the stool.
Blaine took another step towards her, "This is too muc--" As he stepped, a small, flaming beam from above knocked him on the head. The dull onset of pain followed the woman's sudden outcry. Blaine felt himself fall to the floor, but not before a searing, white-hot rush overtook the crown of his head. The pomade he had been using caught fire, and Blaine writhed in agony as his scalp burned. A shriek sounded across the room and moments later, the woman joined Blaine, repeatedly assaulting his head with her hands, doing anything she could do to extinguish his flaming head. Blaine rolled over onto his back, the floor warming with the fire below, and attempted to stifle the pain that threatened to take his consciousness from him. He opened his bleary eyes through tears and saw the arsonist bent over him, her light hair shrouding his face. Her lips quivered.
"How am I supposed to put out all your fires for you?"
Blaine's radio had been silent for a while, but now it cracked with imminence: "*Blaine! Get the **hell** out of there, kid*--" The radio gargled something unintelligible. Blaine's scalp was numb now, but he judged by the way her eyes flitted back and forth to it, it had caught fire for the last time. They locked eyes as she held him, and heard the floor beginning to cave in below them.
"...*Underground... fallout shelter*...." The plastic on the radio had begun to melt, "...*stored*...."
She began to yank him up, "I don't want to die like this." He struggled to his feet.
The radio burbled its last transmission: "...*gasoline*...." The base of the church fell through.
The mushroom cloud became famous for its heart shape.
| Six more minutes until the building burnt down. "*Come on.*" Caitlyn muttered to herself, watching the door. Smoke was eaking into the room from the lower floors, but it wasn't enough to obscure her sight yet. Instead, the air took on a taste of soot and ash, and breathing became just a little harder than normal.
She breifly considered that he *wasn't* going to come, or that he'd gotten buried under some rubble, but she dismissed the thoughts. He *always* came when she lit a blaze, and she'd chosen this building specifically for its structure. Though the guys in her gang used to joke and tease her about her having dropped out of high school almost a decade ago, but she was actually quite smart. She didn't remember what a square root was or how to denote quadratic equations, but she knew materials' breaking points. Their *melting* points. She'd estimated how long each room would last before collapsing, how long it would take for the fire to spread to this room, and how long it would take for the floors above to collapse on top of her. Five more minutes until it all came crashing down.
She tapped her foot, and resisted the urge to sigh. She wished she could explain to him just how hard it was to set all this up. But then, he wasn't ever this late before, and so she tried to calm down. A rumble as a part of a lower floor collapsed. She fidgeted in her chair, thinking about all the fire just one floor down. She could get out. She could go through the doorway, through the kitchen area, into the stairwell, up to the forth floor, up the fire-escape, across the small gap between the buildings, and to freedom. Then, she could look back and see the beautiful disastor she'd created.
But then, she wouldn't be able to see *him*, and that was half the fun, nowadays. She allowed herself a sigh. Sometimes, she thought about this messed up relationship of hers. She'd light a fire, and he'd rush in to try to stop her. She'd banter, and he'd try to convince her to get mental help. Every time. You'd think that after the twelfth time of her turning it around, of her asking him to join her, he'd quit asking.
But, no, he'd always ask. Maybe he knew her well enough to know the truth: she'd considered giving it up and joining the real world (even if she'd be confined to a mental institution). Maybe then, they could talk for longer than two minutes at a time, under less "dire" circumstances. But then what would she do? Arson was what she was good at; it was *all* she was good at, since she'd quit trying everything else. Everything else was all just too hard.
Four minutes until the building collapses. *Why isn't he here?!* She wondered what he could be planning, but that wasn't her fortè. She'd never been able to understand people very well. She remembered how, after the upteenth incident of someone getting upset out of nowhere over something that happened a week ago, she screamed at her mother (one of the only times she ever screamed) "*I'm sorry! I didn't know I'd hurt you! But you have to tell me! I can't tell!*"
She could still remember the slow change of her mother's expression. Her mother's expression was now the look you'd give when you came across a wounded bird. Pity. Her mother started talking about psychiatrists and getting help, but Caitlyn stopped listening, and broke down crying. Sometime during her mother's attempt at comfort, Caitlyn interrupted her and said "*There's nothing wrong with me.*" Her mother tried to comfort her at that, but it seemed obvious to Caitlyn that her mother thought she was broken.
That was the day Caitlyn decided that society had nothing for her, that she'd never fit in in school. She decided that she'd never be able to understand people, that she was... not broken, but *different* from everyone else. She had no place in society, she figured. And so, she sneaked out of her house that day. She'd hesitated when she thought of leaving her parents, the only people she knew very well, but... she'd just end up hurting them if she stayed, she reasoned. Caitlyn still didn't know if she regretted running away. Maybe she just wanted to escape. Or, maybe, she was done with people getting angry at her.
People still got mad at her for her hobby, of course, but that's OK. She had a role now: the role of the villain. And, speaking of roles, where was the hero of the piece? Three more minutes until the building collapsed! Did he not figure out the clue she left last time? No, he always figured it out. He was smart en----
A loud crash shook her out of her thoughts. The room was now a little too hot for her liking, and some of the floors had small bits of fire that had burnt up. The floorboards creaked far loader than they normally should, the sound of heavy boots walking. Raymond was here. But he looked... sad. He didn't make eye contact.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
--
----
End of Part I. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | "*What?*"
"What do you mean, what? You don't like it?"
"The romance was hot? The break up was explosive?"
"Heh, yeah, I fig-"
"Dave. Look at me."
"Uh, yeah?"
"This is an obituary. You are terrible at your job. You are terrible, Dave." | Six more minutes until the building burnt down. "*Come on.*" Caitlyn muttered to herself, watching the door. Smoke was eaking into the room from the lower floors, but it wasn't enough to obscure her sight yet. Instead, the air took on a taste of soot and ash, and breathing became just a little harder than normal.
She breifly considered that he *wasn't* going to come, or that he'd gotten buried under some rubble, but she dismissed the thoughts. He *always* came when she lit a blaze, and she'd chosen this building specifically for its structure. Though the guys in her gang used to joke and tease her about her having dropped out of high school almost a decade ago, but she was actually quite smart. She didn't remember what a square root was or how to denote quadratic equations, but she knew materials' breaking points. Their *melting* points. She'd estimated how long each room would last before collapsing, how long it would take for the fire to spread to this room, and how long it would take for the floors above to collapse on top of her. Five more minutes until it all came crashing down.
She tapped her foot, and resisted the urge to sigh. She wished she could explain to him just how hard it was to set all this up. But then, he wasn't ever this late before, and so she tried to calm down. A rumble as a part of a lower floor collapsed. She fidgeted in her chair, thinking about all the fire just one floor down. She could get out. She could go through the doorway, through the kitchen area, into the stairwell, up to the forth floor, up the fire-escape, across the small gap between the buildings, and to freedom. Then, she could look back and see the beautiful disastor she'd created.
But then, she wouldn't be able to see *him*, and that was half the fun, nowadays. She allowed herself a sigh. Sometimes, she thought about this messed up relationship of hers. She'd light a fire, and he'd rush in to try to stop her. She'd banter, and he'd try to convince her to get mental help. Every time. You'd think that after the twelfth time of her turning it around, of her asking him to join her, he'd quit asking.
But, no, he'd always ask. Maybe he knew her well enough to know the truth: she'd considered giving it up and joining the real world (even if she'd be confined to a mental institution). Maybe then, they could talk for longer than two minutes at a time, under less "dire" circumstances. But then what would she do? Arson was what she was good at; it was *all* she was good at, since she'd quit trying everything else. Everything else was all just too hard.
Four minutes until the building collapses. *Why isn't he here?!* She wondered what he could be planning, but that wasn't her fortè. She'd never been able to understand people very well. She remembered how, after the upteenth incident of someone getting upset out of nowhere over something that happened a week ago, she screamed at her mother (one of the only times she ever screamed) "*I'm sorry! I didn't know I'd hurt you! But you have to tell me! I can't tell!*"
She could still remember the slow change of her mother's expression. Her mother's expression was now the look you'd give when you came across a wounded bird. Pity. Her mother started talking about psychiatrists and getting help, but Caitlyn stopped listening, and broke down crying. Sometime during her mother's attempt at comfort, Caitlyn interrupted her and said "*There's nothing wrong with me.*" Her mother tried to comfort her at that, but it seemed obvious to Caitlyn that her mother thought she was broken.
That was the day Caitlyn decided that society had nothing for her, that she'd never fit in in school. She decided that she'd never be able to understand people, that she was... not broken, but *different* from everyone else. She had no place in society, she figured. And so, she sneaked out of her house that day. She'd hesitated when she thought of leaving her parents, the only people she knew very well, but... she'd just end up hurting them if she stayed, she reasoned. Caitlyn still didn't know if she regretted running away. Maybe she just wanted to escape. Or, maybe, she was done with people getting angry at her.
People still got mad at her for her hobby, of course, but that's OK. She had a role now: the role of the villain. And, speaking of roles, where was the hero of the piece? Three more minutes until the building collapsed! Did he not figure out the clue she left last time? No, he always figured it out. He was smart en----
A loud crash shook her out of her thoughts. The room was now a little too hot for her liking, and some of the floors had small bits of fire that had burnt up. The floorboards creaked far loader than they normally should, the sound of heavy boots walking. Raymond was here. But he looked... sad. He didn't make eye contact.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
--
----
End of Part I. | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | "How am I supposed to put out all your fires for you?" He approached the occupied motel bed dressed head-to-toe in uniform.
"You always find a way." The words trickled out of her mouth seductively, her lips forming a wide grin, "Blaine?" There was a moment's hesitation. "Helmet off." Her eyes followed his broad, strong hands up to the top of his head and watched with quiet exhilaration as he uncovered himself. Intense flaming locks, smoothed down from his hat. They were the one fire he'd never put out; she was irreversibly enticed by their likeness to flame.
As Blaine held her gaze, he briefly acknowledged the lustful, longing shift that occurred in her when he removed his helmet. Tucking this aside away, he beheld her nakedness. She curled into herself on the bed, flipping her light hair over one shoulder, and beckoned for him.
.
Smoke stung his lungs and maddening beeping flooded through his semi-conscious mind; he bolted upright. She was gone. In her place, red-hot flames surrounded the room, licking up the walls and jumping at the ceiling. With a loud burst, the television at the other end of the room exploded, sending small shards of glass and plastic in all directions. There was a commotion outside. Blaine swiftly slid on his shirt and jacket and, having slept in his station pants, began lacing his boots.
When the door was finally forced open, the only occupant of the room was the great blaze, consuming all the evidence that two opposites had made love the previous night -- aside from Blaine's name attached to the room, of course.
"So, let me get this straight." Back at the station, the chief's eyes were level with Blaine's, his mustache tickling the ends of Blaine's nose, "You impulsively get a room for one night, the next day the room catches fire -- endangering the safety of everyone at the motel -- and you show up forty minutes late without your helmet?" She'd stolen his helmet.
"Sounds pretty damn fishy, huh?" It was worth a shot to try and joke with the chief.
The chief's eyes bulged slightly, a dollop of saliva permeated his pursed lips. "Fishy? Pretty damn fishy is *right*!" Blaine regretted using the word 'fishy' as the chief had a terrible habit of spraying his speech, especially when he was excited. As soon as the chief inhaled in preparation to berate Blaine more, the station alarm went off. "We'll get back to this," the chief's eyes were hard. With everyone rushing about to get ready, Blaine glanced at the monitor that relayed the address of the fire:
440 Main St. S.
He hurried into a side closet, and consulted a worn map posted on the wall.
"So you'll know it's me," she'd whispered so many nights before, placing the tip of her index finger lightly against his chest, "I'll make a heart."
"A heart?" He looked down at her as she traced a heart repeatedly against his breast and laughed to himself, "That is pure insanity." He may have been in love with her.
She straightened herself over him and, through red lips, said, "I'm insane."
Two tips of a heart craned to meet at 440 South Main Street.
As they roared down the city streets, past large buildings, weaving through panicked traffic, it occurred to Blaine that she *was* absolutely insane. The fire engine wailed around a corner and the source for the pillar of smoke that could be seen for miles emerged. She'd taken it upon herself to ignite an old, abandoned church that had been an eyesore of the town for many years. The firefighters pulled up adjacent to the two-story building, which was weathered and beaten and already tilting awkwardly from the damage of the conflagration. Two men began hooking a hose up to the hydrant right outside the church, while two others used the truck's own hose.
"*We've got word there is a woman inside*." The radio on his hip buzzed with urgency, and Blaine peered up at the doomed church, a lump heavy in his throat.
Was he in love?
Without a helmet, in spiteful ignorance of all the calls after him, Blaine sprinted through the gaping entrance of the church, into the inferno she'd created for him. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with nearly unbearable heat, smoke, and fear. The only light in the church was cast through a very large hole in the roof, through the second story which had almost completely caved in. This light helped illuminate the pews, which were all heavily charred and ablaze. Blaine continued to run, straight down the aisle, calling for his flame. No response. Maybe he was the crazy one.
Several gruff shouts followed him in, but now Blaine was in the belly of the church, accompanied only by the heat and the smoke and the groaning sound of the building's wavering structural integrity. The smoke began to choke him as he searched the many back rooms, and several flames lapped at his legs and arms. Upon the discovery of the stairs, Blaine heard the unmistakable notes of an organ being played from above. Was this just a game to her? He carefully climbed his way to her, barely avoiding falling through the staircase where some of the steps had the misfortune of caving through.
He emerged to the second story, where the parts of the floor that had not fallen through surrounded a massive chasm of ever-expanding fiery death threatening to defeat the building. The majority of the smoke leaked out the hole in the roof, leaving the remainder to be illuminated by the sunlight. Across the room sat an organ; a woman sitting placidly on the stool.
Blaine took another step towards her, "This is too muc--" As he stepped, a small, flaming beam from above knocked him on the head. The dull onset of pain followed the woman's sudden outcry. Blaine felt himself fall to the floor, but not before a searing, white-hot rush overtook the crown of his head. The pomade he had been using caught fire, and Blaine writhed in agony as his scalp burned. A shriek sounded across the room and moments later, the woman joined Blaine, repeatedly assaulting his head with her hands, doing anything she could do to extinguish his flaming head. Blaine rolled over onto his back, the floor warming with the fire below, and attempted to stifle the pain that threatened to take his consciousness from him. He opened his bleary eyes through tears and saw the arsonist bent over him, her light hair shrouding his face. Her lips quivered.
"How am I supposed to put out all your fires for you?"
Blaine's radio had been silent for a while, but now it cracked with imminence: "*Blaine! Get the **hell** out of there, kid*--" The radio gargled something unintelligible. Blaine's scalp was numb now, but he judged by the way her eyes flitted back and forth to it, it had caught fire for the last time. They locked eyes as she held him, and heard the floor beginning to cave in below them.
"...*Underground... fallout shelter*...." The plastic on the radio had begun to melt, "...*stored*...."
She began to yank him up, "I don't want to die like this." He struggled to his feet.
The radio burbled its last transmission: "...*gasoline*...." The base of the church fell through.
The mushroom cloud became famous for its heart shape.
| *For some reason I just want to write the ending*
. . . And as the foam filled the apartment choking the wicked fire, Greg leaned out the fourth story window shouting to a sprinting Bethany, "NICE TRY BITCH I LINED THE WALLS WITH EXTINGUISHERS!" | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | We met at the 32nd St.
It was an emergency call around midnight. A fire had gone loose at a complex. Families were trapped and pleading for help.
Fortunately, there were no casualties. The left wing was beyond repair but otherwise, the apartment was intact.
Among the survivors, though, was a woman who stood before the rubbles.
She was shaking.
She was crying.
"So... beautiful... so young... too soon..." she whispered as I tried to comfort her with a hug.
"It was so beautiful. It was so young. It died too soon..."
Our chief had her signed up on a class about the dangers of fire and means to prevent it.
I was tasked to ensure her attendance.
She had the most beautiful emerald eyes. She didn't have red hair - but the way her dark mane swayed as she laughed and talked, sparked untold passions within my heart.
Pretty soon, barely an hour before her class, we were dating. She had me ablaze and I was hooked.
I watch her mesmerized gaze at the dancing flames within my Zippo. She looked at it with childlike fascination and marvel - the very same way I felt while I gaze at her, mesmerized.
I held her hand as she brought me to see fireworks. I curled my toes as she leaned up to kiss me.
She brought me to a beach party with fire performers dancing among the crowd. I watch her, transfixed, as she rocked her body against mine. Smirking, she slid my hands down her red dress, to her hips, and raised her hands over my head, down to my shoulders.
She filled me with desires and passion I've never felt before.
She was oil and I was fire.
She was perfect.
She was amazing.
She was my love.
I led her blindfolded out her balcony by our seventh date.
"Open it," I had stated breathlessly.
The cloth fell as quickly as her jaw did. The 33rd St. was ablaze. My gift for her. A school right before her house.
She was perfect.
She was amazing
She was my love.
Then, she slapped me.
She was a teacher.
And then, she was gone.
I drowned my sorrows with scotch and beer. I found no relief. A man had asked me for a light outside the bar.
As I felt the flint crack against steel, watched sparks ignite the wick, and beheld the little fire dancing before me, I remembered her.
Her dark hair swaying as she danced, in that red dress of hers.
Her bright green eyes transfixed at the candle on our dinner dates.
I will win her back.
She was my oil and I was her fire.
"Tonight," I think to myself as I pour gasoline over my uniform, "I will be her oil."
I slam the ax against her apartment's door.
I drop the open tank beside me and gently kick it towards her.
It stops at her feet, leaking more and more of my oil.
Perfect.
I watch her beautiful green eyes widen, her lips gasp and her arms stiffen, as she backed herself to a wall.
Amazing.
I walk towards her, smiling and extending my arms.
My love.
She screams.
I wrap her in an embrace, flick my Zippo and let it fall between us.
Tonight, she will be my fire. | The door gave way after three swings of the fire axe, and Philip charged in. Even through his gear, he could feel the stinging heat of the fire on his skin. Somewhere behind him, another firefighter yelled that he didn't have to go in there; the place was abandoned. All they needed to do was keep the fire from spreading.
Philip knew better. He knew that she would be here. She always was.
He found her in the middle of it all, sitting in the middle of a burning room, flames not touching her. At her side was a fire extinguisher and a bucket of water. She wore clothes that would have looked more at home in a bar or club than in the center of a burning building. In her lithe hands, a metal lighter flicked opened and closed.
She smiled when she saw him. "I figured you'd come," she said. "Like what I've done with the place?"
"Erica," Philip said. "We need to talk."
The lighter clicked shut. "Oh," said the red-haired woman. "I see."
"I'm sorry, it's just - I can't keep doing this," Philip said, indicating the building burning around them. "Most girlfriends think up ways to meet that *don't* involve setting buildings on fire!"
"Oh my *god,* what's the big deal? It's not like anybody lives here!" Erica said, holding out her arms. They were covered with whorled burn scars; Philip had always found them attractive, and wasn't sure if that made him as weird as she was. "It was getting demolished in a few weeks anyway!"
"I'm sorry," he said. "But I don't think it's going to work out." He sighed, hand on the gas mask he wore to protect his lungs from the smoke. Erica wore no such protection; the burning made her feel alive. "I think we should see other people."
"Philip-"
"I'm sorry," he said, turning away from her. "I really did enjoy our time together, but it's time for me to move on."
She didn't cry; that just made him feel worse. "Okay," she said, rising on ash-stained legs. "Okay. Fine."
"I'm sorry," he said as she walked past him. "Do you want me to carry you out of the fire again? For old time's sake?"
"I'm good," she said, spinning the lighter he had given her between her fingers. "I'll just leave through the back. Less awkwardness and fewer arrests for arson."
"That makes sense," Philip said. He was actually a bit disappointed he wouldn't get to carry her out. That was how they had first met; she had just set fire to a derelict apartment building, but the amateur arsonist had forgotten to check her escape route and become trapped in the building. He had faintly heard the screams through the roar of flames, and charged in alone to save her.
It took four weeks, three rescues, and more than a few dates for him to finally draw the connection between her hobby of loitering in abandoned buildings and the fact that those buildings would mysteriously catch fire while she was there. In hindsight, it was fairly obvious.
"You might want to hurry, though," Erica said, walking between tongues of flames like they didn't matter to her. "I punched some holes in a gas pipe a few floors up, so the flames should be getting there pretty quick."
"You never change," Philip sighed.
She gave him a final smile, and then she was gone.
---
As Philip exited the building, the top floors exploded. He turned to look, marveling at the bright oranges, reds, and yellows, clashing against the night sky like a quickly expanding flower. He wondered if that was how Erica saw every fire. He shook his head to dispel those thoughts. She wasn't a part of his life anymore.
"What the hell did you do that for?!" shouted Malcolm, one of Philip's closest friends on the squad.
"Erica and I broke up," Philip said.
"Oh," Malcolm said. Around them, the rest of the fire fighters bustled to keep the flames from spreading. Philip stepped a few feet to the left to avoid a falling chunk of debris. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Philip said, grabbing a thick hose from the engine. "I'll really miss her, though."
"I'm sorry, man," Malcolm said, patting Philip on the back. "Plenty of fish in the sea, right? Hopefully not many of them are arsonists."
"Maybe," Philip said, turning on the water and dousing the flames, erasing her work with each tongue extinguished. For a moment, he thought he saw a woman's shape in the flames, watching him, and then she was gone.
"You know she's probably going to set fire to your apartment, right?"
"Yeah, probably."
---
Check out my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.wordpress.com) to see more of what I write. And you can subscribe to it to be alerted when I post something new. That's pretty nifty, right? | |
[WP] She was an arsonist. He was a firefighter. The romance was hot. The break up was explosive. | We met at the 32nd St.
It was an emergency call around midnight. A fire had gone loose at a complex. Families were trapped and pleading for help.
Fortunately, there were no casualties. The left wing was beyond repair but otherwise, the apartment was intact.
Among the survivors, though, was a woman who stood before the rubbles.
She was shaking.
She was crying.
"So... beautiful... so young... too soon..." she whispered as I tried to comfort her with a hug.
"It was so beautiful. It was so young. It died too soon..."
Our chief had her signed up on a class about the dangers of fire and means to prevent it.
I was tasked to ensure her attendance.
She had the most beautiful emerald eyes. She didn't have red hair - but the way her dark mane swayed as she laughed and talked, sparked untold passions within my heart.
Pretty soon, barely an hour before her class, we were dating. She had me ablaze and I was hooked.
I watch her mesmerized gaze at the dancing flames within my Zippo. She looked at it with childlike fascination and marvel - the very same way I felt while I gaze at her, mesmerized.
I held her hand as she brought me to see fireworks. I curled my toes as she leaned up to kiss me.
She brought me to a beach party with fire performers dancing among the crowd. I watch her, transfixed, as she rocked her body against mine. Smirking, she slid my hands down her red dress, to her hips, and raised her hands over my head, down to my shoulders.
She filled me with desires and passion I've never felt before.
She was oil and I was fire.
She was perfect.
She was amazing.
She was my love.
I led her blindfolded out her balcony by our seventh date.
"Open it," I had stated breathlessly.
The cloth fell as quickly as her jaw did. The 33rd St. was ablaze. My gift for her. A school right before her house.
She was perfect.
She was amazing
She was my love.
Then, she slapped me.
She was a teacher.
And then, she was gone.
I drowned my sorrows with scotch and beer. I found no relief. A man had asked me for a light outside the bar.
As I felt the flint crack against steel, watched sparks ignite the wick, and beheld the little fire dancing before me, I remembered her.
Her dark hair swaying as she danced, in that red dress of hers.
Her bright green eyes transfixed at the candle on our dinner dates.
I will win her back.
She was my oil and I was her fire.
"Tonight," I think to myself as I pour gasoline over my uniform, "I will be her oil."
I slam the ax against her apartment's door.
I drop the open tank beside me and gently kick it towards her.
It stops at her feet, leaking more and more of my oil.
Perfect.
I watch her beautiful green eyes widen, her lips gasp and her arms stiffen, as she backed herself to a wall.
Amazing.
I walk towards her, smiling and extending my arms.
My love.
She screams.
I wrap her in an embrace, flick my Zippo and let it fall between us.
Tonight, she will be my fire. | He was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.
I had first spotted Eric while I was enjoying the aftermath of one of my experiments. It was always fun to see if I could outsmart the fire chief. Eric was larger than life and crashed into my heart the same way he jumped through the wall. From the minute I saw him I knew we had to meet. I decided to arrange a meeting that very night.
I blinked the sweat out of my eyes as I focused on the furnace in front of me. It was gas of course, and the smell of the additive was rapidly filling the small room. Hopefully, the electrical system was well contained or things could get awkward. I needed some kind of timer and ignition device. The old wind up clock wouldn't work because even the idiot fire chief would be able to put two and two together and get four in the furnace room. I looked around the room, shining my cell phone flashlight into dusty, cobwebbed corners, looking for inspiration.
"A ha!" I thought to myself, finding exactly what I was looking for. Here I come Eric.
I could see the beady little rat eyes peeking out from behind the insulated wiring. I opened my snack pack and smeared the peanut butter over the wires, wrapping a few together. Mr. Rat retreated looking at me suspiciously.
"You're going to love this ratty, I think I'll call you Cupid!"
I chuckled happily to myself, wondering where Eric would take me to dinner as I closed the snack pack up. The smell of the additive was almost overpowering.
I waved goodbye to Cupid and headed up the stairs. As I walked into the elevator and noticed all the buttons had been pressed, I winked at Mrs. Thompson's apologetic glance at her spoiled five year old son.
"I'm so sorry," she said as they left the elevator onto the first floor, "He just loves pushing all the buttons".
I laughed it off and waved at the two of them, picturing Cupid chewing through the crunchy peanut butter and wire sandwich.
"Did you know rats can chew through metal Michael?", I asked.
I heard a faint, "Why do they chew metal for," as the doors closed.
Kids.
Part 1
It was one of the worst residential fires Eric had ever seen. The call had come in seven minutes ago and they had made it to the building in four. The first five floors of the ten story building were raging with flames and the higher floors were rapidly catching.
Eric’s team was responsible for making entries into the building and he took a brief moment to think before they rushed in. The rest of the teams were attaching hoses and getting water on the fire.
“Tom, Kev!” he shouted, “Get the ladder up and start checking the top floors. I’m going to see if it’s as bad as it looks down here. Tom and Kevin knew the routine and were already working on getting the ladder turned round. He pulled on his air tank and mask and headed for the lobby door.
The heat was damn near overwhelming, even from the street. He jogged towards the building and almost jumped as he hit the stairs as a heavy blow struck him across the shoulders. He spun round and saw Harold, looming larger than life. “Damnit Harry, what did I tell you about doing that? I almost bit my tongue off!”
“Nobody goes in alone boss.” He said solemnly and pushed me toward the door. It always made me think of my dad when Harry would nudge me, back to the time when I weighed nothing and my Dad would effortlessly guide me.
I mounted the steps, Harry a comforting bulk around me. We edged to the side of the door as it wasn’t uncommon for the fire to explode out when greeted with fresh oxygen. As I opened the door several windows on the first floor exploded. I prayed whoever had lived in that apartment hadn’t been home, no one could survive that.
We opened the door and stepped in. The lobby was a river of flame. I’d seen calmer eruptions watching a special on volcanoes on the Discovery channel. I looked helplessly at Harold and he shook his head. There’s no way we would even be able to get to the other floors.
As we backed out I heard Harry ask over the radio, “Why isn’t the sprinkler system running boss?”
I paused on the threshold looking up at the ceiling. Sure enough there was a sophisticated sprinkler system that appeared to be completely dead.
I shrugged my shoulders, “That’s for the Chief to figure out. Looks like the system isn’t powered though.” Harry exchanged a glance with me as we ran to the ladder, we both knew what that meant.
I hit the ladder running, noting that they had split it in between the top three floors. Tom was already in the floor closest to the flame and I was heading up to the one above it with Harry right behind me.
There being no time to waste I jumped at the window pulling my head to my chest letting my helmet hit the glass; I’d seen to many firefighters try to be a hero and cut themselves badly on glass. The apartment was tastefully decorated and filled with smoke.
I spotted someone with long dark hair lying flat by the sofa. I shouted and she turned her head around. A particularly strong gust of wind from the window made a clear patch in the smoke just as she turned and I looked into the largest most expressive eyes I had ever seen. I stopped in my tracks, all thought fled from my mind. All I could think about was those perfect, depthless eyes and the way the fire seemed to burn in the dark pools.
Fire. FIRE. “Miss come here right now!” I shouted. The flames had made their way to this floor. We didn’t have much time. She came to me quickly, holding a damn cloth against her knows. She was a thinker. Most people panicked in fires and didn’t know the danger came from the smoke. She had breathed through the cloth and taken advantage of the air trapped under the sofa. Smart.
She seemed to float the last few feet to me and I had her in my arms. She was light yet I could feel her strength.
“Everything is going to be ok”, I reassured her, and felt her hand squeeze my arm.
I carefully stepped out onto the waiting ladder, looking down to see Harry below with two small children, one over each shoulder. I reached my hand out to her and she stepped onto the ladder with my help. We rapidly descended and I reached out my hand as she stepped off the last rung and started to turn.
My vision turned white as the building shattered into flame and I felt the boiling air pick her up and throw her at me. I opened my arms and caught her as the world turned to fire.
Part 2
Eric was still in the ICU. It was just my luck that he would be injured the same day he met me. I don’t know why nothing could ever go right in my life. If that wasn’t enough my entire building burned down. The police told me that I was lucky, there were only three survivors, myself and two children. Both Eric and Harry were badly burned when the middle floors collapsed, sending a burst of flame out the front doors and windows. Harry and Eric took the worst of it, shielding us from the fire.
The two children were kids I had never met who lived on the top floor. The adorable little boy from the first floor didn’t make it. The firefighters had said the flames were so intense on the first three floors that they couldn’t even recover remains.
I wiped away a tear, I had liked little Michael, he was such a precocious boy.
I heard a sound, my head whipping around to look at Eric lying face down on the bed, his back and skull covered in bandages. His hand was loose in mine. I had told the nurses that Eric was my boyfriend and it was close enough to the truth that I didn’t feel guilty about lying. Even his friends from work believed me. Well why shouldn’t they? We were meant to be together.
I just wanted to talk to him, to look into his eyes, let him know how much it meant that he recognized our destiny together. They doctors said he had to be kept under, that the pain from his burns was so severe that waking up would cause such incredible pain that he could die.
If he could see me, talk to me I knew he would feel better, that we would be better. What did doctors know about love with their cold logic and old books? We had given up everything for each other, we were meant to be together. Why else had all those people died if not to show the world that we were meant for each other? I reached out for the valve that controlled the morphine drip.
Part 3
| |
[WP] You have a very unique power. People are not able to remember your face, even not after spending weeks or years together in school. How are you using this ability? And how is it affecting your social life? | "The usual?" she asked, her clear, sweet voice almost lost amid the din. "One medium coffee, half an inch of room?"
John gaped at the barista. His mouth dropped open, though no words came out. Did she just…
"Is everything okay, John?"
Shaking his head slightly, he recovered himself enough to stutter out his order: one medium coffee, just like she'd said.
Just like she'd said. He must be going insane. Nobody remembered John, not his classmates from high school, not his coworkers, not his dentist or doctor or mechanic, though God knew he saw them often enough. You could see John every day for a year and not remember his face; he was uniquely forgettable, unrecognizable and ignored.
But she remembered him. She knew him. She was even cute; petite, dark-haired, bright and cheerful and caring enough to remember everyone's names. John watched her greet every customer, chatting with the regulars as if they were old friends. He realized they probably were. People had those, he remembered; normal people did. He tended to forget such relationships existed, having never had one of his own.
But she had remembered him. And so when she arrived at his table, and inquired if everything was all right, and would he like a fresh-baked pastry or another coffee, he smiled back and said yes, and got up to choose one. And they chatted, about the weather and the news, and their jobs, and all the other mundane topics normal people talked about. She said her name was Emily, and he said his was John, forgetting she already knew, but she just laughed and introduced herself over again too. And at the end of the conversation, unbidden, she wrote her number on a napkin and pressed it into his hand, and said to call later, after her shift ended. And John walked out of the coffee shop an hour late for work (it wouldn't matter–nobody would notice), holding the sticky paper like a treasure in his pocket. Was this how normal people lived? he wondered. Noticed, remembered, more than just another body walking the streets? He hadn't known what he was missing; how much brighter the world seemed, knowing someone thought of him. What made her different? he wondered. Why couldn't everyone be like her?
After work he called, praying she remembered – how tragic it would be, if he was forgotten again – and she picked up with a "Hi, John!" and they talked some more, about gardens and computers and cephalopods, which were her favorite sea creatures because they were so smart. Every day that week they talked, over coffee in the mornings and by phone at night, and not once did Emily forget John's name. It was the best week of his life, though still the thought nagged at him: What made her different? How did she remember him, when nobody else could?
That Saturday, after dinner in Emily's tiny apartment, John finally asked.
"Most people can't remember me," he confessed, his words tumbling out in a sudden, desperate rush. "I think it's a curse – my face is so forgettable, nobody has ever recognized me, nobody else remembers I even exist, so…"
"Why do I?" Emily guessed. "Well, I actually…don't."
"You see," she continued, seeing John's face fall, "I don't remember anyone's face. But it's not a curse, it's a medical condition, called 'prosopagnosia'. Oh, don't worry – I can't recall your face, but I remember your brown hair, with the cowlick on one side, and your scuffed shoes –"
John glanced at his shoes; they were indeed very scuffed.
"And your black briefcase with the detachable shoulder strap, and the way your shirt is tucked in, and your habit of wearing something blue every day–"
John looked down with some surprise at his blue tie, and navy socks."
"–And all your socks are navy," she concluded, following his gaze. "And that's how I remember you, John, and everyone else I meet. I have an excellent memory for patterns and details." She smiled shyly, leaning closer. "Oh, and you smell so good," she added. "I just noticed – I've never been close enough before. What else do you think I could see, if we were closer?"
"Let's find out," John said as he wrapped her in the first hug of his life. | Most people would love to have a superpower. They think it would make them special because they are different. Well what if your power was to be so completely ordinary that it was impossible for anyone to remember what you look like. What if having that power meant that nobody knows who you are unless you tell them, no matter how long they have known you. What if having that power meant that you see a stranger in the mirror every morning, that you can't remember a single detail of your own face, that you are slowly going insane because you have no sense of distinction from the masses. Well, if you had that power then you would be me. And I would not wish that curse on anyone.
Author note: This is my first post on this sub. Constructive criticism is welcome. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | Why do I have to waste my time here?
"Ms. Tay, I must insist that your daughter's conduct is most worrying. Little Angeline may need stitches."
I laugh the dumpy, frazzled, bald stooge's concerns off. He clearly doesn't understand that it's good to establish one's dominance early in life.
"Children play, you know. My girl's just a bit high-spirited. I'm sure no lasting harm was done." I tell him in a perfectly patient tone.
For a brief moment, we merely stare at each other, him outraged, me cool as a cantaloupe.
"But mommy, don't you remember?" My daughter interrupts, and for a moment her eyes are limned in shadow, and blood trickles in oddly beautiful patterns down her arms, suddenly bone-white, and her dress is all ragged-
- - -
I'm sixteen and it's summer. Popular as ever, long legs, longer lashes. Smart, too. I get more As than most students take subjects. Not your average bimbo, no. I am the best thing that ever happened to this school.
"Louder!" I call through the barred door, snickering. Oh, when I found out that superstitious bitch actually believed in that Bloody Mary myth, I just had to do this.
Dragged her to the deserted 3rd floor toilet and shoved her in. Yes, I'm fit as a flute, too. Genetic superiority is a wonderful thing.
"Until you say it, you're not coming out!" I can wait all day. Hopefully she'll pass out inside.
Just when I start to wish I had brought a book to while away this terrible tedium, I hear something.
"B-Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary-" she cries out piteously. Well, the strong rule the weak.
And suddenly-
The world grows dark. My heart falters.
And when the light returns, I am somewhere else. A white place.
Me. Her. And a third.
She crouches, sobbing. Her hair is a disordered halo, shrouding her face. The third stands before her. It pats her gently on the shoulder, whispering. I cannot discern the words, but the tone is one of comfort.
I catch a phrase that freezes my heart - "She'll never bother you again."
What is happening?
The third turns to me.
She wears a wedding gown sized for her dimunitive frame. It is torn all over, but the skin that shows is somehow paler than the fabric. She has blood-red tattoos covering her bare arms. And her eyes - they are normal, but they peer out at me from wells of infinite shadow. It is as if she has blackness where eyelids should be.
I shrink away. Somehow I know what is coming. "Pleas-" I whimper.
The figure's fingers twitch, and the world grows dark again.
And I am tipped into an eternity of agony.
Pure, unadulterated pain, every muscle, tendon and ligament in my body crying out in a chorus of unmitigated suffering.
I am burning and freezing all at once, being torn apart by giants, with no hope of escape.
And then it stops, and I am back outside the barred toilet, a hand on the handle.
Words echo in my head.
*Now you see the fruits of your cruelty. I swear by salt and bile, by iron and blood; if you and yours turn one whit from the true path, I will visit upon you such horrors as to make this day seem beautiful. I will send rats scurrying through your veins. I will consume your liver as you watch. And when you are at your greatest extremity, I will slake your thirst with your own heart's blood.*
*Remember.*
- - -
"What did you say?" The teacher asks.
"Oh, nothing," my daughter replies innocently. She seems normal now.
I don't think I will for a very long time. | "Hey kid,"
I wet myself.
"Why the fuck did you try to summon me?"
I just pointed at the bathroom door, trembling.
"Hmm. Bullies?"
I nod.
"You want a little..." she smiles, an evil, ghastly smile "payback?"
I shake my head.
"No?"
"N-n...no. Leave them alone."
"Shit. I can't even put roaches in their lunch or somethin'?" I shake my head, and she sighs. "Alright, well kid." She smiles one more time, looking a bit like my older sister. "You're smarter than I was."
I stumbled out of the room, the bullies saw the whole interaction and my parents showed up at the office when I started crying.
"What? What is it?"
"Ca-carson."
"Carson? Oh my god!" My father clapped his hands over his face. "Did you find the body."
I shake my head. "No, worse." | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | Why do I have to waste my time here?
"Ms. Tay, I must insist that your daughter's conduct is most worrying. Little Angeline may need stitches."
I laugh the dumpy, frazzled, bald stooge's concerns off. He clearly doesn't understand that it's good to establish one's dominance early in life.
"Children play, you know. My girl's just a bit high-spirited. I'm sure no lasting harm was done." I tell him in a perfectly patient tone.
For a brief moment, we merely stare at each other, him outraged, me cool as a cantaloupe.
"But mommy, don't you remember?" My daughter interrupts, and for a moment her eyes are limned in shadow, and blood trickles in oddly beautiful patterns down her arms, suddenly bone-white, and her dress is all ragged-
- - -
I'm sixteen and it's summer. Popular as ever, long legs, longer lashes. Smart, too. I get more As than most students take subjects. Not your average bimbo, no. I am the best thing that ever happened to this school.
"Louder!" I call through the barred door, snickering. Oh, when I found out that superstitious bitch actually believed in that Bloody Mary myth, I just had to do this.
Dragged her to the deserted 3rd floor toilet and shoved her in. Yes, I'm fit as a flute, too. Genetic superiority is a wonderful thing.
"Until you say it, you're not coming out!" I can wait all day. Hopefully she'll pass out inside.
Just when I start to wish I had brought a book to while away this terrible tedium, I hear something.
"B-Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary-" she cries out piteously. Well, the strong rule the weak.
And suddenly-
The world grows dark. My heart falters.
And when the light returns, I am somewhere else. A white place.
Me. Her. And a third.
She crouches, sobbing. Her hair is a disordered halo, shrouding her face. The third stands before her. It pats her gently on the shoulder, whispering. I cannot discern the words, but the tone is one of comfort.
I catch a phrase that freezes my heart - "She'll never bother you again."
What is happening?
The third turns to me.
She wears a wedding gown sized for her dimunitive frame. It is torn all over, but the skin that shows is somehow paler than the fabric. She has blood-red tattoos covering her bare arms. And her eyes - they are normal, but they peer out at me from wells of infinite shadow. It is as if she has blackness where eyelids should be.
I shrink away. Somehow I know what is coming. "Pleas-" I whimper.
The figure's fingers twitch, and the world grows dark again.
And I am tipped into an eternity of agony.
Pure, unadulterated pain, every muscle, tendon and ligament in my body crying out in a chorus of unmitigated suffering.
I am burning and freezing all at once, being torn apart by giants, with no hope of escape.
And then it stops, and I am back outside the barred toilet, a hand on the handle.
Words echo in my head.
*Now you see the fruits of your cruelty. I swear by salt and bile, by iron and blood; if you and yours turn one whit from the true path, I will visit upon you such horrors as to make this day seem beautiful. I will send rats scurrying through your veins. I will consume your liver as you watch. And when you are at your greatest extremity, I will slake your thirst with your own heart's blood.*
*Remember.*
- - -
"What did you say?" The teacher asks.
"Oh, nothing," my daughter replies innocently. She seems normal now.
I don't think I will for a very long time. | "Bloody Mary!" And she's there. Glaring. Everyone backs into the corner. My bullies. Their hands that beat me are now trying to save me. "Get away from her!". Their pulling me back. My bullies. I whisper. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice." Now friends. Let's have a little fun. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | "Say it! Say it! Say it!" they chanted.
same ritual every wednesday. They took me in to the toilet room and held me infront of the mirror.
Little did they now that I already befriended marry. She was kind and always offered to help, but since she didn't scare me anymore and I became indifferent to the bullying I always said no.
However this time it was different. I guess they just got bored with the ritual, they started beating me on the way there, I mean really beating me. So finaly after 6 months I said no, I told marry to do it.
Nothing happened, I felt so hurt. The only glimpse of hope I had, vanished!
I went back home after that, covering the bruses so my parents won't see, and cried myself to sleep. Apparently I wasn't so indifferent after all.
The next morning one of the gruop who bullied me was found with his throat cut in front of the mirror in the same toilet room. "1 down 3 to go" was written in blood on the mirror.
The same evning another one of the group was found in front of the mirror in the bathroom in his house, face cut in the middle and half pilled off. Again on the mirror, written jn blood "2 down 2 to go".
After I heard that the next day, I ran to school, to the same toilet room, called her, begged her to stop this. "This is not what I wanted!" I shouted. After ten minutes of sobbing I heard "it's too late for that you know", but before I had the chance to lift my head she was gone.
Everyone in school knew they were bullying me, so it didn't take long before I was arrested. Just before the poloice came to arrest me, the other two members of the group were found dead in their homes bathrooms. One was cut in half and the other had his limbs switched around. On the mirrors, in blood, was written "3 down 1 to go" in one bathroom and "done" in the other.
My mental state started deteriorating since the arrest. I tried to tell them that bloody marry did it, but not surprising, no one blieved me. A week after the arrest I was hospitalaized in a mental hospital.
I was slowly losing my grasp in reality. I started seeing bloody marry in every reflection, and every time I saw her I heard a whisper saying, "I never said it wouldn't come with a price"
It's the first time I ever wrote something and english is not my first language, so any feedback will be more than welcome.
Sorry for any mistakes. | "Bloody Mary!" And she's there. Glaring. Everyone backs into the corner. My bullies. Their hands that beat me are now trying to save me. "Get away from her!". Their pulling me back. My bullies. I whisper. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice." Now friends. Let's have a little fun. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | Apologies for any errors in formatting, mobile is not the greatest for writing.
Mary
"Let me out!" I shouted, kicking the door, turning the knob and slamming all my weight into it. Pointless, as the three bullies had piled their (considerable) bodies against the door.
"Say it, four-eyes! Three times, loud enough for us to hear!"
That was Davy, the biggest, the meanest, and leader of the three. Unfortunately, although rather fittingly, he was also the ugliest. His size and misshapen face gave rise to the nickname Big Ugly, though that was only said in hushed voices behind his back. Those that he beat for this insult often resembled his lumpy face.
"Yeah creep-freak, shout it out as loud as your prepubescent girl's voice can!"
That was Ronald, who in no small way resembled the popular food chain's clown mascot. Seriously, a goofy face, tall and lanky, with bright red poofy hair? His parents must have seen 'Hey McDonald, gimme some fries' in his future. The only reason people stopped calling him that was because of his head sized fists.
Creep-freak was his specialized insult for me, on account of my love for horror and low social status.
His voice wasn't any deeper than mine, by the way.
The last guy, Harold, merely grunted a strange laugh. Calling Harold dumb was a bit much. Simple was a far better term. Not much smaller than Davy, Harold was a brute. Simple-minded, hairy, and large. The thing was, he was a good guy. He never meant any ham and helped anyone who asked, but due to his simplicity, he was taken advantage of, namely by Davy and Ronald.
"Three times pipsqueak, then you get out," said Davy, punctuating it with his hyena laugh.
I groaned loudly, kicked the door, then shouted 'fine'.
Turning away from the door and facing the mirror, I hunched over the sink. My long, bleach blond hair hung over my windowed, emerald eyes.
"Assholes," I grumbled. "Here we go: bloody Mary!"
Nothing
"Bloody Mary!"
Still nothing.
I drew in a breath. I'm not superstitious, but I do love horror, and this was turning out just like a cruddy short story or flick.
"Bloody Mary!"
Nothing. I waited several long seconds. Still nothing.
"You dead four-eyes?" Called Davy.
"No, jackass, nothing even remotely sca-"
I stopped. A strange rumbling had began. It grew and grew until the whole room was violently shaking, as if a magnitude 8.0 earthquake had targeted the bathroom.
The shaking was powerful enough to put me on my ass, and, terrifying, I did the only logical thing: I climbed into shower. My glasses fell off my face, but I didn't care. I focused on safety, and cowered in the shower. The lights flickered like fire in strong winds.
Three things happened simultaneously.
The lights shut off, total darkness.
The shaking stopped, total stillness.
There were no sounds, total silence.
Nothing but ringing silence and murky blackness for half of an eternity.
The lights dimmed back on, barely enough to see.
Slowly, one sound began to emerge.
A steady drip...drip...drip.
A pale hand clamped on the corner of the shower, spattering the wall with a thick, dark liquid.
A black shape moved in lieu of the hand. Darker than night, dripping wet, silent.
Evil.
The shape turned slightly, pale skin glowing from under what I know understood to be raven colored hair.
Two sinister glints, the only things that could be taken for eyes, affixed themselves upon me.
You who called my name thrice,
Who cowers better than mice,
I ask only this of thee:
Why have you called me?
The voice was raspy, whispering, seemingly both in my ear and in front of me. It felt like something was ripping at my soul. My vision was shaky, blurry.
SPEAK BEFORE I CLAIM A PRICE
ANY ANSWER SHALL SUFFICE.
"I-I was forced t-to. By t-the b-b-bullies,"
My voice was shaking, my teeth chattering.
This was something unnatural, powerful.
Nasty nasty boys
Treating others like toys.
You called me unwillingly
Forced to, unknowingly.
I have a price to pay
Or I do not play,
But I am not cruel
Those treated as a tool
May sic me
On their enemy.
"O-okay. S-sure, whatever you say just please don't h-hurt me Miss Mary,"
I cowered, stuttered, and bowed in fear.
Excellent, young one.
Do not fear, you've won.
Do not be a sheep
It is time to reap.
She vanished with a hissing laugh.
Edit: moved a sentence to it's appropriate place.
Edits 2 & 3: lew->lieu, sick->sic | "Bloody Mary!" And she's there. Glaring. Everyone backs into the corner. My bullies. Their hands that beat me are now trying to save me. "Get away from her!". Their pulling me back. My bullies. I whisper. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice." Now friends. Let's have a little fun. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | "Say it!" one of the girls yells at me through the door.
I can't bite back my tears anymore. I feel the liquid pooling in my eyes slowly begin to trickle down my cheeks. "Please, just let me out!" I cry once more, hoping they'll have gotten bored by now.
"Awww, are you *crying?!*" Laughter erupts among the crowd. "If you want out, then *say it!*"
I know it's not real: the whole "Bloody Mary" thing. It can't be. It's just like that Slenderman crap. It's all some stupid, made up nonsense... It has to be. Still... I don't want to test it. I find myself pacing in the bathroom. I know that if I don't get out soon I'll end up in trouble with my teacher for missing class. The warning bell went off something like three or four minutes ago, which means I really only have another one or two minutes before I have to be in class. I'm lost in thought, considering my options, when one of the girls hurls two closed fists at the door. The booming sound echoes through the washroom and jolts me.
"Fine!" I scream, although I certainly don't *feel* fine with all of this.
"Bloody Mary..." I say once, feeling the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
"Bloody Mary..." A second time, now I swear the bathroom is getting colder. The noise outside seems to fade away, it's just me and the mirror now.
I hesitate. What if she's real? What if an angry witch comes screaming out of the mirror and attacks me for disturbing her? Oh God, I can't do this...
"Bloody Mary!" I shut my eyes tight and scream the last repetition.
Silence.
*Did I do it?* I wonder. Before I open my eyes, I listen. Nothing *sounds* any different, and nothing *feels* any different either... Slowly, I open my eyes. In the mirror I see... Myself. For a moment I feel embarrassed that I let such a silly myth freak me out the way it did. I half-smirk and give myself a little shake before turning around to approach the door. I start wiping the tears away from my cheeks, bowing my head slightly as I do.
"*There!* Are you happy n-" I lift my head as I begin, trailing off immediately when I find myself staring into the face of a very, very displeased looking woman.
"Oh *helllll nawww!*" She barks. The woman is large, her skin is like dark chocolate, smooth and creamy looking. "Lawd tell me these girls didn't just make you wake me up to get you outta the bathroom, child!?" I can tell she's angry. Oh God, she's very, very angry. I find myself stammering, unable to form a proper response.
"I- well, they, uh, I.." Where did she come from!? Is *she* Bloody Mary?!
"Child please," the woman seems to collect herself. "This ain't your fault. Don't be scared." Suddenly the she-beast seems a lot more motherly, and I find myself sinking into her embrace. "Now these little hoodrats..." she continues.
For a brief moment I completely forgot about the girls on the other side of the door. Could they hear any of this? A few snorts and giggles tell me they can't, that they think I must be in here crying, hoping they'll go away.
"I just want to go to class." I tell the woman, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe at my damp cheeks.
"I know babeh." She assures me. "Let's see what I can do."
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. I watched as this woman sucked in a deep breath, puffing her chest out and drawing her shoulders back. She took two long steps toward the door, paused briefly to give me a quick smile, then hurled her entire body into it. I could feel the weight of the action from across the room. Surely whoever had their ears pressed up against the other side of the door regretted it. I saw two of the girls sitting flat on their asses when the woman popped the door open. Everyone's eyes grew wide as they met face to face with a very, very angry black woman.
"B-bloody Mary?" One girl managed to speak.
"Y-y-yeah, bitch. Who the fuck you think it is?! Mother Theresa!? You think you can come up in ma hood, playin' games with ma girl here?!" Her voice bellowed through the halls. I watched as the girls eyes grew wide in fear. "Ahhh HELL NAW. I don't PLAY like that, you hear?!"
"Yes ma'am!" One of the girls cried out apologetically. "We're so sorry."
"Don't tell me, tell her!" The woman pointed to me. "You eva' mess wit her again, oh Lawd help you children, it will not be a pretty sight." Her threats were laced with promise. They believed her, as they should. Each one of the girls, who looked so big and menacing to me earlier, seemed to shrink as they nodded their heads and apologized to me before running off.
Class bell rang and I knew I was late, but I no longer cared. I gave Mary a hug and thanked her.
"That's alright child, it ain't your fault. You don't be lettin' them girls get the up on you aight?" She assured me and I nodded my head. I doubted they'd be an issue for me ever again. I watched as Mary disappeared back into the washroom and tried to fight the smile that was spreading across my lips as I quickly hurried off to class. *Huh, that'll show them.* | "Bloody Mary!" And she's there. Glaring. Everyone backs into the corner. My bullies. Their hands that beat me are now trying to save me. "Get away from her!". Their pulling me back. My bullies. I whisper. "Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice." Now friends. Let's have a little fun. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | Apologies for any errors in formatting, mobile is not the greatest for writing.
Mary
"Let me out!" I shouted, kicking the door, turning the knob and slamming all my weight into it. Pointless, as the three bullies had piled their (considerable) bodies against the door.
"Say it, four-eyes! Three times, loud enough for us to hear!"
That was Davy, the biggest, the meanest, and leader of the three. Unfortunately, although rather fittingly, he was also the ugliest. His size and misshapen face gave rise to the nickname Big Ugly, though that was only said in hushed voices behind his back. Those that he beat for this insult often resembled his lumpy face.
"Yeah creep-freak, shout it out as loud as your prepubescent girl's voice can!"
That was Ronald, who in no small way resembled the popular food chain's clown mascot. Seriously, a goofy face, tall and lanky, with bright red poofy hair? His parents must have seen 'Hey McDonald, gimme some fries' in his future. The only reason people stopped calling him that was because of his head sized fists.
Creep-freak was his specialized insult for me, on account of my love for horror and low social status.
His voice wasn't any deeper than mine, by the way.
The last guy, Harold, merely grunted a strange laugh. Calling Harold dumb was a bit much. Simple was a far better term. Not much smaller than Davy, Harold was a brute. Simple-minded, hairy, and large. The thing was, he was a good guy. He never meant any ham and helped anyone who asked, but due to his simplicity, he was taken advantage of, namely by Davy and Ronald.
"Three times pipsqueak, then you get out," said Davy, punctuating it with his hyena laugh.
I groaned loudly, kicked the door, then shouted 'fine'.
Turning away from the door and facing the mirror, I hunched over the sink. My long, bleach blond hair hung over my windowed, emerald eyes.
"Assholes," I grumbled. "Here we go: bloody Mary!"
Nothing
"Bloody Mary!"
Still nothing.
I drew in a breath. I'm not superstitious, but I do love horror, and this was turning out just like a cruddy short story or flick.
"Bloody Mary!"
Nothing. I waited several long seconds. Still nothing.
"You dead four-eyes?" Called Davy.
"No, jackass, nothing even remotely sca-"
I stopped. A strange rumbling had began. It grew and grew until the whole room was violently shaking, as if a magnitude 8.0 earthquake had targeted the bathroom.
The shaking was powerful enough to put me on my ass, and, terrifying, I did the only logical thing: I climbed into shower. My glasses fell off my face, but I didn't care. I focused on safety, and cowered in the shower. The lights flickered like fire in strong winds.
Three things happened simultaneously.
The lights shut off, total darkness.
The shaking stopped, total stillness.
There were no sounds, total silence.
Nothing but ringing silence and murky blackness for half of an eternity.
The lights dimmed back on, barely enough to see.
Slowly, one sound began to emerge.
A steady drip...drip...drip.
A pale hand clamped on the corner of the shower, spattering the wall with a thick, dark liquid.
A black shape moved in lieu of the hand. Darker than night, dripping wet, silent.
Evil.
The shape turned slightly, pale skin glowing from under what I know understood to be raven colored hair.
Two sinister glints, the only things that could be taken for eyes, affixed themselves upon me.
You who called my name thrice,
Who cowers better than mice,
I ask only this of thee:
Why have you called me?
The voice was raspy, whispering, seemingly both in my ear and in front of me. It felt like something was ripping at my soul. My vision was shaky, blurry.
SPEAK BEFORE I CLAIM A PRICE
ANY ANSWER SHALL SUFFICE.
"I-I was forced t-to. By t-the b-b-bullies,"
My voice was shaking, my teeth chattering.
This was something unnatural, powerful.
Nasty nasty boys
Treating others like toys.
You called me unwillingly
Forced to, unknowingly.
I have a price to pay
Or I do not play,
But I am not cruel
Those treated as a tool
May sic me
On their enemy.
"O-okay. S-sure, whatever you say just please don't h-hurt me Miss Mary,"
I cowered, stuttered, and bowed in fear.
Excellent, young one.
Do not fear, you've won.
Do not be a sheep
It is time to reap.
She vanished with a hissing laugh.
Edit: moved a sentence to it's appropriate place.
Edits 2 & 3: lew->lieu, sick->sic | "Say it! Say it! Say it!" they chanted.
same ritual every wednesday. They took me in to the toilet room and held me infront of the mirror.
Little did they now that I already befriended marry. She was kind and always offered to help, but since she didn't scare me anymore and I became indifferent to the bullying I always said no.
However this time it was different. I guess they just got bored with the ritual, they started beating me on the way there, I mean really beating me. So finaly after 6 months I said no, I told marry to do it.
Nothing happened, I felt so hurt. The only glimpse of hope I had, vanished!
I went back home after that, covering the bruses so my parents won't see, and cried myself to sleep. Apparently I wasn't so indifferent after all.
The next morning one of the gruop who bullied me was found with his throat cut in front of the mirror in the same toilet room. "1 down 3 to go" was written in blood on the mirror.
The same evning another one of the group was found in front of the mirror in the bathroom in his house, face cut in the middle and half pilled off. Again on the mirror, written jn blood "2 down 2 to go".
After I heard that the next day, I ran to school, to the same toilet room, called her, begged her to stop this. "This is not what I wanted!" I shouted. After ten minutes of sobbing I heard "it's too late for that you know", but before I had the chance to lift my head she was gone.
Everyone in school knew they were bullying me, so it didn't take long before I was arrested. Just before the poloice came to arrest me, the other two members of the group were found dead in their homes bathrooms. One was cut in half and the other had his limbs switched around. On the mirrors, in blood, was written "3 down 1 to go" in one bathroom and "done" in the other.
My mental state started deteriorating since the arrest. I tried to tell them that bloody marry did it, but not surprising, no one blieved me. A week after the arrest I was hospitalaized in a mental hospital.
I was slowly losing my grasp in reality. I started seeing bloody marry in every reflection, and every time I saw her I heard a whisper saying, "I never said it wouldn't come with a price"
It's the first time I ever wrote something and english is not my first language, so any feedback will be more than welcome.
Sorry for any mistakes. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | "Say it!" one of the girls yells at me through the door.
I can't bite back my tears anymore. I feel the liquid pooling in my eyes slowly begin to trickle down my cheeks. "Please, just let me out!" I cry once more, hoping they'll have gotten bored by now.
"Awww, are you *crying?!*" Laughter erupts among the crowd. "If you want out, then *say it!*"
I know it's not real: the whole "Bloody Mary" thing. It can't be. It's just like that Slenderman crap. It's all some stupid, made up nonsense... It has to be. Still... I don't want to test it. I find myself pacing in the bathroom. I know that if I don't get out soon I'll end up in trouble with my teacher for missing class. The warning bell went off something like three or four minutes ago, which means I really only have another one or two minutes before I have to be in class. I'm lost in thought, considering my options, when one of the girls hurls two closed fists at the door. The booming sound echoes through the washroom and jolts me.
"Fine!" I scream, although I certainly don't *feel* fine with all of this.
"Bloody Mary..." I say once, feeling the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
"Bloody Mary..." A second time, now I swear the bathroom is getting colder. The noise outside seems to fade away, it's just me and the mirror now.
I hesitate. What if she's real? What if an angry witch comes screaming out of the mirror and attacks me for disturbing her? Oh God, I can't do this...
"Bloody Mary!" I shut my eyes tight and scream the last repetition.
Silence.
*Did I do it?* I wonder. Before I open my eyes, I listen. Nothing *sounds* any different, and nothing *feels* any different either... Slowly, I open my eyes. In the mirror I see... Myself. For a moment I feel embarrassed that I let such a silly myth freak me out the way it did. I half-smirk and give myself a little shake before turning around to approach the door. I start wiping the tears away from my cheeks, bowing my head slightly as I do.
"*There!* Are you happy n-" I lift my head as I begin, trailing off immediately when I find myself staring into the face of a very, very displeased looking woman.
"Oh *helllll nawww!*" She barks. The woman is large, her skin is like dark chocolate, smooth and creamy looking. "Lawd tell me these girls didn't just make you wake me up to get you outta the bathroom, child!?" I can tell she's angry. Oh God, she's very, very angry. I find myself stammering, unable to form a proper response.
"I- well, they, uh, I.." Where did she come from!? Is *she* Bloody Mary?!
"Child please," the woman seems to collect herself. "This ain't your fault. Don't be scared." Suddenly the she-beast seems a lot more motherly, and I find myself sinking into her embrace. "Now these little hoodrats..." she continues.
For a brief moment I completely forgot about the girls on the other side of the door. Could they hear any of this? A few snorts and giggles tell me they can't, that they think I must be in here crying, hoping they'll go away.
"I just want to go to class." I tell the woman, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe at my damp cheeks.
"I know babeh." She assures me. "Let's see what I can do."
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. I watched as this woman sucked in a deep breath, puffing her chest out and drawing her shoulders back. She took two long steps toward the door, paused briefly to give me a quick smile, then hurled her entire body into it. I could feel the weight of the action from across the room. Surely whoever had their ears pressed up against the other side of the door regretted it. I saw two of the girls sitting flat on their asses when the woman popped the door open. Everyone's eyes grew wide as they met face to face with a very, very angry black woman.
"B-bloody Mary?" One girl managed to speak.
"Y-y-yeah, bitch. Who the fuck you think it is?! Mother Theresa!? You think you can come up in ma hood, playin' games with ma girl here?!" Her voice bellowed through the halls. I watched as the girls eyes grew wide in fear. "Ahhh HELL NAW. I don't PLAY like that, you hear?!"
"Yes ma'am!" One of the girls cried out apologetically. "We're so sorry."
"Don't tell me, tell her!" The woman pointed to me. "You eva' mess wit her again, oh Lawd help you children, it will not be a pretty sight." Her threats were laced with promise. They believed her, as they should. Each one of the girls, who looked so big and menacing to me earlier, seemed to shrink as they nodded their heads and apologized to me before running off.
Class bell rang and I knew I was late, but I no longer cared. I gave Mary a hug and thanked her.
"That's alright child, it ain't your fault. You don't be lettin' them girls get the up on you aight?" She assured me and I nodded my head. I doubted they'd be an issue for me ever again. I watched as Mary disappeared back into the washroom and tried to fight the smile that was spreading across my lips as I quickly hurried off to class. *Huh, that'll show them.* | "Say it! Say it! Say it!" they chanted.
same ritual every wednesday. They took me in to the toilet room and held me infront of the mirror.
Little did they now that I already befriended marry. She was kind and always offered to help, but since she didn't scare me anymore and I became indifferent to the bullying I always said no.
However this time it was different. I guess they just got bored with the ritual, they started beating me on the way there, I mean really beating me. So finaly after 6 months I said no, I told marry to do it.
Nothing happened, I felt so hurt. The only glimpse of hope I had, vanished!
I went back home after that, covering the bruses so my parents won't see, and cried myself to sleep. Apparently I wasn't so indifferent after all.
The next morning one of the gruop who bullied me was found with his throat cut in front of the mirror in the same toilet room. "1 down 3 to go" was written in blood on the mirror.
The same evning another one of the group was found in front of the mirror in the bathroom in his house, face cut in the middle and half pilled off. Again on the mirror, written jn blood "2 down 2 to go".
After I heard that the next day, I ran to school, to the same toilet room, called her, begged her to stop this. "This is not what I wanted!" I shouted. After ten minutes of sobbing I heard "it's too late for that you know", but before I had the chance to lift my head she was gone.
Everyone in school knew they were bullying me, so it didn't take long before I was arrested. Just before the poloice came to arrest me, the other two members of the group were found dead in their homes bathrooms. One was cut in half and the other had his limbs switched around. On the mirrors, in blood, was written "3 down 1 to go" in one bathroom and "done" in the other.
My mental state started deteriorating since the arrest. I tried to tell them that bloody marry did it, but not surprising, no one blieved me. A week after the arrest I was hospitalaized in a mental hospital.
I was slowly losing my grasp in reality. I started seeing bloody marry in every reflection, and every time I saw her I heard a whisper saying, "I never said it wouldn't come with a price"
It's the first time I ever wrote something and english is not my first language, so any feedback will be more than welcome.
Sorry for any mistakes. | |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback. | "Say it!" one of the girls yells at me through the door.
I can't bite back my tears anymore. I feel the liquid pooling in my eyes slowly begin to trickle down my cheeks. "Please, just let me out!" I cry once more, hoping they'll have gotten bored by now.
"Awww, are you *crying?!*" Laughter erupts among the crowd. "If you want out, then *say it!*"
I know it's not real: the whole "Bloody Mary" thing. It can't be. It's just like that Slenderman crap. It's all some stupid, made up nonsense... It has to be. Still... I don't want to test it. I find myself pacing in the bathroom. I know that if I don't get out soon I'll end up in trouble with my teacher for missing class. The warning bell went off something like three or four minutes ago, which means I really only have another one or two minutes before I have to be in class. I'm lost in thought, considering my options, when one of the girls hurls two closed fists at the door. The booming sound echoes through the washroom and jolts me.
"Fine!" I scream, although I certainly don't *feel* fine with all of this.
"Bloody Mary..." I say once, feeling the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
"Bloody Mary..." A second time, now I swear the bathroom is getting colder. The noise outside seems to fade away, it's just me and the mirror now.
I hesitate. What if she's real? What if an angry witch comes screaming out of the mirror and attacks me for disturbing her? Oh God, I can't do this...
"Bloody Mary!" I shut my eyes tight and scream the last repetition.
Silence.
*Did I do it?* I wonder. Before I open my eyes, I listen. Nothing *sounds* any different, and nothing *feels* any different either... Slowly, I open my eyes. In the mirror I see... Myself. For a moment I feel embarrassed that I let such a silly myth freak me out the way it did. I half-smirk and give myself a little shake before turning around to approach the door. I start wiping the tears away from my cheeks, bowing my head slightly as I do.
"*There!* Are you happy n-" I lift my head as I begin, trailing off immediately when I find myself staring into the face of a very, very displeased looking woman.
"Oh *helllll nawww!*" She barks. The woman is large, her skin is like dark chocolate, smooth and creamy looking. "Lawd tell me these girls didn't just make you wake me up to get you outta the bathroom, child!?" I can tell she's angry. Oh God, she's very, very angry. I find myself stammering, unable to form a proper response.
"I- well, they, uh, I.." Where did she come from!? Is *she* Bloody Mary?!
"Child please," the woman seems to collect herself. "This ain't your fault. Don't be scared." Suddenly the she-beast seems a lot more motherly, and I find myself sinking into her embrace. "Now these little hoodrats..." she continues.
For a brief moment I completely forgot about the girls on the other side of the door. Could they hear any of this? A few snorts and giggles tell me they can't, that they think I must be in here crying, hoping they'll go away.
"I just want to go to class." I tell the woman, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe at my damp cheeks.
"I know babeh." She assures me. "Let's see what I can do."
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. I watched as this woman sucked in a deep breath, puffing her chest out and drawing her shoulders back. She took two long steps toward the door, paused briefly to give me a quick smile, then hurled her entire body into it. I could feel the weight of the action from across the room. Surely whoever had their ears pressed up against the other side of the door regretted it. I saw two of the girls sitting flat on their asses when the woman popped the door open. Everyone's eyes grew wide as they met face to face with a very, very angry black woman.
"B-bloody Mary?" One girl managed to speak.
"Y-y-yeah, bitch. Who the fuck you think it is?! Mother Theresa!? You think you can come up in ma hood, playin' games with ma girl here?!" Her voice bellowed through the halls. I watched as the girls eyes grew wide in fear. "Ahhh HELL NAW. I don't PLAY like that, you hear?!"
"Yes ma'am!" One of the girls cried out apologetically. "We're so sorry."
"Don't tell me, tell her!" The woman pointed to me. "You eva' mess wit her again, oh Lawd help you children, it will not be a pretty sight." Her threats were laced with promise. They believed her, as they should. Each one of the girls, who looked so big and menacing to me earlier, seemed to shrink as they nodded their heads and apologized to me before running off.
Class bell rang and I knew I was late, but I no longer cared. I gave Mary a hug and thanked her.
"That's alright child, it ain't your fault. You don't be lettin' them girls get the up on you aight?" She assured me and I nodded my head. I doubted they'd be an issue for me ever again. I watched as Mary disappeared back into the washroom and tried to fight the smile that was spreading across my lips as I quickly hurried off to class. *Huh, that'll show them.* | Let me out of this damn room! I scream.
Say the phrase and we will consider it, runt.
I can`t shove through the mass of three or four huge boy bullies so i give up and proceed to do the childish bloody marry. After the third bloody marry I see a girl rushing towards me in a blood stained white lace wedding dress. I scream thinking it was the end. Pounding on the bathroom door the figure in the mirror tells me to be calm and she can help me get revenge on the bullies and make sure they will never do anything again. I am intrigued I ask her what I have to do. She smiles mischievously. She hold out a butchers knife saying all i have to do is cut my wrist a little and give her some of the blood. I tentatively agree cutting a shallow cut into my wrist I put my wrist near the mirror and she grabs my arm with a sudden jerk and bites into my cut wrist. I scream in pain and I hear my tormentors outside.
Quick Open the door! I hear one say
I am fainting now
The last thing i remember is the four boys running in and their faces of absolute *terror* and the quick snap of marries head snap to there direction. I heard screams, then nothing.
I wake up to find the principal,cops, and paramedics surrounding me asking me what happened. I look and i see the boys hanging by there necks on there own nooses with hundreds of shallow cups up and down there limbs and necks. With puddles of blood at there feet with piles of intestines coiled around there body. I vomit at the sight and then i see the message on the wall.. the exact same message on all four of the walls and on the stalls and urinals. *The deed is done, they shall bother you no more *
I was blamed for the murders however, since they had no real evidence none of my finger prints where on the bodies and i had no knives or other weapons to do anything like this. However, we had to move and my parents never treated me the same. Now at my new school the bullies are worse... and i see flashing images of marry`s head whenever i walk by a mirror.... smiling at me and mouthing just a little more blood and it can end... it can all end.
(This is my first story forgive any grammar/formatting/spelling mistakes and let me know what i could do better with writing please :D) | |
"What now?" | [WP] You are a high level character in a fantasy world. You defeated your enemies, become pretty much immortal and are now the most powerful being ever, so much that you can be mistaken for a god. After a while enjoying your power over others, you are now bored since nothing is difficult anymore. | The firey pits of Hellwrath bellowed in rage as gigantic Gigaworm exploded from the lava screeching in murderous fury. You know if it's spawning animation wasn't so incredibly long I would appreciate how cool this all was but if I'm supposed to 100% this game I still need to kill another 5 of these things and they each have over a minute spawning time. I mean I waste 27 minutes waiting for all of them to just become targetable, it's like the developers think I've nothing better to do with my life.
The Gigaworm begins with a standard Fire Spit. Dodge, now I just start spamming ice blasts as fast as I can interrupting the Floor Rip attack as it's forced to enter the second stage as it drops below 50% hp. I activate hover and ignore the fact that the floor is now LITERALLY lavaand continue to ice blast. Fire Spit. Dodge. Meteor strike. Dodge. Dodge. Dodge. Stage 3. Now the other 4 heads are visible and that gives me the ability to do 400% more damage per second at the risk- Gigaworm dead.
I can't actually remember what the risk is now I think about it. I think it unleashes a barrage of Fire Spits and Lava Plumes but it's not important.
I quick travel to Maldan and walk through the charred hole in the wall of the castle. I had actually expected the boss fight in this area to be a lot harder considering the Dragon was supposed to be strong enough to melt stone, but Y'ulg Fire Armour and a Resistance Shield meant he did half damage on every single attack and that was that really. I hear the cries of innocent peons and sigh as I realise a Furious Might-Titan has attacked the city.
One of the hardest enemies in the entire game. An armour rating of 1250, the ability to slow, freeze, melt, chill, swallow, throw, stun, silence- It doesn't matter, they've a weakspoint so if you equip a 400+ Integrity weapon then do a Meteor Slash with the Unstoppable Fall passive active you just bounce around on their head until they die without being in range of a single attack they can cast. He dies, I pick up a few nice items but to be honest I only need the Sword of the Forsaken Forefathers, 2 more Chaos Gems and a Sinscaled Turtle Neck before I don't even need to check drops anymore.
I cast a flight spell and soar in the direction of the next Gigaworm bef-
WAIT. A new quest! I missed something in the Mountain of Quqaton! Holy shit this area was added in the new patch I totally forgot to look. It might have a new dungeon I wasn't aware of, maybe a better belt piece to go with this set, hell maybe it's a secret Monster Slayer addition I wasn't aware of.
I arrive on the ground and see a house covered in moss and bones. That means a soothsayer lies inside. Fuck yes! I quickly barge in and see an old man sat in the middle of the room. Z'zeth Katanas line the wall, Mammoth skulls sit carved into chairs and a Hammer of Khall lies perched against a wall. The whole place looks full of mystique and intrigue and I excitedly park my character down in front of the soothsayer. My character is maxed in every stat so does the necessary introductions to gain respect with the Soothsayer and his ancient traditions before handing him an Amulet of Greater Faith to prove my trustworthiness.
"Ah. I see my friend. Then maybe you are the adventurer that can finally help me with my problem. You see... wolves patrol this area and leave my unable to create my favourite brand of tea. Could you help out an old man?"
**QUEST AVAILABLE: TEA FOR AN OLD MAN -- Obtain 5 Lulu Leaves. (OPTIONAL: Kill 6 Dire Wolves)**
**RECOMMENDED LEVEL: 5**
...
Fuck this game. I'm going to go play CoD.
EDIT: Want to spoiler the Quest but can't find out how to do on this sub | "No, Tim, Tim, Its Fir-A not Fir-Gah, And your magical speech was a little off. Maybe chant it just a little faster" Gary yelled at his student.
Gary sighed and sent his students to the library well he reflected on his life.
Gary the Great, they had called him. everyone had cheered when he would come to town. That was in the old days. Now people just walked on by. The children didn't even want to listen to his stories anymore.
Gary would just sit around all day doing nothing. Killing anything was just to easy. He had a billion gold saved up because of his quest and most merchants would give him the prices he wanted to pay. It use to be so much fun for Gary. The thrill of fighting with the merchants for getting the best price. The Thrill of fighting creatures that could kill him at any moment. Now he was bored all the time. He could kill anything he had found. Not even worried for his life. He use to go around in groups with others. Now no one wanted to fight creatures with him because he killed them so easily.
He had been like this for months, but then it hit him. He could train enemies that might be a challenge. It might take some time but he would make enemies that would be on base with him. He started a school for "Hero's" but he made sure to ask each person lots of questions before he let him join. Picking those who would most likely go from Hero to villain.
His only problem was most of them sucked. He was a master of all, But the students seemed to only be good at one or two things each, I mean they were really good above there level but he hated it. He had most of his students weaknesses already one spell and most would be simple to defeat.
But Hey Gary thought it beat just sitting around.
Now to find those students again they will not become masterminds just sitting there. Gary thought.
|
"What now?" | [WP] You are a high level character in a fantasy world. You defeated your enemies, become pretty much immortal and are now the most powerful being ever, so much that you can be mistaken for a god. After a while enjoying your power over others, you are now bored since nothing is difficult anymore. | He sat upon a pile of bodies and brooded as the dying flames emitted smoke and obscured the landscape. The carrion birds hovered overhead and eyed the still-warm flesh which carpeted the field below. Scores of warriors, their blades keen and their bloodlust unparalleled, had gathered to do battle that day and had fallen in mere seconds like blades of grass against a scythe. The last man had fallen, both hands removed clean from his wrists, his lifeblood pouring from the stumps jutting from his forearms as he stared in disbelief at the bringer of his doom. A mere child, delicate features evoking an innocence seemingly blessed by the angels themselves, but radiating a sinister power from his body like a dark aura. He had with a casual swipe of his arms from a distance decapitated a line of men with ease. What was more frightening than the monstrous force he wielded was that the only emotion he betrayed was boredom.
The boy sighed and looked towards the heavens, his azure eyes reflecting the eternal blue. He lifted his piping voice upwards in confrontation.
“Is this the best you have to offer? Am I cursed to forever toy with weaklings?”
If the heavens comprehended the boy’s treaty there was no sign. Its only response was the changing flight pattern of the carrion birds as they began their descent. Soon they would glut themselves on the decomposing bodies which were littered like autumn leaves. The boy cursed them, no more than opportunistic leeches feeding off his efforts. Just like the rest of the pathetic creatures around him, swift to boast but dissolving like quicksand at the slightest touch. He had challenged this last bunch after he had disposed of a group of their kinsman in a neighbouring state, hoping in vain that they would provide better sport. As always he was disappointed. All he wished for was a stronger opponent, an enemy to bring perspiration to his brow and palpitations to his heart. Yet he had traveled across the land, destroying any and all, until the bounties placed upon his head grew so large that many nations were forced to pool their treasuries to keep up with the rise in value. None he faced caused him to exert any noticeable effort.
The boy faced a grim truth; his power had grown to such a level that he was, for all intents and purposes, a god. No mortal creature on earth could touch him. Whereas he had enjoyed the thrill that domination and victory had initially brought, now he was weary of the constant repetition his existence had become. What had started as hand to hand combat with one opponent had grown to drawn out battles with a gang of men, and as his power magnified so did the number of opponents until he was facing small battalions and crushing them with ease. Soon he would face the might of whole armies, and when he decimated them he would have no one left to fight. Only the cold embrace of a self-inflicted death would remain. If there was such a thing as fate, the boy thought, it had weaved a cruel irony over the web of his life.
The carrion birds had landed, many of them plucking eyeballs and pecking at meaty morsels. One bird however was ignoring the smorgasbord and approaching the boy with curious little hops. He considered evaporating it, but its beady eyes which stared unwavering into his own stayed his hand. It hopped closer and closer until it was sitting at his feet and cawed before flapping its wings in a strange, almost contemptuous manner. From under its wing dropped a glistening jewel of opaque ebon. It cawed once more and took flight without a second glance.
The boy stooped to pick up the bird’s offering. It was oddly heavy, although its heft in the palm of his hand was no worse than a pebble. It seemed to hum with unexpressed potential. Its cut was complex, carved to show twenty smooth faces, each face with a symbol engraved in silver. He was unable to discern the meaning of the symbols, the straight lines and sweeping curves barbaric and alien. It was clearly a magical artifact, the bird a disguised valkyrie sent by the gods to answer his rude prayer. But nothing he did caused it to activate. He focused his power upon it, enveloping it in a miasma of force so thick that it would have caused a man’s skull to implode, and yet it remained in the centre of the maelstrom as benign as any rock. He tried everything he could think of, and in frustration cast it in the dirt at his feet. It bounced a few times and landed, the symbol facing upwards similar to a cross in appearance.
Suddenly a blazing golden light shot out of the stone and enveloped the boy until his sight was completely absorbed. He thought he had been blinded and raged as he shook his head. After an eternity his vision cleared and when he noticed his surroundings he gasped.
He was standing in a familiar alley, a filthy backstreet with stinking refuse lining the walls. Behind him was a staunch barrier of brick and mortar preventing his escape, in front a scoundrel of giant size brandishing a shillelagh with rusted nails embedded into the business end. The boy well remembered him, as the scoundrel was the first opponent he’d defeated.
The boy shrugged and swiped, releasing a slash of energy. He guessed that the magic of the stone had transported him into his past. The scoundrel bore the energy slash across his chest and instead of bursting into flames laughed it off and stalked towards him. The boy threw three more blasts of energy with the same result. It was then that he realized the gift the magic stone had conferred upon him. A chance to start again, his current power intact in a world where his former enemies had quadrupled in strength. The gods had answered his prayers. He smiled, his heart warming as a long-forgotten battle-lust stirred once more. He gritted his teeth and charged.
| "No, Tim, Tim, Its Fir-A not Fir-Gah, And your magical speech was a little off. Maybe chant it just a little faster" Gary yelled at his student.
Gary sighed and sent his students to the library well he reflected on his life.
Gary the Great, they had called him. everyone had cheered when he would come to town. That was in the old days. Now people just walked on by. The children didn't even want to listen to his stories anymore.
Gary would just sit around all day doing nothing. Killing anything was just to easy. He had a billion gold saved up because of his quest and most merchants would give him the prices he wanted to pay. It use to be so much fun for Gary. The thrill of fighting with the merchants for getting the best price. The Thrill of fighting creatures that could kill him at any moment. Now he was bored all the time. He could kill anything he had found. Not even worried for his life. He use to go around in groups with others. Now no one wanted to fight creatures with him because he killed them so easily.
He had been like this for months, but then it hit him. He could train enemies that might be a challenge. It might take some time but he would make enemies that would be on base with him. He started a school for "Hero's" but he made sure to ask each person lots of questions before he let him join. Picking those who would most likely go from Hero to villain.
His only problem was most of them sucked. He was a master of all, But the students seemed to only be good at one or two things each, I mean they were really good above there level but he hated it. He had most of his students weaknesses already one spell and most would be simple to defeat.
But Hey Gary thought it beat just sitting around.
Now to find those students again they will not become masterminds just sitting there. Gary thought.
|
[WP] You are a Vegan who, one day, wakes up to find yourself with the ability to read the thoughts and feelings of Plants. | Sarah slumped through the hallway trying to rub the grogginess from her eyes. She was too tired to go to the park and do yoga, but maybe some breakfast would help. She opened her refrigerator then slammed it shut with a sudden yelp. She blinked her eyes, wondering if she was hallucinating, but she could have sworn she heard voices when she opened the door.
"Better make it a coffee." She muttered. She opened the cabinet and began to fix herself a cup. She opened the window for some fresh air.
"Aw, yeah." She heard a voice say. She looked around, the street was empty. A breeze blew through. "Aw yeah, yeah take it." She leaned out the window and took a look around, still no people in sight. The breeze came again, "Aw, aw fuck yeah spread my seed you slut."
"What the fuck..." Sarah whispered. Her eyes focused on the tree planted on the sidewalk of her street. The voice sounded like it was coming from there.
"Hey quit blocking the sun you fuckin' moron!" A smaller voice suddenly shouted from below.
Sarah looked down, her shadow cast over her plotted flowers she kept outside of the window.
"Yeah you, dumbass. You're blocking my light. How about getting me some water while you're at it, didn't rain a fucking drop last night!" The flower, apparently, demanded.
"I-I-" She stammered.
"Yeah get me some too." The flower to the left of the first said. A bee suddenly buzzed towards the flowers. The flower whistled, "Yeahh, baby come over here and get what I got built up for ya' don't me shy I want you to give it to that blue fox two houses down. Tell her I said hello, huh? hah! hah!" All the flowers joined the second in hooting and laughing. Coaxing the bee to come get some pollen.
Sarah slammed the window shut, her fingers gripping her forehead, "What's going on. Am I high?" She wondered. She looked back to the fridge. She hesitated for a few minutes before opening it again, and was met with the barrage of voices.
"There she is. Come over here and eat me before I fall out of my prime." said an orange, "Yeah that's right peel me open and be sure to poop my seeds somewhere with a lot of sun."
Sarah stared at the orange with her mouth hung open. "You...want me to-"
"Did I stutter? c'mon get this done I ain't got all week here. Two, three days tops." The orange said, his tone becoming more aggressive.
"I don't...eat the seeds I pick them out." Sarah said.
"Oh treesus, what's the point if you eat the seeds I can't reproduce if you don't eat them!" The orange shouted.
Sarah quickly reached past the orange and took the bag of carrots. "Well if you weren't suck a dick about it." She grumbled, still coming to terms with the fact that she was arguing with an Orange. She shut the fridge and took the carrots to her kitchen table. She was feeling light headed. To her dismay when she opened the bag of baby carrots there were even more voices.
"Eat us! Eat us! do it! Pick me!" The tiny voices urged.
Sarah lifted a small carrot with a trembling hand, "W-W-Well I mean if you want me too."
"Aw, fuck yeah. Do it. It's my purpose, put me in your mouth!" The carrot shouted.
Sarah hesitated, then slowly edged the orange vegetable towards her lips, trying to ignore the oddly excited carrot. I mean, if it wants to be eaten then she shouldn't feel bad, right? She crunched down.
"OH TREESUS! OH GOD IT HURTS!" The carrot shouted.
"Oh my god I'm sorry!" Sarah exclaimed, quickly rolling the carrot from between her molars. She went to take it out of her mouth, but instead heard laughing.
"I'm just kidding. This is fucking' awesome. Yeah!" The voice sounded from within her mouth.
Sarah chewed a few more cautious bites. She wasn't feeling very hungry anymore as the carrot continued to laugh and jeer its trip down into her stomach. How much did she have to pulverize them to get them to shut up? Why did they like this so much?
"I need to take the edge off." She said to herself.
"Hey where you goin' baby?" A carrot shouted as she stood and left the table.
Sarah entered her room and pulled her weed out of her sock drawer. "Oh no."
"Heyyy look who it is. It's dark in there and it stinks."
"Yeah, stinks like us!"
The weed nugs laughed.
Sarah took hold of one of the nugs and found her bowl. She had to keep her hands from trembling as she tried to light her lighter. Finally she had a flame and lowered it towards the happy green mass.
The nug screamed. "Woah! Hey what are you- AHHH! THAT BURNS WHAT THE HELL!"
Sarah quickly moved her lighter away.
"Oh my god, she's a monster!" Another nug shouted. "She's going to burn us alive!"
"Well what am I supposed to do?!" Sarah demanded, her eyes nearly welling with tears.
The nugs fell silent. "Eat us."
"Ohhh, yeah. Make some edibles. Yeah that's what you should do!"
Sarah screamed. | I didn't wake up to the sun in my face this morning, the warmth thru the curtains wasn't there. I awoke because there was a loud roar in my home, was there a home invasion going on? Hesitantly, armed with a tennis racket, I creep to the source. MY KITCHEN?! but it's empty no one is here, doors closed, windows shut. As I get closer the roar slips into agony and screams. The tennis racket slides from my grip and bounces on the tile, the only sound other then the screams. It's my fridge. I rip the fridge door open, and there is was, just pure agony and pain, cries for help. this feeling is heavy, but familiar.
The last time I felt this I was visiting a dairy farm, the day I gained the ability to read the thoughts and feeling of animals, this wasnt some doctor dolittle shit, this was animals fighting depressions louder than the milking pumps. they were caged, mistreated, and miserable. this is the reason I became vegan because, despite the ads these weren't happy cows.
I snapped back to my fridge now shouting at me. you see a cow, a chicken, a fish only has emotions as long as it's alive but these fucking plants they are still alive, they are alive as long as their cells are green. but now that i can hear their agony, the pain of being cut off of your roots yet still living, it was terrible. I quickly cooked everything in my fridge, EVERYTHING. I tossed it all, I can't eat any of this, not after it just screamed for help.
That's it, I'm going back to meat. I'm not going to starve because every food source has a damn voice. But at least with meat when it's in my fridge it's dead, I'm a carnivore now because at least I can shut them up. | |
[WP] You go to the ATM to withdraw cash and find an extra 10 million dollars in your account. You then get a phone call. | "His Royal Highness Prince Sani Abacha wishes to offer his sincere gratitude for your aid in financing the extradition of his family during his country's troubled times. Please consider your agreed-upon reward as but a small token the Prince's appreciation; the kingdom of Nigeria will always welcome you with open arms." | "Hh-hello?"
My voice crackled as I answered. I was still in a state of awe.
Most people don't randomly find $10,000,000 in their checking accounts overnight.
Luck was something that I never really had; considering that I was born with cerebral palsy. It took me a while to realize that being handicap is really just a state of mind, and that anything most people could do, I could do too. The universe was a cruel mistress though. She didn't stop by giving me an unfair disadvantage. In the past year, my father and uncle died, and the thought of their deaths haunted me most nights.
The voice on the other line was calming and sincere, and sounding full of what seemed like guilt.
"Walter? This is Gretchen..."
I hung up, and threw my phone as far into the air as I could.
I realized at that exact moment that this money would be the perfect way to escape the life my father had left for me.
| |
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | The knight arrived late, the princess was eaten, and the castle was foreclosed upon for failure to pay taxes. All-in-all, it had been a rather poor year for the kingdom, but as always, there was still hope.
Charles Gustav Ludwig Van Ficklebach IV, or Chuck as he was known to his friends, was preparing to have another one of his epic dinner parties.
“Tis’ my sacred duty, Teacup.” Chuck addressed his Gorilla manservant as the latter held out a coat with tails for the former. Teacup grunted agreement as Chuck donned the ornate jacket. “What with Mr. Valiant missing his appointment. The King is sourly disappointed, you know.” Chuck straightened his cuffs as Teacup ran a stiff brush across his shoulders and back. “Did you realize we’re down to less than a half dozen damsels now?” Chuck ticked off his fingers until he reached three, forgot what he was counting, and then glared at Teacup. “You smell of coconuts, and made me lose my train of thought.” Teacup looked abashed – correction, Teacup looked as if he were going to bash something – but instead he counted banana bunches in his mind until the “rage-y” feelings subsided. This was a trick that his yoga instructor had taught him before being savagely beaten to death and tied into a knot like a pretzel. Naval gazing has never been so aptly named.
“Were you considering murdering me again?” Chuck pointedly stared up at the bottom of the Gorilla’s chin.
“Uff...” Teacup affirmed.
“Well, stop it, and don’t start again. I won’t have it.” Chuck inspected his manservant from bottom to top, not spending excess time on the bottom, and yet failing to linger on the top. I suppose the midsection concerned him the most, as it was wrapped in a gold trimmed, purple sarong that hardly covered anything, leaving the impression of a large hairy man in an ill-fitting mini-skirt. “Well, at least you’re wearing your uniform for once. So, that’s a start.”
When none of the dinner guests arrived, Chuck became worried. When he found them all dead on his front lawn he was both relieved, at not having been snubbed, and concerned, at having three-hundred dead nobles lying about.
“Teacup!” Chuck shouted. “Teacup, I believe Valiant’s dragon has arrived!” In retrospect, Chuck regretted having sent that particular invitation, but as the old saying goes, a dragon forgotten is a dragon most feared. Also in retrospect, Chuck was terrible at interpreting old sayings.
Teacup, however, was already several steps ahead of Chuck. Quite literally. Teacup was running for the gate at what could only be called a gallop for a more graceful animal, and possibly a garrump, or grawlorp, or some other appropriately inarticulate sounding word for a Gorilla in a sarong hitting full stride.
“Ah, well yes.” Chuck sighed. “On top of it all, we’ve nobody left to check the coats.” He stood for a moment, contemplating his next course of action.
“Shall I fight,” he wondered as the dragon approached. Its long talons flowed beneath it with a silent grace. “I could attempt to flee,” he gently massaged his stubbled chin, “though I do detest the thought of getting sweaty,” he sniffed the air, “much less the act of it.” The dragon now stood only fifty paces from Chuck. It exhaled a torrent of sulfuric stench that wafted across the distance between them and very nearly caused Chuck to up his namesake.
“You there, stop that this instant,” he called out. “It is unsanitary and unsportsmanlike. I am trying to think up a way to escape your grasp and you aren’t helping.” The dragon paused mid-stride and sharply inhaled.
“That’s much better, thank y—“ Chuck began, but was suddenly distracted by a stream of flame, which shot forth from the dragon’s gaping maw. Chuck instinctively darted to the left, which was rather unfortunate, as the stream of flame was over there. He pivoted quickly to the right, tripped, spun around, and landed inches from a large pool of liquid fire. “Yeaoowww!” He shouted and rolled to his left, which was still quite the wrong direction. He shouted some more and began rolling to his right, not stopping until he figured most of the fire on his person had been extinguished.
The dragon stood over him now, its nostrils flaring in a steady rhythm as its breathing stirred dust and leaves into the air. The dragon lowered its head until one eye was mere inches from Chuck’s pale face. “My name is Mary,” spoke the dragon in a low, rumbling tone that shook the earth beneath them, “and I have a proposition for you.”
“Your name is Mary?” Chuck asked only out of politeness. He was in no mood to be genuinely interested, but he supposed it was the sort of detail that one opens a conversation with in the hopes that someone will ask about it. Plus, he could tell from his current vantage point that he was dealing with a boy dragon.
“Yesssssss!” Mary roared, causing Chuck to go temporarily deaf in his left eye and permanently blind in the right ear. He realized almost immediately that his senses were somewhat confused about which parts did what, but he catalogued the detail for later reminiscence. Mary continued, “I am the son of a thousand fathers, the last born of my kin, and the keeper of this kingdom’s heart. I have lived five hundred years and fought ten thousand foes. I am the natural king and master of these lands. But you, my frail, crunchy, mortal, snack-sized friend may address me as Mary.”
“I see,” Chuck said to buy time, as he currently could not in fact see out of one or more of his face holes. He briefly wondered if he had a concussion, then wondered if he had an aspirin, then wondered if he had a clean glass to pour some water into to take the pill with. All of the wondering made him dreadfully dizzy, so he figured it likely was a concussion after all. With that settled he turned his attention back to the dragon, “Well, Mary. Would you care for a refreshment? My man has run off to escape you, but I am sure he will return once he realizes he left me behind in his haste.” As a side note, Teacup would return three days later after the initial shock and grief of losing his master had worn off. It would take an additional three days of grieving and recovery after finding out that he had actually not lost his master, after all.
“I have no time to wait for your man, nor do I care for your refreshments. I am here to make you a bargain. If you accept my deal, you will be adorned in the finest jewels, embraced by the most beautiful women, and have your pick of the world’s fastest steeds.” Mary’s eye slit narrowed as he focused his gaze more intently on Chuck’s face.
“What if I refuse this bargain of yours, whatever it is?” Chuck challenged the beast with as much enthusiasm and gusto as one could muster while laying on their back in smoldering clothing, surrounded by liquid fire, and looking up into the terrible face of certain death.
“Then I eat you right now, very slowly, and very loudly,” Mary flared his nostrils and let a puff of smoke escape into the air. The thought of being eaten did not bother Chuck so much as the part about it being loud. He simply could not stand loud eaters. The constant crunching and slurping simply drove him mad.
“Alright, then” Chuck slowly found his footing and stood. The top of his head came within inches of Mary’s lower jaw. “You have my attention,” he said as he brushed dirt and ash off of his maroon leggings. “You’ve burned off my hair you know,” he patted himself down and groused.
“Your hair is all there, human.” The dragon rumbled and shifted its gaze to the top of Chuck’s head.
“Oh, up there, sure,” Chuck tisked. "Now what is all of this business about beautiful steeds and fast women?"
-------------------------------------------
To be continued... (tis' late and I have run dry of time)
| In the dark night, a young Hopi boy sat by a lonely camp fire under a single juniper tree. While the stars twinkled brightly against the blackness, he could not see beyond his makeshift camp. He only knew what the camp light could show.
“I would like a friend,” the boy lamented, “are there any friends around?”
An owl landed on the juniper tree and answered, “I am your friend. Why are you out in the desert alone?”
The boy, relieved that he had a friend, replied, “I am traveling back to my mother and father. I accidentally wandered too far following the sun, but now the sun has disappeared and I am lost in the dark.”
“I will guide you back home before dawn,” the owl stated, “but you must have the strength to walk the distance, the resourcefulness to avoid danger, and the courage to move forward.”
The boy nodded his head in determination.
The owl said, “As I will guide you, how will you see me in the pitch black?”
The boy pointed at the tree, “I will use the branch as a torch! I’ve seen my mother create these. It allows her to see further than what is capable. Forgive me, tree, I am in need of your gifts.”
The boy fashioned the branches as a torch and was ready to move forward, but the owl asked, “Now that you can see in the dark, where will you go? What direction is your village?”
The boy pointed at the north star, “I will use this bright star as my guidance! My father told me to use the skies as a compass if I am ever lost.”
With the boy's new found confidence, he knew he would make it back home to his mother and father with help from his friend, the owl. The boy walked until he reached a large mountain.
“The mountain stretches beyond the lands. It will take many days to walk around. What will you do?” asked the owl.
The boy cried out, “Clan Bighorn Sheep, can you help me pass this mountain?”
A bighorn sheep emerged. The boy asked, “Sir, can you assist me in climbing the mountain? I must cross to the other side.”
“May you assist me first?” the bighorn sheep asked, “I am in love, but I cannot do horn battles with others as I lack the strength to win.”
The boy pointed at the big horn sheep’s heart, “My father has told me that strength is gathered through gentleness. Rather than horn battle, can you not appeal to your love by being kind in this harsh world?”
The bighorn sheep said, “Your father is wise. I will help you cross the mountain.”
The boy climbed upon the bighorn sheep as it danced across the mountain and onto the other side. The boy thanked his new friend and continued on his journey until he reached a canyon. By the canyon was an elk whose antlers was stuck in a tree.
“Help me, friend,” the elk pleaded.
The boy broke off branches and navigated the antlers from harm. “Can you help me now, friend?” the boy asked, “I must cross the canyon, but I cannot jump across it.”
The elk allowed the boy to climb onto his back and leaped across the canyon in a single bound. The elk thanked the boy, but asked before departing, “Why did you assist me?”
The boy said, “My mother told me that we must help each other in this world. We cannot be focused solely on ourselves.”
The elk nodded and left the boy back to his journey. The boy felt he was close to his destination until the owl whispered to the boy, “Boy, there is an ogre ahead. What will you do?”
The boy walked until he approached the ogre. The ogre stood as tall as a tree and wore a basket on his back. He did not notice the boy at first, but the boy asked, “Hello ogre, why are you out here?”
The ogre, now staring at the boy, said, “I am looking for a naughty child to put in my basket.”
“Is there a particular naughty child you are looking for?” the boy asked.
“Yes, one who has wandered out in the lands and has not returned to his parents,” the ogre replied.
“Well, I can take you to the village where the boy lives. I can ride in your basket showing you the way.”
The ogre nodded in acceptance. The boy climbed into the basket and told the ogre where to go. Towards the village they both went and when they arrived, the boy climbed down and told the ogre, “I am sorry, but I am the boy. I did not mean to trick you, but as you are now in the village and I do not want to leave my family as I have just returned, may I repay you with food?”
The ogre, at first angry at the deceit, laughed heartily as he had been outwitted by the boy. The boy retrieved food for the ogre and wished the it well.
Lastly, the boy turned to the owl, “Thank you for helping me in my journey.”
The owl replied, “You did not need my help, young man. You were fully capable to complete this journey on your own.”
|
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | My dad told me this story as a kid, I want to pass it onto my child one day.
----
There once was a boy named Little Timmy. He was about eight years old, probably about your height. He was whats known as a dreamer. He dreamed and wished for many things, including lots of chocolate to eat and cake to go with it, if possible.
But there was one thing that Timmy dreamed and wished for more than anything else in the world.
You see, Timmy wasn't like the other boys and girls. He had an unusual problem.
Timmy had duck feet.
Now, you may ask yourself, how does Timmy have duck feet? Well, that's not really the question here. The fact is, he had them, and they weren't going to go away on their own.
Timmy was made fun of by the other children for his feet. But he had one friend, George, that stuck by him. George was always telling him positive things about his feet.
"Timmy, you know that you can swim better than anyone else!"
"Timmy, you might not be able to run fast, but you sure don't need to worry about your socks getting wet inside your shoes when it rains!"
Now, being positive was all well and good, but Timmy wanted real feet, like other boys and girls. So, one night, he sat by his window and stared hard into the night sky, waiting for something. He waited, and he waited, and he waited so long.
Then finally, he saw it. A small glimmer in the night sky. The first night star.
George had once told him that if someone wished hard enough on the first night star, their wish would come true.
So Timmy shut his eyes and stuck out his tongue and wished. And he wished, and he wished, and he wished. And he wished so hard, and so long, his knees got numb. But finally, he felt that he had put his heart and soul into it, and slipped into bed to go to sleep.
Timmy dreamed of putting on socks and shoes the next morning, and running through fields of grain, laughing and being happy.
The next morning, Timmy opened his eyes, and stared down at the two lumps at the end of his bed where his feet were. He daren't wiggle them. He had to know. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, grasped the covers, and threw them back all in one motion!
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
And Little Timmy still had duck feet. | In the dark night, a young Hopi boy sat by a lonely camp fire under a single juniper tree. While the stars twinkled brightly against the blackness, he could not see beyond his makeshift camp. He only knew what the camp light could show.
“I would like a friend,” the boy lamented, “are there any friends around?”
An owl landed on the juniper tree and answered, “I am your friend. Why are you out in the desert alone?”
The boy, relieved that he had a friend, replied, “I am traveling back to my mother and father. I accidentally wandered too far following the sun, but now the sun has disappeared and I am lost in the dark.”
“I will guide you back home before dawn,” the owl stated, “but you must have the strength to walk the distance, the resourcefulness to avoid danger, and the courage to move forward.”
The boy nodded his head in determination.
The owl said, “As I will guide you, how will you see me in the pitch black?”
The boy pointed at the tree, “I will use the branch as a torch! I’ve seen my mother create these. It allows her to see further than what is capable. Forgive me, tree, I am in need of your gifts.”
The boy fashioned the branches as a torch and was ready to move forward, but the owl asked, “Now that you can see in the dark, where will you go? What direction is your village?”
The boy pointed at the north star, “I will use this bright star as my guidance! My father told me to use the skies as a compass if I am ever lost.”
With the boy's new found confidence, he knew he would make it back home to his mother and father with help from his friend, the owl. The boy walked until he reached a large mountain.
“The mountain stretches beyond the lands. It will take many days to walk around. What will you do?” asked the owl.
The boy cried out, “Clan Bighorn Sheep, can you help me pass this mountain?”
A bighorn sheep emerged. The boy asked, “Sir, can you assist me in climbing the mountain? I must cross to the other side.”
“May you assist me first?” the bighorn sheep asked, “I am in love, but I cannot do horn battles with others as I lack the strength to win.”
The boy pointed at the big horn sheep’s heart, “My father has told me that strength is gathered through gentleness. Rather than horn battle, can you not appeal to your love by being kind in this harsh world?”
The bighorn sheep said, “Your father is wise. I will help you cross the mountain.”
The boy climbed upon the bighorn sheep as it danced across the mountain and onto the other side. The boy thanked his new friend and continued on his journey until he reached a canyon. By the canyon was an elk whose antlers was stuck in a tree.
“Help me, friend,” the elk pleaded.
The boy broke off branches and navigated the antlers from harm. “Can you help me now, friend?” the boy asked, “I must cross the canyon, but I cannot jump across it.”
The elk allowed the boy to climb onto his back and leaped across the canyon in a single bound. The elk thanked the boy, but asked before departing, “Why did you assist me?”
The boy said, “My mother told me that we must help each other in this world. We cannot be focused solely on ourselves.”
The elk nodded and left the boy back to his journey. The boy felt he was close to his destination until the owl whispered to the boy, “Boy, there is an ogre ahead. What will you do?”
The boy walked until he approached the ogre. The ogre stood as tall as a tree and wore a basket on his back. He did not notice the boy at first, but the boy asked, “Hello ogre, why are you out here?”
The ogre, now staring at the boy, said, “I am looking for a naughty child to put in my basket.”
“Is there a particular naughty child you are looking for?” the boy asked.
“Yes, one who has wandered out in the lands and has not returned to his parents,” the ogre replied.
“Well, I can take you to the village where the boy lives. I can ride in your basket showing you the way.”
The ogre nodded in acceptance. The boy climbed into the basket and told the ogre where to go. Towards the village they both went and when they arrived, the boy climbed down and told the ogre, “I am sorry, but I am the boy. I did not mean to trick you, but as you are now in the village and I do not want to leave my family as I have just returned, may I repay you with food?”
The ogre, at first angry at the deceit, laughed heartily as he had been outwitted by the boy. The boy retrieved food for the ogre and wished the it well.
Lastly, the boy turned to the owl, “Thank you for helping me in my journey.”
The owl replied, “You did not need my help, young man. You were fully capable to complete this journey on your own.”
|
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | The knight arrived late, the princess was eaten, and the castle was foreclosed upon for failure to pay taxes. All-in-all, it had been a rather poor year for the kingdom, but as always, there was still hope.
Charles Gustav Ludwig Van Ficklebach IV, or Chuck as he was known to his friends, was preparing to have another one of his epic dinner parties.
“Tis’ my sacred duty, Teacup.” Chuck addressed his Gorilla manservant as the latter held out a coat with tails for the former. Teacup grunted agreement as Chuck donned the ornate jacket. “What with Mr. Valiant missing his appointment. The King is sourly disappointed, you know.” Chuck straightened his cuffs as Teacup ran a stiff brush across his shoulders and back. “Did you realize we’re down to less than a half dozen damsels now?” Chuck ticked off his fingers until he reached three, forgot what he was counting, and then glared at Teacup. “You smell of coconuts, and made me lose my train of thought.” Teacup looked abashed – correction, Teacup looked as if he were going to bash something – but instead he counted banana bunches in his mind until the “rage-y” feelings subsided. This was a trick that his yoga instructor had taught him before being savagely beaten to death and tied into a knot like a pretzel. Naval gazing has never been so aptly named.
“Were you considering murdering me again?” Chuck pointedly stared up at the bottom of the Gorilla’s chin.
“Uff...” Teacup affirmed.
“Well, stop it, and don’t start again. I won’t have it.” Chuck inspected his manservant from bottom to top, not spending excess time on the bottom, and yet failing to linger on the top. I suppose the midsection concerned him the most, as it was wrapped in a gold trimmed, purple sarong that hardly covered anything, leaving the impression of a large hairy man in an ill-fitting mini-skirt. “Well, at least you’re wearing your uniform for once. So, that’s a start.”
When none of the dinner guests arrived, Chuck became worried. When he found them all dead on his front lawn he was both relieved, at not having been snubbed, and concerned, at having three-hundred dead nobles lying about.
“Teacup!” Chuck shouted. “Teacup, I believe Valiant’s dragon has arrived!” In retrospect, Chuck regretted having sent that particular invitation, but as the old saying goes, a dragon forgotten is a dragon most feared. Also in retrospect, Chuck was terrible at interpreting old sayings.
Teacup, however, was already several steps ahead of Chuck. Quite literally. Teacup was running for the gate at what could only be called a gallop for a more graceful animal, and possibly a garrump, or grawlorp, or some other appropriately inarticulate sounding word for a Gorilla in a sarong hitting full stride.
“Ah, well yes.” Chuck sighed. “On top of it all, we’ve nobody left to check the coats.” He stood for a moment, contemplating his next course of action.
“Shall I fight,” he wondered as the dragon approached. Its long talons flowed beneath it with a silent grace. “I could attempt to flee,” he gently massaged his stubbled chin, “though I do detest the thought of getting sweaty,” he sniffed the air, “much less the act of it.” The dragon now stood only fifty paces from Chuck. It exhaled a torrent of sulfuric stench that wafted across the distance between them and very nearly caused Chuck to up his namesake.
“You there, stop that this instant,” he called out. “It is unsanitary and unsportsmanlike. I am trying to think up a way to escape your grasp and you aren’t helping.” The dragon paused mid-stride and sharply inhaled.
“That’s much better, thank y—“ Chuck began, but was suddenly distracted by a stream of flame, which shot forth from the dragon’s gaping maw. Chuck instinctively darted to the left, which was rather unfortunate, as the stream of flame was over there. He pivoted quickly to the right, tripped, spun around, and landed inches from a large pool of liquid fire. “Yeaoowww!” He shouted and rolled to his left, which was still quite the wrong direction. He shouted some more and began rolling to his right, not stopping until he figured most of the fire on his person had been extinguished.
The dragon stood over him now, its nostrils flaring in a steady rhythm as its breathing stirred dust and leaves into the air. The dragon lowered its head until one eye was mere inches from Chuck’s pale face. “My name is Mary,” spoke the dragon in a low, rumbling tone that shook the earth beneath them, “and I have a proposition for you.”
“Your name is Mary?” Chuck asked only out of politeness. He was in no mood to be genuinely interested, but he supposed it was the sort of detail that one opens a conversation with in the hopes that someone will ask about it. Plus, he could tell from his current vantage point that he was dealing with a boy dragon.
“Yesssssss!” Mary roared, causing Chuck to go temporarily deaf in his left eye and permanently blind in the right ear. He realized almost immediately that his senses were somewhat confused about which parts did what, but he catalogued the detail for later reminiscence. Mary continued, “I am the son of a thousand fathers, the last born of my kin, and the keeper of this kingdom’s heart. I have lived five hundred years and fought ten thousand foes. I am the natural king and master of these lands. But you, my frail, crunchy, mortal, snack-sized friend may address me as Mary.”
“I see,” Chuck said to buy time, as he currently could not in fact see out of one or more of his face holes. He briefly wondered if he had a concussion, then wondered if he had an aspirin, then wondered if he had a clean glass to pour some water into to take the pill with. All of the wondering made him dreadfully dizzy, so he figured it likely was a concussion after all. With that settled he turned his attention back to the dragon, “Well, Mary. Would you care for a refreshment? My man has run off to escape you, but I am sure he will return once he realizes he left me behind in his haste.” As a side note, Teacup would return three days later after the initial shock and grief of losing his master had worn off. It would take an additional three days of grieving and recovery after finding out that he had actually not lost his master, after all.
“I have no time to wait for your man, nor do I care for your refreshments. I am here to make you a bargain. If you accept my deal, you will be adorned in the finest jewels, embraced by the most beautiful women, and have your pick of the world’s fastest steeds.” Mary’s eye slit narrowed as he focused his gaze more intently on Chuck’s face.
“What if I refuse this bargain of yours, whatever it is?” Chuck challenged the beast with as much enthusiasm and gusto as one could muster while laying on their back in smoldering clothing, surrounded by liquid fire, and looking up into the terrible face of certain death.
“Then I eat you right now, very slowly, and very loudly,” Mary flared his nostrils and let a puff of smoke escape into the air. The thought of being eaten did not bother Chuck so much as the part about it being loud. He simply could not stand loud eaters. The constant crunching and slurping simply drove him mad.
“Alright, then” Chuck slowly found his footing and stood. The top of his head came within inches of Mary’s lower jaw. “You have my attention,” he said as he brushed dirt and ash off of his maroon leggings. “You’ve burned off my hair you know,” he patted himself down and groused.
“Your hair is all there, human.” The dragon rumbled and shifted its gaze to the top of Chuck’s head.
“Oh, up there, sure,” Chuck tisked. "Now what is all of this business about beautiful steeds and fast women?"
-------------------------------------------
To be continued... (tis' late and I have run dry of time)
| THE GREAT DRAGO
Pssst….Over here…Yeah you...Over here. Come gather around the table and I’ll tell you a fable.
A long long time ago…
There lived a dragon named Drago from the land of Dragor.
He had grand round green eyes that spied his favorite pies like an eagle from the sky.
His nose was long and some would say scary and his tongue had a flame that flew a fiery fury.
He greeted visitors with a voice that was a roar from his core, “I am Drago the great dragon of lore.”
He was towering with a tail that went great lengths and when his wings went wide a dark and dreary shadow covered Dragor.
While Drago may seem scary, villagers need not be wary.
For Drago was the protector against a realm of monsters, and malcontents, and harm doers and all really horrible things.
In his time no evildoer prevailed, nor perpetrator went unpunished.
However if there was one person that needed to run and hide it was poor Boris the baker who made the most delicious pies and no special pie escaped Drago’s eye.
Drago you see survived on nothing but sweets and Drago cast down to take the morning delivery.
Well one day Boris had enough. He paid heroes that were tough to slay the dragon named Drago in the mountains of Dragor.
They climbed to the top and swung swords that sliced through the air, but with one big puff Drago sent them running to the bluff as he said, “My name is Drago the great dragon of lore. Why have you come to my door?”
As they ran down the hill one squeaked, “It t’was Boris the Baker who wished you ill.”
This didn’t anger Drago, rather it made him sad. All this time he thought the pies were his, but now he knew everyone thought he was bad.
Lonely and leery his eyes became teary and he started to grow weary of who he had become. Was he the crazed criminal?
“I must make this right,” he said as he took flight on his way to Boris the Baker with a shadow of might.
In an instant he was at the Baker’s door with his hands clasped tight he knocked nervously and counted to four.
“He must not be home, so I better go,” said Drago.
He started to sneak away back into the sky when he heard a creek and a voice, “OH MY!”
Drago turned around as he smelled the mans fear, “I’m sorry mister, please forgive my sneer. You see it’s my face, I don’t mean to look scary. I was born a certain way, but I’m really quite merry. I’m sorry, I apologize, and I’m the very thing you would criminalize. I thought the pies were purposely provided for my own hunting exercise, but now I know I was telling myself lies. I will leave you alone. You don’t have to worry. In fact I’ll be gone, no more flying or fury.” With that Drago leapt in the air and flew fast to the far off mountain.
The next morning his belly growled and grumbled and gurgled, but he fought his urge. He stayed in his cave never to be heard.
As the day grew long he heard off in the distance a jolly song. They were calling his name, “Dear Drago the great, please take this pie and celebrate the triumph of who we are. We are Dragor and named after our protector please Drago come and see. You are loved by one and all, even the baker has heard your call.”
With that Drago flew down and he danced with the town in a party for the protector for all that matters when seeking to live happily everafters.
THE END
|
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | My dad told me this story as a kid, I want to pass it onto my child one day.
----
There once was a boy named Little Timmy. He was about eight years old, probably about your height. He was whats known as a dreamer. He dreamed and wished for many things, including lots of chocolate to eat and cake to go with it, if possible.
But there was one thing that Timmy dreamed and wished for more than anything else in the world.
You see, Timmy wasn't like the other boys and girls. He had an unusual problem.
Timmy had duck feet.
Now, you may ask yourself, how does Timmy have duck feet? Well, that's not really the question here. The fact is, he had them, and they weren't going to go away on their own.
Timmy was made fun of by the other children for his feet. But he had one friend, George, that stuck by him. George was always telling him positive things about his feet.
"Timmy, you know that you can swim better than anyone else!"
"Timmy, you might not be able to run fast, but you sure don't need to worry about your socks getting wet inside your shoes when it rains!"
Now, being positive was all well and good, but Timmy wanted real feet, like other boys and girls. So, one night, he sat by his window and stared hard into the night sky, waiting for something. He waited, and he waited, and he waited so long.
Then finally, he saw it. A small glimmer in the night sky. The first night star.
George had once told him that if someone wished hard enough on the first night star, their wish would come true.
So Timmy shut his eyes and stuck out his tongue and wished. And he wished, and he wished, and he wished. And he wished so hard, and so long, his knees got numb. But finally, he felt that he had put his heart and soul into it, and slipped into bed to go to sleep.
Timmy dreamed of putting on socks and shoes the next morning, and running through fields of grain, laughing and being happy.
The next morning, Timmy opened his eyes, and stared down at the two lumps at the end of his bed where his feet were. He daren't wiggle them. He had to know. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, grasped the covers, and threw them back all in one motion!
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
And Little Timmy still had duck feet. | THE GREAT DRAGO
Pssst….Over here…Yeah you...Over here. Come gather around the table and I’ll tell you a fable.
A long long time ago…
There lived a dragon named Drago from the land of Dragor.
He had grand round green eyes that spied his favorite pies like an eagle from the sky.
His nose was long and some would say scary and his tongue had a flame that flew a fiery fury.
He greeted visitors with a voice that was a roar from his core, “I am Drago the great dragon of lore.”
He was towering with a tail that went great lengths and when his wings went wide a dark and dreary shadow covered Dragor.
While Drago may seem scary, villagers need not be wary.
For Drago was the protector against a realm of monsters, and malcontents, and harm doers and all really horrible things.
In his time no evildoer prevailed, nor perpetrator went unpunished.
However if there was one person that needed to run and hide it was poor Boris the baker who made the most delicious pies and no special pie escaped Drago’s eye.
Drago you see survived on nothing but sweets and Drago cast down to take the morning delivery.
Well one day Boris had enough. He paid heroes that were tough to slay the dragon named Drago in the mountains of Dragor.
They climbed to the top and swung swords that sliced through the air, but with one big puff Drago sent them running to the bluff as he said, “My name is Drago the great dragon of lore. Why have you come to my door?”
As they ran down the hill one squeaked, “It t’was Boris the Baker who wished you ill.”
This didn’t anger Drago, rather it made him sad. All this time he thought the pies were his, but now he knew everyone thought he was bad.
Lonely and leery his eyes became teary and he started to grow weary of who he had become. Was he the crazed criminal?
“I must make this right,” he said as he took flight on his way to Boris the Baker with a shadow of might.
In an instant he was at the Baker’s door with his hands clasped tight he knocked nervously and counted to four.
“He must not be home, so I better go,” said Drago.
He started to sneak away back into the sky when he heard a creek and a voice, “OH MY!”
Drago turned around as he smelled the mans fear, “I’m sorry mister, please forgive my sneer. You see it’s my face, I don’t mean to look scary. I was born a certain way, but I’m really quite merry. I’m sorry, I apologize, and I’m the very thing you would criminalize. I thought the pies were purposely provided for my own hunting exercise, but now I know I was telling myself lies. I will leave you alone. You don’t have to worry. In fact I’ll be gone, no more flying or fury.” With that Drago leapt in the air and flew fast to the far off mountain.
The next morning his belly growled and grumbled and gurgled, but he fought his urge. He stayed in his cave never to be heard.
As the day grew long he heard off in the distance a jolly song. They were calling his name, “Dear Drago the great, please take this pie and celebrate the triumph of who we are. We are Dragor and named after our protector please Drago come and see. You are loved by one and all, even the baker has heard your call.”
With that Drago flew down and he danced with the town in a party for the protector for all that matters when seeking to live happily everafters.
THE END
|
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | The knight arrived late, the princess was eaten, and the castle was foreclosed upon for failure to pay taxes. All-in-all, it had been a rather poor year for the kingdom, but as always, there was still hope.
Charles Gustav Ludwig Van Ficklebach IV, or Chuck as he was known to his friends, was preparing to have another one of his epic dinner parties.
“Tis’ my sacred duty, Teacup.” Chuck addressed his Gorilla manservant as the latter held out a coat with tails for the former. Teacup grunted agreement as Chuck donned the ornate jacket. “What with Mr. Valiant missing his appointment. The King is sourly disappointed, you know.” Chuck straightened his cuffs as Teacup ran a stiff brush across his shoulders and back. “Did you realize we’re down to less than a half dozen damsels now?” Chuck ticked off his fingers until he reached three, forgot what he was counting, and then glared at Teacup. “You smell of coconuts, and made me lose my train of thought.” Teacup looked abashed – correction, Teacup looked as if he were going to bash something – but instead he counted banana bunches in his mind until the “rage-y” feelings subsided. This was a trick that his yoga instructor had taught him before being savagely beaten to death and tied into a knot like a pretzel. Naval gazing has never been so aptly named.
“Were you considering murdering me again?” Chuck pointedly stared up at the bottom of the Gorilla’s chin.
“Uff...” Teacup affirmed.
“Well, stop it, and don’t start again. I won’t have it.” Chuck inspected his manservant from bottom to top, not spending excess time on the bottom, and yet failing to linger on the top. I suppose the midsection concerned him the most, as it was wrapped in a gold trimmed, purple sarong that hardly covered anything, leaving the impression of a large hairy man in an ill-fitting mini-skirt. “Well, at least you’re wearing your uniform for once. So, that’s a start.”
When none of the dinner guests arrived, Chuck became worried. When he found them all dead on his front lawn he was both relieved, at not having been snubbed, and concerned, at having three-hundred dead nobles lying about.
“Teacup!” Chuck shouted. “Teacup, I believe Valiant’s dragon has arrived!” In retrospect, Chuck regretted having sent that particular invitation, but as the old saying goes, a dragon forgotten is a dragon most feared. Also in retrospect, Chuck was terrible at interpreting old sayings.
Teacup, however, was already several steps ahead of Chuck. Quite literally. Teacup was running for the gate at what could only be called a gallop for a more graceful animal, and possibly a garrump, or grawlorp, or some other appropriately inarticulate sounding word for a Gorilla in a sarong hitting full stride.
“Ah, well yes.” Chuck sighed. “On top of it all, we’ve nobody left to check the coats.” He stood for a moment, contemplating his next course of action.
“Shall I fight,” he wondered as the dragon approached. Its long talons flowed beneath it with a silent grace. “I could attempt to flee,” he gently massaged his stubbled chin, “though I do detest the thought of getting sweaty,” he sniffed the air, “much less the act of it.” The dragon now stood only fifty paces from Chuck. It exhaled a torrent of sulfuric stench that wafted across the distance between them and very nearly caused Chuck to up his namesake.
“You there, stop that this instant,” he called out. “It is unsanitary and unsportsmanlike. I am trying to think up a way to escape your grasp and you aren’t helping.” The dragon paused mid-stride and sharply inhaled.
“That’s much better, thank y—“ Chuck began, but was suddenly distracted by a stream of flame, which shot forth from the dragon’s gaping maw. Chuck instinctively darted to the left, which was rather unfortunate, as the stream of flame was over there. He pivoted quickly to the right, tripped, spun around, and landed inches from a large pool of liquid fire. “Yeaoowww!” He shouted and rolled to his left, which was still quite the wrong direction. He shouted some more and began rolling to his right, not stopping until he figured most of the fire on his person had been extinguished.
The dragon stood over him now, its nostrils flaring in a steady rhythm as its breathing stirred dust and leaves into the air. The dragon lowered its head until one eye was mere inches from Chuck’s pale face. “My name is Mary,” spoke the dragon in a low, rumbling tone that shook the earth beneath them, “and I have a proposition for you.”
“Your name is Mary?” Chuck asked only out of politeness. He was in no mood to be genuinely interested, but he supposed it was the sort of detail that one opens a conversation with in the hopes that someone will ask about it. Plus, he could tell from his current vantage point that he was dealing with a boy dragon.
“Yesssssss!” Mary roared, causing Chuck to go temporarily deaf in his left eye and permanently blind in the right ear. He realized almost immediately that his senses were somewhat confused about which parts did what, but he catalogued the detail for later reminiscence. Mary continued, “I am the son of a thousand fathers, the last born of my kin, and the keeper of this kingdom’s heart. I have lived five hundred years and fought ten thousand foes. I am the natural king and master of these lands. But you, my frail, crunchy, mortal, snack-sized friend may address me as Mary.”
“I see,” Chuck said to buy time, as he currently could not in fact see out of one or more of his face holes. He briefly wondered if he had a concussion, then wondered if he had an aspirin, then wondered if he had a clean glass to pour some water into to take the pill with. All of the wondering made him dreadfully dizzy, so he figured it likely was a concussion after all. With that settled he turned his attention back to the dragon, “Well, Mary. Would you care for a refreshment? My man has run off to escape you, but I am sure he will return once he realizes he left me behind in his haste.” As a side note, Teacup would return three days later after the initial shock and grief of losing his master had worn off. It would take an additional three days of grieving and recovery after finding out that he had actually not lost his master, after all.
“I have no time to wait for your man, nor do I care for your refreshments. I am here to make you a bargain. If you accept my deal, you will be adorned in the finest jewels, embraced by the most beautiful women, and have your pick of the world’s fastest steeds.” Mary’s eye slit narrowed as he focused his gaze more intently on Chuck’s face.
“What if I refuse this bargain of yours, whatever it is?” Chuck challenged the beast with as much enthusiasm and gusto as one could muster while laying on their back in smoldering clothing, surrounded by liquid fire, and looking up into the terrible face of certain death.
“Then I eat you right now, very slowly, and very loudly,” Mary flared his nostrils and let a puff of smoke escape into the air. The thought of being eaten did not bother Chuck so much as the part about it being loud. He simply could not stand loud eaters. The constant crunching and slurping simply drove him mad.
“Alright, then” Chuck slowly found his footing and stood. The top of his head came within inches of Mary’s lower jaw. “You have my attention,” he said as he brushed dirt and ash off of his maroon leggings. “You’ve burned off my hair you know,” he patted himself down and groused.
“Your hair is all there, human.” The dragon rumbled and shifted its gaze to the top of Chuck’s head.
“Oh, up there, sure,” Chuck tisked. "Now what is all of this business about beautiful steeds and fast women?"
-------------------------------------------
To be continued... (tis' late and I have run dry of time)
| There was once a young boy who would grow up to be a King of the Dragons, who would wield a Holysaber and ride Ten-Ton-Tom, the Dragonlord: an impressive, behemoth, fire-red Dragon that spewed plasma and soared easily above the clouds.
But the Boy Who Would be King of the Dragons had a nemesis from across the vast grassy plains: Darklord Viceroy, Lord of Shadows, The Most Vile, he who wielded a Dreadsaber. Darklord Viceroy also rode a dragon, of sorts. But not with a capital D, you see.
For, you see, Darklord Viceroy enslaved the dinosaurs of the Lands, and rode a pterodactyl, Dread-Dax, into battle: a thing of terrible teeth, sharp claws, and leathery, webbed wings.
Darklord Viceroy rolled over the Lands, his face always veiled in flaming darkness, conquering with his dinosaur armies and legions of Cursed Men one individual fiefdom after another, until only the Boy Who Would be King of Dragon's small village was all that stood between the Darklord Viceroy and his ultimate conquest of the Lands.
This boy's father had left to far-away Lands to fight far-away battles, or else he would have smote the Darklord Viceroy down, right there, on the spot. Thus, it was left up to the Boy Who Would be Dragon King to take his father's left-behind blade, Holysaber, which was too hallowed to use against any but the utmost evil, such as Darklord Viceroy had become.
The boy, with the help of his father's Holysaber, drove back the first scouts, and was about to face the vanguard--the first real soldiers of the line--except the ground gave way beneath his feet, and this boy fell into a dry well.
Fortunately, as fate has it in these things, the boy landed on a Dragon's nest. It was a Prince's nest, long since forgotten since the Dragons left the lands to fight the foreign Land's wars, so that when the Dragon hatched, at the boy's warmth, with no other Dragonlord's around, this Dragon became the reigning Dragonlord.
"Ride me," said the Dragonlord soon to be known as Ten-Ton-Tom, for he would grow to that size in due time, "for I sense dark enemies near."
But, the Dragonlord was just a whelp, the boy surely argued, not wanting to stress the hatchling, nor do it harm.
"I am a Dragon," Ten-Ton-Tom said. "And, now, I feel as if I am the last Dragon on these Lands--the Dragonlord." Ten-Ton-Tom spread its wings, which were great, even in his smallest stature. "Come, Boy Who is Dragon King, for thy have waken a Dragonlord, thus, thou are worthy. Yet I may not fly, but together, upon my back, we shall sally forth--I shall be your horse, just this once--and together we shall smite all evils."
So, the now King of Dragons mounted the Dragonlord, and both leaped through the hole in the earth above their heads, and sprung forth upon the Darklord Viceroy's armies, in total surprise, casting them to the winds, defeated. The King of Dragon's Holysaber flying like a shooting star, casting off divine light--like, *fwwwosh*!--behind it as the holy weapon's formless slice whacked and snicker-snacked its enemies, and Ten-Ton-Tom breathed fire, but not yet plasma--for the Dragonlord was still just a whelp. In time, though. All in due time.
What happens next? When do they face the Darklord Viceroy? When does Ten-Ton-Tom grow up, and when do we know the King of Dragon's name?
Well, let's not hurry a story all in one good night. All in due time, as well.
**(caution: this story may be counter-productive to sleep)** |
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | My dad told me this story as a kid, I want to pass it onto my child one day.
----
There once was a boy named Little Timmy. He was about eight years old, probably about your height. He was whats known as a dreamer. He dreamed and wished for many things, including lots of chocolate to eat and cake to go with it, if possible.
But there was one thing that Timmy dreamed and wished for more than anything else in the world.
You see, Timmy wasn't like the other boys and girls. He had an unusual problem.
Timmy had duck feet.
Now, you may ask yourself, how does Timmy have duck feet? Well, that's not really the question here. The fact is, he had them, and they weren't going to go away on their own.
Timmy was made fun of by the other children for his feet. But he had one friend, George, that stuck by him. George was always telling him positive things about his feet.
"Timmy, you know that you can swim better than anyone else!"
"Timmy, you might not be able to run fast, but you sure don't need to worry about your socks getting wet inside your shoes when it rains!"
Now, being positive was all well and good, but Timmy wanted real feet, like other boys and girls. So, one night, he sat by his window and stared hard into the night sky, waiting for something. He waited, and he waited, and he waited so long.
Then finally, he saw it. A small glimmer in the night sky. The first night star.
George had once told him that if someone wished hard enough on the first night star, their wish would come true.
So Timmy shut his eyes and stuck out his tongue and wished. And he wished, and he wished, and he wished. And he wished so hard, and so long, his knees got numb. But finally, he felt that he had put his heart and soul into it, and slipped into bed to go to sleep.
Timmy dreamed of putting on socks and shoes the next morning, and running through fields of grain, laughing and being happy.
The next morning, Timmy opened his eyes, and stared down at the two lumps at the end of his bed where his feet were. He daren't wiggle them. He had to know. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, grasped the covers, and threw them back all in one motion!
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
And Little Timmy still had duck feet. | There was once a young boy who would grow up to be a King of the Dragons, who would wield a Holysaber and ride Ten-Ton-Tom, the Dragonlord: an impressive, behemoth, fire-red Dragon that spewed plasma and soared easily above the clouds.
But the Boy Who Would be King of the Dragons had a nemesis from across the vast grassy plains: Darklord Viceroy, Lord of Shadows, The Most Vile, he who wielded a Dreadsaber. Darklord Viceroy also rode a dragon, of sorts. But not with a capital D, you see.
For, you see, Darklord Viceroy enslaved the dinosaurs of the Lands, and rode a pterodactyl, Dread-Dax, into battle: a thing of terrible teeth, sharp claws, and leathery, webbed wings.
Darklord Viceroy rolled over the Lands, his face always veiled in flaming darkness, conquering with his dinosaur armies and legions of Cursed Men one individual fiefdom after another, until only the Boy Who Would be King of Dragon's small village was all that stood between the Darklord Viceroy and his ultimate conquest of the Lands.
This boy's father had left to far-away Lands to fight far-away battles, or else he would have smote the Darklord Viceroy down, right there, on the spot. Thus, it was left up to the Boy Who Would be Dragon King to take his father's left-behind blade, Holysaber, which was too hallowed to use against any but the utmost evil, such as Darklord Viceroy had become.
The boy, with the help of his father's Holysaber, drove back the first scouts, and was about to face the vanguard--the first real soldiers of the line--except the ground gave way beneath his feet, and this boy fell into a dry well.
Fortunately, as fate has it in these things, the boy landed on a Dragon's nest. It was a Prince's nest, long since forgotten since the Dragons left the lands to fight the foreign Land's wars, so that when the Dragon hatched, at the boy's warmth, with no other Dragonlord's around, this Dragon became the reigning Dragonlord.
"Ride me," said the Dragonlord soon to be known as Ten-Ton-Tom, for he would grow to that size in due time, "for I sense dark enemies near."
But, the Dragonlord was just a whelp, the boy surely argued, not wanting to stress the hatchling, nor do it harm.
"I am a Dragon," Ten-Ton-Tom said. "And, now, I feel as if I am the last Dragon on these Lands--the Dragonlord." Ten-Ton-Tom spread its wings, which were great, even in his smallest stature. "Come, Boy Who is Dragon King, for thy have waken a Dragonlord, thus, thou are worthy. Yet I may not fly, but together, upon my back, we shall sally forth--I shall be your horse, just this once--and together we shall smite all evils."
So, the now King of Dragons mounted the Dragonlord, and both leaped through the hole in the earth above their heads, and sprung forth upon the Darklord Viceroy's armies, in total surprise, casting them to the winds, defeated. The King of Dragon's Holysaber flying like a shooting star, casting off divine light--like, *fwwwosh*!--behind it as the holy weapon's formless slice whacked and snicker-snacked its enemies, and Ten-Ton-Tom breathed fire, but not yet plasma--for the Dragonlord was still just a whelp. In time, though. All in due time.
What happens next? When do they face the Darklord Viceroy? When does Ten-Ton-Tom grow up, and when do we know the King of Dragon's name?
Well, let's not hurry a story all in one good night. All in due time, as well.
**(caution: this story may be counter-productive to sleep)** |
I'm at a loss at what a seven year old might like (and my bookshelf trends towards heavy reading), so I thought maybe Writing Prompts could write some short ones. Prompt is intentionally vague to let the imagination run wild. Bonus if you create characters I can give interesting voices to.
Edit: Oh my this got more attention than I thought! I will have to have my niece sleep over more! I'll start with /u/Estenya's story first since it was at the top (and I enjoyed Anya's journey!), but I will read them all to Allie I promise! Thank you everyone! | [WP] The greatest bed time story ever told | Anya wanted to be a dragon.
Ever since her nurse had read her the story about the knight and the dragon, she'd wanted to be one. But she hadn't told anyone, it was a *secret* - because for one, the only girls in the dragon and knight stories were princesses and they never *did* anything.
And for two, dragons were supposed to be evil; yet she was always told what a good girl she was.
But that didn't stop Anya from dreaming.
Unfortunately, all the dragons in the kingdom were either stuffed and mounted in the Great Hall or were lurking in dangerous caves and ruins. But from what Anya knew of dragons, they were lizards, just like the ones that lurked in the conservatorium.
She spent several days in the ancient glass structure, the warm, wet air making her sweaty. Amongst all the strange and wonderful plants, she found several kinds of gecko and lizards that she carefully observed.
Being a gecko was difficult, she discovered. Trying to stick herself to the yellowed glass walls of the conservatorium was *very* hard. She found that if she got enough sticky sap on her hands and feet, she could stick quite well - but ultimately she couldn't climb the glass like the tiny lizards and nurse had smacked her bottom for getting so filthy with plant juice.
"Geckos are too small anyway," she told herself.
Next she studied the tuatara lizards that sat on small rocks in the sunlight. Imitating them was easy; they never moved. Eventually she grew bored of lying on rocks staring into space and she began searching for more interesting lizards.
The frilled lizards that lived on the plains to the west of the castle would puff out their necks and dash along on their two hind feet - faster than a rabbit, kicking up sand as they ran. She chased them around for hours, holding her cloak out around her neck like a giant frill.
Unfortunately the lizards were quite unimpressed.
Eventually she gave in and went to the library, complaining,
"Father always said that you learn more from *doing* than from reading, but I cannot *do* because I cannot find a dragon to teach me how to be one."
And so she ended up reading all the books about dragons.
 
The most important thing she decided was to *look* and *behave* like a dragon.
Of course, the second part was the easiest - she roared at anyone who came near her room and she stole all the gold and silver she could find, piling it onto her bed to sleep upon. The silver forks were especially uncomfortable.
"Dragons don't feel the forks though," she said, "because their thick scales protect them."
The castle tailor agreed to make her a dragon suit, but the fabric wasn't stiff enough and the candlesticks and cutlery still poked her when she tried to sleep on her treasure.
"The suit *looks* very nice," Anya told the tailor, "but it isn't strong enough."
When he suggested that she see the blacksmith, Anya's eye lit with something akin to dragon fire and she ran down the hundred stairs to the armoury.
After receiving her request, the blacksmith agreed to make her a new dragon suit,
"But," he said, "it will take me a while. You'll have to come back in a week."
Impatient, Anya roared at him, but the blacksmith wasn't impressed.
"It will be two weeks if you keep that up," he warned.
It was a long wait for Anya, but somehow she made it through. By the time a week had passed she was *very* grumpy from sleeping on her bed of stolen treasures. The servants had learned to leave her alone and nurse just left her meals at the door.
But the suit was *marvelous* - it was everything she had dreamed of. The blacksmith had even put long steel claws on the scaled gloves and iron spines down the back.
After he helped her into the armour, Anya roared with joy and ran off into the castle, to terrorise the servants.
 
For a time, Anya was pleased with her dragon suit. Certainly it made sleeping on her treasure horde much easier - she didn't feel a thing now.
But she still couldn't breathe fire and she couldn't *fly*.
This simply wasn't good enough.
The blacksmith refused to make her wings and no matter how many hot coals she put in the long nose of the dragon helmet, she only singed her hair.
Disappointed, she moped around the castle in her dragon amour and hissed at anyone who came near.
Eventually she ended up in the library again, looking for a solution. However it was hard to turn the pages with her clawed dragon hands, so she had to take the gloves off and that made her even angrier.
One book gave her an idea though. It told of witches who lived in the swamps to the east who could brew her a potion to turn her into a dragon. Elated at her discovery, she put on her gloves and set off immediately.
It didn't take her long to find the hut of a witch, standing on long poles in the swamp. A ladder hung down, but she couldn't climb it in her dragon armour.
"Raaaaaar! Come down, witch!" she roared at the hut.
An old woman's face appeared in the door of the hut and blinked at her,
"Why, it's a tiny dragon!"
"Not dragon enough!" roared Anya, "I need to fly and breath fire!"
"Well give me a moment then and I'll fetch you a potion so you can do just that."
Anya waited impatiently slashing at the reeds with her claws and growling at frogs.
When the witch came down the ladder, she cautioned Anya,
"You will have to take off your armour, or you'll grow too big and get stuck in it."
Anya nodded. That seemed sensible, even to a dragon.
Once the armour was off she took the potion from the witch and drank it.
Right away she began to feel funny and her face began to hurt. Then her back and her arms. She was growing!
Before she knew it, Anya had grown into a young dragon, about the size of a horse. She coughed in surprise and smoke came out her mouth. With a roar of joy, she flapped her wings, then ran along until she lifted into the sky.
She was a *real* dragon!
 
But back at the castle, no one recognised her. The guards on the walls shot arrows at her and knights rode about the countryside, waiting for her to land.
Frightened now, Anya found a cave, high up in the mountains where no one could follow her.
"I don't want to be a dragon anymore," she thought to herself, "I just want to go home."
The next day she flew back to the swamp and pleaded with the witch to turn her back, but she couldn't speak like a person anymore - she could only roar and breathe fire. The witch chased her off with stinging spells and a cloud of ravens and Anya returned to her lonely cave.
"Sometimes," though Anya, "it is better to pretend to be something than it is to *actually* become it."
And as she thought that to herself, she turned back into a little girl.
When Anya got to the gates of the castle, her nurse and her father ran out to greet her, they had been afraid she'd been eaten by the dragon.
And in a way, Anya realised, she *had* been eaten by the dragon.
But anyway, clearly all the real power lay with being a *witch.*
"Father," she said, "I need a *broomstick*." | There was once a young boy who would grow up to be a King of the Dragons, who would wield a Holysaber and ride Ten-Ton-Tom, the Dragonlord: an impressive, behemoth, fire-red Dragon that spewed plasma and soared easily above the clouds.
But the Boy Who Would be King of the Dragons had a nemesis from across the vast grassy plains: Darklord Viceroy, Lord of Shadows, The Most Vile, he who wielded a Dreadsaber. Darklord Viceroy also rode a dragon, of sorts. But not with a capital D, you see.
For, you see, Darklord Viceroy enslaved the dinosaurs of the Lands, and rode a pterodactyl, Dread-Dax, into battle: a thing of terrible teeth, sharp claws, and leathery, webbed wings.
Darklord Viceroy rolled over the Lands, his face always veiled in flaming darkness, conquering with his dinosaur armies and legions of Cursed Men one individual fiefdom after another, until only the Boy Who Would be King of Dragon's small village was all that stood between the Darklord Viceroy and his ultimate conquest of the Lands.
This boy's father had left to far-away Lands to fight far-away battles, or else he would have smote the Darklord Viceroy down, right there, on the spot. Thus, it was left up to the Boy Who Would be Dragon King to take his father's left-behind blade, Holysaber, which was too hallowed to use against any but the utmost evil, such as Darklord Viceroy had become.
The boy, with the help of his father's Holysaber, drove back the first scouts, and was about to face the vanguard--the first real soldiers of the line--except the ground gave way beneath his feet, and this boy fell into a dry well.
Fortunately, as fate has it in these things, the boy landed on a Dragon's nest. It was a Prince's nest, long since forgotten since the Dragons left the lands to fight the foreign Land's wars, so that when the Dragon hatched, at the boy's warmth, with no other Dragonlord's around, this Dragon became the reigning Dragonlord.
"Ride me," said the Dragonlord soon to be known as Ten-Ton-Tom, for he would grow to that size in due time, "for I sense dark enemies near."
But, the Dragonlord was just a whelp, the boy surely argued, not wanting to stress the hatchling, nor do it harm.
"I am a Dragon," Ten-Ton-Tom said. "And, now, I feel as if I am the last Dragon on these Lands--the Dragonlord." Ten-Ton-Tom spread its wings, which were great, even in his smallest stature. "Come, Boy Who is Dragon King, for thy have waken a Dragonlord, thus, thou are worthy. Yet I may not fly, but together, upon my back, we shall sally forth--I shall be your horse, just this once--and together we shall smite all evils."
So, the now King of Dragons mounted the Dragonlord, and both leaped through the hole in the earth above their heads, and sprung forth upon the Darklord Viceroy's armies, in total surprise, casting them to the winds, defeated. The King of Dragon's Holysaber flying like a shooting star, casting off divine light--like, *fwwwosh*!--behind it as the holy weapon's formless slice whacked and snicker-snacked its enemies, and Ten-Ton-Tom breathed fire, but not yet plasma--for the Dragonlord was still just a whelp. In time, though. All in due time.
What happens next? When do they face the Darklord Viceroy? When does Ten-Ton-Tom grow up, and when do we know the King of Dragon's name?
Well, let's not hurry a story all in one good night. All in due time, as well.
**(caution: this story may be counter-productive to sleep)** |
Hope to see a lot of fun responses! | [WP] You're a mortal superhero with plenty of normal weaknesses, but you also have a very secret and silly phobia. Your archenemy just accidentally stumbled upon it. | "...After all this time, *this* is what scares you?" The Reaper's voice was incredulous, though somewhat distorted by his helmet's filter.
"Ahuagafik," Entropy responded intelligently. His nemesis merely shook his head in bewilderment, triggering the mechanism on his grappling hook to start pulling them back up. His arm was wrapped tight around Entropy's waist, keeping the hero steady to avoid him dropping into the death trap below.
Talk about a job gone wrong. He'd been hired to steal a priceless diamond - a cliched enough job that he supposed he ought to have been suspicious, but he'd gone for it nonetheless. Entropy had stopped enough of his more recent jobs that he needed the money, and there was no way that the hero would know about this particular job; it was on some obscure island out in the middle of the ocean...
In retrospect, that should have been his second clue.
Entropy had been tipped off and had come to stop him. From what he'd managed to gather before the man had gone slack in his arms and started muttering unintelligibly, he'd been informed that he'd come to the island to activate some sort of Doomsday device.
"Really, I'm almost hurt," he told the incoherent hero. "I'm not *that* insane. You should know that by now."
As it turned out, it had been a trap for the both of them. No surprise there. A field to cancel out Entropy's probability manipulation - how *that* had been developed he was very much curious about - and traps he couldn't circumvent with his cellular control. He’d come prepared, of course. What little intelligence there had been had been correct, and for that he was thankful.
Now there was just the matter of getting the both of them to safety. Entropy might have ruined many a plan of his, but he was still a challenge the Reaper relished. Hopefully this… event… didn’t change that.
---
As soon as they were outside of the field, Entropy’s powers kicked in – which is to say a stray wind swept the remaining petals off his suit of armor. The hero in question pulled himself rather abruptly out of the Reaper’s arms.
“Seriously, flowers?” The villain glared. “I change myself into my enemies’ greatest fears, and yours was *flowers*?” He’d thought when the turrets shot petals instead of bullets at them that Entropy’s powers had kicked in – but no, whoever had set the trap was apparently just very well informed.
“You can’t change into that,” Entropy grumbled, embarrassed.
“No, but I can just bring you some,” the Reaper responded, folding his arms.
“Ahuagafik,” Entropy responded again.
“Don’t give me that. There aren’t any flowe- Are you blushing?” A pause, followed by a slight narrowing of the eyes. “…Alright, you know what? You clearly need some training to get over this phobia of yours.”
“What... uh… did you have something in mind?” Definitely blushing.
“We’re going out for dinner. I’m bringing you flowers.”
“…It’s a date? I… guess? I can’t tell if you’re being romantic or sadistic.”
“You are the only person in the *world* who thinks that’s sadistic.”
---
tl;dr I'm a sucker for romance and might have gone off on a tangent, sorry. | "Do you want to know true power? Fear. Fear is a little itch in the back of your head that never goes away. A germ. A pathogen. I just harnessed it."
He wasn't wrong. This thing I have become. This batman- they call me. The Batman. It's all stemmed from fear. One of the last memories I hold on to, of my father. And a cave. Bats. I don't remember much, except fear. So I became the only thing that truly terrorized me. A bat. It'd be a silly guise if brought on by a maniac like him. And I suppose it is with me as well. But to the right people... They're scared of me just as much as I am.
"What are you afraid of? I can find it."
I know he can. "Scarecrow... I'm not afraid of you." He glanced back at me. "I'm counting on it."
Bats. Wings flapping, hairs brushing. A swarm of screaming, flying rats. Fangs. Bats everywhere. The air overtaken with them. Screeching. Soaring. On my face- clawing. Brushing. Hairs. I can't see. I can't smell. But I can hear- a thousand bats screaming at one another. At me. Scarecrow. Right there. In the swarm.
"I've just hit the last stable stage of your psyche. You have at most, a minute before you die. What are you truly afraid of, Bruce?"
The bats depart. They're gone. Scarecrow backs up, inching towards the wall. In front of him, something reflective slides in. Facing me. A mirror. In it, me, without the costume. Without the anger. Without the Batman. Bruce Wayne, wasting his money. Leaving his city to rot. The playboy I pretend to be. When this reflection of me dies, he will leave nothing behind except his parent's bags of money that he threw at anyone who could catch them. He wasted himself. Is this my deepest fear?
"Bruce. Was it worth it? This?" Scarecrow questions. "What you've done here, becoming this Batman, did it matter?" I'm too tired to answer him. Too tired to say, "It's the only thing that did."
The bats flock in from the vents. Overtaking the dark room once again with their dusty wings and horrible screeching. Nothing. Darkness, and the screams of the bats.
And then, it's quiet. |
You may use any of the first five (5) suggested words. You may add punctuation at any time; it does not have to be suggested. | [WP] On mobile, create a narrative using ONLY suggested words. | Hey, sorry for the rest of the world. I'm not sure what to expect from a friend who has been in the future. I don't think it's fair to say that in another time and place, he'd always kept me from my own business. We can go tomorrow morning and then you could never be the same as you are. If you want to, I will be there for you. I hate to say that in another time, I will not be able to have your back. I can handle that. But I have to go. I don't want to. | The battle cruiser appeared just after the first time in the UK. I have something special planned, but who knows what the world was able to make. I have something special planned. I think people are starting to miss real invasions and you don't have to be honest. I'm sure you get the drift. I’m afraid not. You will need to be locked in the silence of the gods. I have something special planned. It's refreshing to see a smile instead of a pout. :) what are you winking at? ;) the ball rolling with the target audience. The residents were the first to know about the latest version of the French government. The horsemen stood in the future with you.
End |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | "So this is it?" Chandra asked, gazing in mild distaste at the dust that dominated the landscape.
"Yep," Morning Dew nodded as she leaned against her atomizing rifle.
"Hard to believe this oversized dustbunny used to be our stomping grounds."
She said nothing as she continued to look around.
"Where are we?" Chandra finally asked his bodyguard.
"This place used to be known as the River Lena in a region called Siberia. There was a city called Yakutsk several kilometers North."
"What's 'North' again?"
"North, West, South, East," she rattled off, pointing the gun in each corresponding direction. "At least according to Old Earth directions."
"Yeah, I don't know how our ancestors were able to tell anything apart in this constantly spinning mess. Let's see the comparison maps again."
"Your wish is my command," she responded as they pulled out the maps.
Chandra studied the 3-D holo-image of Old Earth.
His peers were always going on about the beauty this planet used to have, but Chandra could not see it, even when looking at Old Earth. Some greens, browns, and whites surrounded by a lot of blue. Lovely.
Chandra then looked at the holo-image of Present Earth. Ironically, he liked the image of the giant grey dustball better. At least it looked perfect.
"Even back in its prime, I bet this place was lame."
Morning Dew smirked. "You think so, kiddo?"
"Jungles and forests, seas and mountains, this place isn't so special. There are lots of planets like this one."
"I suppose," she shrugged. "But nothing is quite like home."
Chandra rolled his eyes. "How can you even say that about some dirtball you've only visited a few times?"
"True, but... I don't know. I feel a kinship with this place. It was on this planet that we evolved from plants to fish to frogs to lizards to rats to monkeys to, well, us. It's here," Morning Dew made a sweeping motion with her arms, "that we first learned how to manipulate the world to fit us, instead of being ruled by it. And it is here where we made our first steps to space travel by reaching the moon."
"Which one? The one by Venus, or the one by Mars?"
"The one that orbited this one."
Chandra frowned as he looked up into the night sky. Innumerable stars twinkled, and he could even see the bright light of the planet Venus, but he saw no moon. The only other thing he could was the occasional asteroid in orbit around the...
"Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"When we avoided that belt to get here, was that...?"
"Old Earth's moon? Yes."
Chandra then bent down and grabbed a handful of the grey dust. It effortlessly glided through his grip no matter how hard he clenched his fist.
"What happened to it?"
"Hmph," she grunted in amusement, "someone should have paid more attention in his history course."
"Why should I care about history?" Chandra snapped back. "How does knowing that we went from plants to animals to humans help us now?"
"If it doesn't help us now, then why bother asking about Old Earth's moon?"
"Just shut up and tell me or you're going to be looking for another job!"
Morning Dew only smirked, having plenty more witty remarks to say, but she did as her young boss demanded.
"Well, it's no secret that Old Earth fell due to greed and shortsightedness, but even with those issues, Earth still should have been able to sustain life and have water."
"The planetary climate crisis? I know about that. Just get to the point."
"Well, those same shortsighted, greedy people were doing their damndest to still remain relevant in the face of changing times. So they turned to the moon to make the profits they could not find here on Earth. Back when it was still around, the moon was full of helium, and the obsolete energy makers decided to finance mining operations to the moon. The results were spectacular and the helium obtained from the moon was a lot more efficient than the stuff found here. Soon enough, every country that could started sending operations to the moon. But the moon was a small, small place, and eventually, nations started having battles on the moon for territory and mines. Some idiots thought it'd be a good idea set off detonations in the competing mines, but they placed their explosives too deep, so the moon the cracked and split, and lots of pieces pelted Old Earth.
"Without the moon to keep the waters moving, or to even stabilize the rotation of Old Earth, the planet descended into chaos, both natural and man-made. One day, a place would be warm paradise, the next it would be a frozen waste, and afterward it would be a desert. People began fighting for what resources there were until our numbers grew smaller and smaller. But humans aren't meant to fight indefinitely, and the remaining bands got together and built ships to leave."
"So why is all the dust here?" Chandra asked.
Morning Dew ran her fingers along the atomizing rifle. "The fighting, the explosions, the meteor impacts, the fluctuating climate, everything. Without stability, nothing more complicated than eukaryotes can survive in this place."
Chandra looked at her then at the beautiful, star-studded sky. It suddenly felt empty.
"You know you're named after it, right?"
"Huh?" he said, being pulled out of his reverie.
"The moon. You're named after the moon."
"Is that so?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued on the heavens.
"Yes. The captain named you after an old god of the moon."
"Uh huh," Chandra answered, clearly not paying attention to what she was saying.
"I think the god you were named after was said to move the moon across the sky in a chariot pulled by deer or something."
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow before making his way back to their ship. "One: what's a 'deer?' Two: what's a 'chariot?' And three: people actually used to believe that nonsense?"
Morning Dew laughed as she followed him. "I'll show you on the ship."
"Hey, Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"Can we see that city that's 'North' of here."
"Your wish is my command."
------------------------------------------------------------------
BTW, the moon *is* full of helium and there *are* people who would like to obtain it. Point out any typos, please. | Astroshwah Copper slouched in her chair on the outer perimeter bridge, slowly turning her spinning chair from polaris to octanis and back. The day had been quiet so far, her respite interrupted only once by a brief flutter of voices when the bi-weekly transmission from *8102 Lin 11* had arrived, 3 years after having been sent. No ship-wide announcement followed, and Copper went back to chair-spinning. There never had been any interesting news between the 60° and 66° degree. Copper pressed a flashing button to reroute the agricultural report from the second inner district through the tertiary communications node, as the secondary node was still off-line - she wondered briefly what was taking the second engineers so long - and then went back to chair-spinning. No new major transmission was planned for this shift.
Copper grabbed a bowl of fried vegetables from the food dispenser and lit up the desk terminal. She tapped a few buttons, and momentarily a face appeared on the terminal.
"Yurkova", Copper dead-panned, barely able to suppress a grin. Astromech Yurkova stood hunched under a metal arch, her bronze face covered by a sheen of sweat her blonde hair clung too, drawing subtle lines through her youthful face. Across the bridge of her nose a dark smudge like war paint seemed to underline the safety goggles that crookedly sat on her eyes.
"Copper", she answered, pulling her goggles off her face, which left two circular red imprints on her face. "What is it?"
"Lunch time!", Copper replied and lifted her bowl. "It's Fry-day!".
"Funny. Look, I've a really busy shift, " Yurkova hedged. "Maybe -"
"You've got to eat, Yuri." Copper interrupted. "Come sit with me."
Yuri sat down heavily in whatever tube she was working in. "Alright", she sighed, and pulled out a tube of concentrate. "So what's up?"
"There's nothing of note between 60 and 66 by 10 degrees at 4 light years", Copper said after swallowing a piece of fried eggplant. "And I've got a new theory -"
"Did you listen in again? You have to stop doing that, Caroline. You don't have the clearance! If they catch you -" Yuri interrupted.
"Relax. I didn't listen in. I'm *deducing* that nothing of note happened because there was no announcement. So, my theory is that we *are* on earth. I think that we used to live on the surface, but then people turned into Lee-Bears, with white faces and black noses and red spectacles, and started to eat everything! And so we had to go live on the *inside*, and went to space to get rid of all the bears, and ... -"
"What are you talking about?" Yuri asked, her tube of concentrate hanging loosely from the corner of her mouth. "Lee-bears? Spectacles? What?"
Caroline smirked. "Yes, and I think they must have had long yellow fur. Cute, though -"
A sudden keening siren interrupted Yuri's retort. Caroline looked at the panel in front of her aghast. "A transmission? But nothing's scheduled!"
"Did you mix things up again?", Yuri hastily asked. "No! I'm sure no transmission was scheduled. Hold on, I'll get right back to you."
Caroline turned from her terminal, and Yuri saw Caroline's fingers fly over the control panel. She heard the hull of the Yoolang grown as the large antenna arrays ground to a new position, and then the lights in the access tunnel she was in started to flicker. Yuri was pulling in energy from all over the ship. "It's a faint transmission from 348 and 354," Caroline said, almost drowned out by the loud siren. "41 Daphne 58?" she asked no one in particular. "But that isn't scheduled until at least 3320!" The siren suddenly stopped and was replaced by a pulsating white noise. Caroline spun on her chair, back to her terminal, ripped *something* from one of the access ports, and jammed it into the access port on her panel. "Shut it!" she shouted preemptively, just as Yuri made noises of protest. "Whatever that is, I'm not going to miss it!".
Just as suddenly as the transmission had come, it stopped, and the comm channel was eerily silent.
"Well. That was unexpected," Caroline opined. "Wanna be *subversive*, girly?"
---
Probably won't continue this. It's already too long and that's just the introductory "chapter". | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | "Thirty years ago on this date, September 13th, 1999, the Moon went away." She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. "A then unknown electromagnetic phenomenon caused the Moon to accelerate and breakaway from Earth. The three hundred and eleven souls on Moonbase Alpha survived the initial event of breakaway, but we have no idea of their current status or wherabouts at this time."
The blonde-haired woman took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera, "Today, the World Space Commission has given me the pleasure to announce that we are launching a new spacecraft. *Luna Voyager* will complete construction later this month and its first mission will be to search for our people. With the new advanced Queller Drive, we believe this mission to be our best chance of finding out what happened to Moonbase Alpha, its crew and our Moon. I just hope to find my big brother. Thank you."
*~ World Space Commission Press release with Captain Samantha Carter, newly named commanding officer of* Luna Voyager. September 13th, 2029. | Kyre gestured and changed pages.
"Hey Avok, did you know earth used to have a moon?"
Avok looked around. "What? That doesn't make sense, where did it go?"
Avok leaned over and looked at the page.
"Are you sure it means this earth?"
Kyre looked again.
"Oh no, sorry, apparently that was Earth 1. Wow, Earth 2 had four moons. Must've had some crazy seasons".
Avok looked at Kyre.
"Do you ever think before you say things?..." | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | "So this is it?" Chandra asked, gazing in mild distaste at the dust that dominated the landscape.
"Yep," Morning Dew nodded as she leaned against her atomizing rifle.
"Hard to believe this oversized dustbunny used to be our stomping grounds."
She said nothing as she continued to look around.
"Where are we?" Chandra finally asked his bodyguard.
"This place used to be known as the River Lena in a region called Siberia. There was a city called Yakutsk several kilometers North."
"What's 'North' again?"
"North, West, South, East," she rattled off, pointing the gun in each corresponding direction. "At least according to Old Earth directions."
"Yeah, I don't know how our ancestors were able to tell anything apart in this constantly spinning mess. Let's see the comparison maps again."
"Your wish is my command," she responded as they pulled out the maps.
Chandra studied the 3-D holo-image of Old Earth.
His peers were always going on about the beauty this planet used to have, but Chandra could not see it, even when looking at Old Earth. Some greens, browns, and whites surrounded by a lot of blue. Lovely.
Chandra then looked at the holo-image of Present Earth. Ironically, he liked the image of the giant grey dustball better. At least it looked perfect.
"Even back in its prime, I bet this place was lame."
Morning Dew smirked. "You think so, kiddo?"
"Jungles and forests, seas and mountains, this place isn't so special. There are lots of planets like this one."
"I suppose," she shrugged. "But nothing is quite like home."
Chandra rolled his eyes. "How can you even say that about some dirtball you've only visited a few times?"
"True, but... I don't know. I feel a kinship with this place. It was on this planet that we evolved from plants to fish to frogs to lizards to rats to monkeys to, well, us. It's here," Morning Dew made a sweeping motion with her arms, "that we first learned how to manipulate the world to fit us, instead of being ruled by it. And it is here where we made our first steps to space travel by reaching the moon."
"Which one? The one by Venus, or the one by Mars?"
"The one that orbited this one."
Chandra frowned as he looked up into the night sky. Innumerable stars twinkled, and he could even see the bright light of the planet Venus, but he saw no moon. The only other thing he could was the occasional asteroid in orbit around the...
"Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"When we avoided that belt to get here, was that...?"
"Old Earth's moon? Yes."
Chandra then bent down and grabbed a handful of the grey dust. It effortlessly glided through his grip no matter how hard he clenched his fist.
"What happened to it?"
"Hmph," she grunted in amusement, "someone should have paid more attention in his history course."
"Why should I care about history?" Chandra snapped back. "How does knowing that we went from plants to animals to humans help us now?"
"If it doesn't help us now, then why bother asking about Old Earth's moon?"
"Just shut up and tell me or you're going to be looking for another job!"
Morning Dew only smirked, having plenty more witty remarks to say, but she did as her young boss demanded.
"Well, it's no secret that Old Earth fell due to greed and shortsightedness, but even with those issues, Earth still should have been able to sustain life and have water."
"The planetary climate crisis? I know about that. Just get to the point."
"Well, those same shortsighted, greedy people were doing their damndest to still remain relevant in the face of changing times. So they turned to the moon to make the profits they could not find here on Earth. Back when it was still around, the moon was full of helium, and the obsolete energy makers decided to finance mining operations to the moon. The results were spectacular and the helium obtained from the moon was a lot more efficient than the stuff found here. Soon enough, every country that could started sending operations to the moon. But the moon was a small, small place, and eventually, nations started having battles on the moon for territory and mines. Some idiots thought it'd be a good idea set off detonations in the competing mines, but they placed their explosives too deep, so the moon the cracked and split, and lots of pieces pelted Old Earth.
"Without the moon to keep the waters moving, or to even stabilize the rotation of Old Earth, the planet descended into chaos, both natural and man-made. One day, a place would be warm paradise, the next it would be a frozen waste, and afterward it would be a desert. People began fighting for what resources there were until our numbers grew smaller and smaller. But humans aren't meant to fight indefinitely, and the remaining bands got together and built ships to leave."
"So why is all the dust here?" Chandra asked.
Morning Dew ran her fingers along the atomizing rifle. "The fighting, the explosions, the meteor impacts, the fluctuating climate, everything. Without stability, nothing more complicated than eukaryotes can survive in this place."
Chandra looked at her then at the beautiful, star-studded sky. It suddenly felt empty.
"You know you're named after it, right?"
"Huh?" he said, being pulled out of his reverie.
"The moon. You're named after the moon."
"Is that so?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued on the heavens.
"Yes. The captain named you after an old god of the moon."
"Uh huh," Chandra answered, clearly not paying attention to what she was saying.
"I think the god you were named after was said to move the moon across the sky in a chariot pulled by deer or something."
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow before making his way back to their ship. "One: what's a 'deer?' Two: what's a 'chariot?' And three: people actually used to believe that nonsense?"
Morning Dew laughed as she followed him. "I'll show you on the ship."
"Hey, Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"Can we see that city that's 'North' of here."
"Your wish is my command."
------------------------------------------------------------------
BTW, the moon *is* full of helium and there *are* people who would like to obtain it. Point out any typos, please. | Kyre gestured and changed pages.
"Hey Avok, did you know earth used to have a moon?"
Avok looked around. "What? That doesn't make sense, where did it go?"
Avok leaned over and looked at the page.
"Are you sure it means this earth?"
Kyre looked again.
"Oh no, sorry, apparently that was Earth 1. Wow, Earth 2 had four moons. Must've had some crazy seasons".
Avok looked at Kyre.
"Do you ever think before you say things?..." | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | "So this is it?" Chandra asked, gazing in mild distaste at the dust that dominated the landscape.
"Yep," Morning Dew nodded as she leaned against her atomizing rifle.
"Hard to believe this oversized dustbunny used to be our stomping grounds."
She said nothing as she continued to look around.
"Where are we?" Chandra finally asked his bodyguard.
"This place used to be known as the River Lena in a region called Siberia. There was a city called Yakutsk several kilometers North."
"What's 'North' again?"
"North, West, South, East," she rattled off, pointing the gun in each corresponding direction. "At least according to Old Earth directions."
"Yeah, I don't know how our ancestors were able to tell anything apart in this constantly spinning mess. Let's see the comparison maps again."
"Your wish is my command," she responded as they pulled out the maps.
Chandra studied the 3-D holo-image of Old Earth.
His peers were always going on about the beauty this planet used to have, but Chandra could not see it, even when looking at Old Earth. Some greens, browns, and whites surrounded by a lot of blue. Lovely.
Chandra then looked at the holo-image of Present Earth. Ironically, he liked the image of the giant grey dustball better. At least it looked perfect.
"Even back in its prime, I bet this place was lame."
Morning Dew smirked. "You think so, kiddo?"
"Jungles and forests, seas and mountains, this place isn't so special. There are lots of planets like this one."
"I suppose," she shrugged. "But nothing is quite like home."
Chandra rolled his eyes. "How can you even say that about some dirtball you've only visited a few times?"
"True, but... I don't know. I feel a kinship with this place. It was on this planet that we evolved from plants to fish to frogs to lizards to rats to monkeys to, well, us. It's here," Morning Dew made a sweeping motion with her arms, "that we first learned how to manipulate the world to fit us, instead of being ruled by it. And it is here where we made our first steps to space travel by reaching the moon."
"Which one? The one by Venus, or the one by Mars?"
"The one that orbited this one."
Chandra frowned as he looked up into the night sky. Innumerable stars twinkled, and he could even see the bright light of the planet Venus, but he saw no moon. The only other thing he could was the occasional asteroid in orbit around the...
"Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"When we avoided that belt to get here, was that...?"
"Old Earth's moon? Yes."
Chandra then bent down and grabbed a handful of the grey dust. It effortlessly glided through his grip no matter how hard he clenched his fist.
"What happened to it?"
"Hmph," she grunted in amusement, "someone should have paid more attention in his history course."
"Why should I care about history?" Chandra snapped back. "How does knowing that we went from plants to animals to humans help us now?"
"If it doesn't help us now, then why bother asking about Old Earth's moon?"
"Just shut up and tell me or you're going to be looking for another job!"
Morning Dew only smirked, having plenty more witty remarks to say, but she did as her young boss demanded.
"Well, it's no secret that Old Earth fell due to greed and shortsightedness, but even with those issues, Earth still should have been able to sustain life and have water."
"The planetary climate crisis? I know about that. Just get to the point."
"Well, those same shortsighted, greedy people were doing their damndest to still remain relevant in the face of changing times. So they turned to the moon to make the profits they could not find here on Earth. Back when it was still around, the moon was full of helium, and the obsolete energy makers decided to finance mining operations to the moon. The results were spectacular and the helium obtained from the moon was a lot more efficient than the stuff found here. Soon enough, every country that could started sending operations to the moon. But the moon was a small, small place, and eventually, nations started having battles on the moon for territory and mines. Some idiots thought it'd be a good idea set off detonations in the competing mines, but they placed their explosives too deep, so the moon the cracked and split, and lots of pieces pelted Old Earth.
"Without the moon to keep the waters moving, or to even stabilize the rotation of Old Earth, the planet descended into chaos, both natural and man-made. One day, a place would be warm paradise, the next it would be a frozen waste, and afterward it would be a desert. People began fighting for what resources there were until our numbers grew smaller and smaller. But humans aren't meant to fight indefinitely, and the remaining bands got together and built ships to leave."
"So why is all the dust here?" Chandra asked.
Morning Dew ran her fingers along the atomizing rifle. "The fighting, the explosions, the meteor impacts, the fluctuating climate, everything. Without stability, nothing more complicated than eukaryotes can survive in this place."
Chandra looked at her then at the beautiful, star-studded sky. It suddenly felt empty.
"You know you're named after it, right?"
"Huh?" he said, being pulled out of his reverie.
"The moon. You're named after the moon."
"Is that so?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued on the heavens.
"Yes. The captain named you after an old god of the moon."
"Uh huh," Chandra answered, clearly not paying attention to what she was saying.
"I think the god you were named after was said to move the moon across the sky in a chariot pulled by deer or something."
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow before making his way back to their ship. "One: what's a 'deer?' Two: what's a 'chariot?' And three: people actually used to believe that nonsense?"
Morning Dew laughed as she followed him. "I'll show you on the ship."
"Hey, Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"Can we see that city that's 'North' of here."
"Your wish is my command."
------------------------------------------------------------------
BTW, the moon *is* full of helium and there *are* people who would like to obtain it. Point out any typos, please. | "Thirty years ago on this date, September 13th, 1999, the Moon went away." She paused, wiping a tear from her eye. "A then unknown electromagnetic phenomenon caused the Moon to accelerate and breakaway from Earth. The three hundred and eleven souls on Moonbase Alpha survived the initial event of breakaway, but we have no idea of their current status or wherabouts at this time."
The blonde-haired woman took a deep breath and looked straight into the camera, "Today, the World Space Commission has given me the pleasure to announce that we are launching a new spacecraft. *Luna Voyager* will complete construction later this month and its first mission will be to search for our people. With the new advanced Queller Drive, we believe this mission to be our best chance of finding out what happened to Moonbase Alpha, its crew and our Moon. I just hope to find my big brother. Thank you."
*~ World Space Commission Press release with Captain Samantha Carter, newly named commanding officer of* Luna Voyager. September 13th, 2029. | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | "So this is it?" Chandra asked, gazing in mild distaste at the dust that dominated the landscape.
"Yep," Morning Dew nodded as she leaned against her atomizing rifle.
"Hard to believe this oversized dustbunny used to be our stomping grounds."
She said nothing as she continued to look around.
"Where are we?" Chandra finally asked his bodyguard.
"This place used to be known as the River Lena in a region called Siberia. There was a city called Yakutsk several kilometers North."
"What's 'North' again?"
"North, West, South, East," she rattled off, pointing the gun in each corresponding direction. "At least according to Old Earth directions."
"Yeah, I don't know how our ancestors were able to tell anything apart in this constantly spinning mess. Let's see the comparison maps again."
"Your wish is my command," she responded as they pulled out the maps.
Chandra studied the 3-D holo-image of Old Earth.
His peers were always going on about the beauty this planet used to have, but Chandra could not see it, even when looking at Old Earth. Some greens, browns, and whites surrounded by a lot of blue. Lovely.
Chandra then looked at the holo-image of Present Earth. Ironically, he liked the image of the giant grey dustball better. At least it looked perfect.
"Even back in its prime, I bet this place was lame."
Morning Dew smirked. "You think so, kiddo?"
"Jungles and forests, seas and mountains, this place isn't so special. There are lots of planets like this one."
"I suppose," she shrugged. "But nothing is quite like home."
Chandra rolled his eyes. "How can you even say that about some dirtball you've only visited a few times?"
"True, but... I don't know. I feel a kinship with this place. It was on this planet that we evolved from plants to fish to frogs to lizards to rats to monkeys to, well, us. It's here," Morning Dew made a sweeping motion with her arms, "that we first learned how to manipulate the world to fit us, instead of being ruled by it. And it is here where we made our first steps to space travel by reaching the moon."
"Which one? The one by Venus, or the one by Mars?"
"The one that orbited this one."
Chandra frowned as he looked up into the night sky. Innumerable stars twinkled, and he could even see the bright light of the planet Venus, but he saw no moon. The only other thing he could was the occasional asteroid in orbit around the...
"Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"When we avoided that belt to get here, was that...?"
"Old Earth's moon? Yes."
Chandra then bent down and grabbed a handful of the grey dust. It effortlessly glided through his grip no matter how hard he clenched his fist.
"What happened to it?"
"Hmph," she grunted in amusement, "someone should have paid more attention in his history course."
"Why should I care about history?" Chandra snapped back. "How does knowing that we went from plants to animals to humans help us now?"
"If it doesn't help us now, then why bother asking about Old Earth's moon?"
"Just shut up and tell me or you're going to be looking for another job!"
Morning Dew only smirked, having plenty more witty remarks to say, but she did as her young boss demanded.
"Well, it's no secret that Old Earth fell due to greed and shortsightedness, but even with those issues, Earth still should have been able to sustain life and have water."
"The planetary climate crisis? I know about that. Just get to the point."
"Well, those same shortsighted, greedy people were doing their damndest to still remain relevant in the face of changing times. So they turned to the moon to make the profits they could not find here on Earth. Back when it was still around, the moon was full of helium, and the obsolete energy makers decided to finance mining operations to the moon. The results were spectacular and the helium obtained from the moon was a lot more efficient than the stuff found here. Soon enough, every country that could started sending operations to the moon. But the moon was a small, small place, and eventually, nations started having battles on the moon for territory and mines. Some idiots thought it'd be a good idea set off detonations in the competing mines, but they placed their explosives too deep, so the moon the cracked and split, and lots of pieces pelted Old Earth.
"Without the moon to keep the waters moving, or to even stabilize the rotation of Old Earth, the planet descended into chaos, both natural and man-made. One day, a place would be warm paradise, the next it would be a frozen waste, and afterward it would be a desert. People began fighting for what resources there were until our numbers grew smaller and smaller. But humans aren't meant to fight indefinitely, and the remaining bands got together and built ships to leave."
"So why is all the dust here?" Chandra asked.
Morning Dew ran her fingers along the atomizing rifle. "The fighting, the explosions, the meteor impacts, the fluctuating climate, everything. Without stability, nothing more complicated than eukaryotes can survive in this place."
Chandra looked at her then at the beautiful, star-studded sky. It suddenly felt empty.
"You know you're named after it, right?"
"Huh?" he said, being pulled out of his reverie.
"The moon. You're named after the moon."
"Is that so?" he mumbled, keeping his eyes glued on the heavens.
"Yes. The captain named you after an old god of the moon."
"Uh huh," Chandra answered, clearly not paying attention to what she was saying.
"I think the god you were named after was said to move the moon across the sky in a chariot pulled by deer or something."
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow before making his way back to their ship. "One: what's a 'deer?' Two: what's a 'chariot?' And three: people actually used to believe that nonsense?"
Morning Dew laughed as she followed him. "I'll show you on the ship."
"Hey, Morning Dew?"
"Yes?"
"Can we see that city that's 'North' of here."
"Your wish is my command."
------------------------------------------------------------------
BTW, the moon *is* full of helium and there *are* people who would like to obtain it. Point out any typos, please. | **Luna** is the name of Earth's moon. It was a celestial object which appeared at night and shifted through a 28-day Cycle of phases from which humans developed the Lunar Month which is used in such religions as Judaism and Islam, and is also the origin of the English word 'Lunatic.' It's gravitational pull also affected tidal levels, thereby causing a shift in high and low tides.
During the late 22nd Century, the Chinese government attempted to harvest the moon for precious metals to the strong discouragement of the United Nations, even attempting to take a large chunk of Luna into their territory on Earth. Not only did it cause Luna to break into pieces which now forms Earth's debris ring but also robbed it of the first colony set up by NASA in 2025. Also, the gravitational engine used by the Chinese failed due to the size of the Lunar Piece falling to Earth.
The devastation to the planet was horrific, with most of the planet being covered in dust clouds for 20 years. The countries of China, Japan, Korea Taiwan were completely destroyed, thereby single-handedly halfing the human population.
As a direct result of this devastation the Citadel Council, which were unknown to humanity at the time, intervened to help humanity save their planet's ecosystem from complete devastation. While it was only proposed by the asari at the time, the devastation caused Luna's celestial cracking gone wrong has led to a proposed project to mine a planet of resources on such a scale was made illegal on punishment of death. | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | Friendfeed was put in send-only mode. It was only the second time it had happened, the first was when the chairman was assassinated. The Binge displayed a "step outside" message on all channels in unmistakable corporate font. UTM coordinated by halting traffic, as patrons stumbled confused from their night-rentals and into the evercrowding streets. The only light was the glow of their devices, most displaying "Look Up and see the Future" in the same familiar font as the Binge.
Suddenly the devices, the Ubers, the televisions, the holo lenses all began to tremble in precisely calculated tones.
"The earth used to have war. Now it has Everpeace, a reality brought to you by Tesla Security. The earth used to have famine, now it has Cornucopia, a state of being from Monsanto Conagra.Earth had lonliness, but Friendfeed kept us close. Earth had displeasure, but The Binge streams joy to us every day. The earth used to have night. The earth used to have a moon. But today, it has two."
In a split second, the last remaining shadows of night were ripped from the face of the planet- never to return until the fall of man.
"SecondSun, a night full of productivity from Pfizer and NasaX. Your first doses of Neverfade will be added automatically in your next hour's Amazon shipment. Listen for the drones, its the sound of a life without the need for sleep. With SecondSun and Neverfade, you'll have more hours to see your family."
An image of a family swept across SecondSun.
"More hours to build credit."
An image of a woman tapping into a device replaced the image of the family.
"More hours to just, be."
SecondSun displayed an image of an old man sitting beside another old man watching The Binge, which quickly faded to a video of our new chairman.
"The future we have built is one beyond dreams, and now our clients will never have to leave it even for a moment."
Music built to a crescendo, the bright SecondSun logo remained, maintaining a steady "Four-O'Clock-Its-About-To-Rain" hue across the landscape.
It was trending on Friendfeed for hours. Most were thrilled, but more people posted to the #WatchMeDie column than normal.
| **Luna** is the name of Earth's moon. It was a celestial object which appeared at night and shifted through a 28-day Cycle of phases from which humans developed the Lunar Month which is used in such religions as Judaism and Islam, and is also the origin of the English word 'Lunatic.' It's gravitational pull also affected tidal levels, thereby causing a shift in high and low tides.
During the late 22nd Century, the Chinese government attempted to harvest the moon for precious metals to the strong discouragement of the United Nations, even attempting to take a large chunk of Luna into their territory on Earth. Not only did it cause Luna to break into pieces which now forms Earth's debris ring but also robbed it of the first colony set up by NASA in 2025. Also, the gravitational engine used by the Chinese failed due to the size of the Lunar Piece falling to Earth.
The devastation to the planet was horrific, with most of the planet being covered in dust clouds for 20 years. The countries of China, Japan, Korea Taiwan were completely destroyed, thereby single-handedly halfing the human population.
As a direct result of this devastation the Citadel Council, which were unknown to humanity at the time, intervened to help humanity save their planet's ecosystem from complete devastation. While it was only proposed by the asari at the time, the devastation caused Luna's celestial cracking gone wrong has led to a proposed project to mine a planet of resources on such a scale was made illegal on punishment of death. | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | Is non-fiction acceptable?
The moon will not be a permanent thing in our sky. Each year Luna slowly moves around the earth about 13 times. And in that year the orbit widens by around 4 centimeters. At that rate it will take an incredible amount of time in order for the moon to leave our sphere of influence and become another dwarf planet orbiting Sol, but it will happen. But there's another scenario, a much more interesting *although highly unlikely* scenario.
If a large asteroid were to strike the moon in the right way, it would adjust the orbit enough to allow it to slowly move towards the planet instead of away. It would become bigger in our skies year by year, still taking an incredibly long time. But as it reaches the point where it starts to take up the majority of the sky, it would hit something called the Roche limit. At this point the tidal forces on the moon would be so intense that it would tear it to shreds. For a while, meteors would be quite a problem and meteor showers would light up the sky often. But at the end, when everything stabilizes, we would be left with a beautiful grayish ring system.
Either way, someday our pale blue dot will be left all alone in orange glow of Sol for the rest of it's days. | **Luna** is the name of Earth's moon. It was a celestial object which appeared at night and shifted through a 28-day Cycle of phases from which humans developed the Lunar Month which is used in such religions as Judaism and Islam, and is also the origin of the English word 'Lunatic.' It's gravitational pull also affected tidal levels, thereby causing a shift in high and low tides.
During the late 22nd Century, the Chinese government attempted to harvest the moon for precious metals to the strong discouragement of the United Nations, even attempting to take a large chunk of Luna into their territory on Earth. Not only did it cause Luna to break into pieces which now forms Earth's debris ring but also robbed it of the first colony set up by NASA in 2025. Also, the gravitational engine used by the Chinese failed due to the size of the Lunar Piece falling to Earth.
The devastation to the planet was horrific, with most of the planet being covered in dust clouds for 20 years. The countries of China, Japan, Korea Taiwan were completely destroyed, thereby single-handedly halfing the human population.
As a direct result of this devastation the Citadel Council, which were unknown to humanity at the time, intervened to help humanity save their planet's ecosystem from complete devastation. While it was only proposed by the asari at the time, the devastation caused Luna's celestial cracking gone wrong has led to a proposed project to mine a planet of resources on such a scale was made illegal on punishment of death. | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | Hey Mom,
Thank you for talking with Dad and for sending the extra money. I'll be depositing it this afternoon to download those books for second semester like we talked about. These things are way too expensive. Oh, and I may visit Mast General later this week to find something for Dad's birthday.
I'm still loving school. World History is by far my favorite class so far. Did you know that Earth used to have a moon? Can you imagine that? To look up and see the moon floating, yet feel gravity beneath you. It sounds so unreal. I'd love to have been able to see it. Earth I mean.
Anyway, class starts here in a few. I'll talk to you again soon.
Love you, | **Luna** is the name of Earth's moon. It was a celestial object which appeared at night and shifted through a 28-day Cycle of phases from which humans developed the Lunar Month which is used in such religions as Judaism and Islam, and is also the origin of the English word 'Lunatic.' It's gravitational pull also affected tidal levels, thereby causing a shift in high and low tides.
During the late 22nd Century, the Chinese government attempted to harvest the moon for precious metals to the strong discouragement of the United Nations, even attempting to take a large chunk of Luna into their territory on Earth. Not only did it cause Luna to break into pieces which now forms Earth's debris ring but also robbed it of the first colony set up by NASA in 2025. Also, the gravitational engine used by the Chinese failed due to the size of the Lunar Piece falling to Earth.
The devastation to the planet was horrific, with most of the planet being covered in dust clouds for 20 years. The countries of China, Japan, Korea Taiwan were completely destroyed, thereby single-handedly halfing the human population.
As a direct result of this devastation the Citadel Council, which were unknown to humanity at the time, intervened to help humanity save their planet's ecosystem from complete devastation. While it was only proposed by the asari at the time, the devastation caused Luna's celestial cracking gone wrong has led to a proposed project to mine a planet of resources on such a scale was made illegal on punishment of death. | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | Is non-fiction acceptable?
The moon will not be a permanent thing in our sky. Each year Luna slowly moves around the earth about 13 times. And in that year the orbit widens by around 4 centimeters. At that rate it will take an incredible amount of time in order for the moon to leave our sphere of influence and become another dwarf planet orbiting Sol, but it will happen. But there's another scenario, a much more interesting *although highly unlikely* scenario.
If a large asteroid were to strike the moon in the right way, it would adjust the orbit enough to allow it to slowly move towards the planet instead of away. It would become bigger in our skies year by year, still taking an incredibly long time. But as it reaches the point where it starts to take up the majority of the sky, it would hit something called the Roche limit. At this point the tidal forces on the moon would be so intense that it would tear it to shreds. For a while, meteors would be quite a problem and meteor showers would light up the sky often. But at the end, when everything stabilizes, we would be left with a beautiful grayish ring system.
Either way, someday our pale blue dot will be left all alone in orange glow of Sol for the rest of it's days. | Friendfeed was put in send-only mode. It was only the second time it had happened, the first was when the chairman was assassinated. The Binge displayed a "step outside" message on all channels in unmistakable corporate font. UTM coordinated by halting traffic, as patrons stumbled confused from their night-rentals and into the evercrowding streets. The only light was the glow of their devices, most displaying "Look Up and see the Future" in the same familiar font as the Binge.
Suddenly the devices, the Ubers, the televisions, the holo lenses all began to tremble in precisely calculated tones.
"The earth used to have war. Now it has Everpeace, a reality brought to you by Tesla Security. The earth used to have famine, now it has Cornucopia, a state of being from Monsanto Conagra.Earth had lonliness, but Friendfeed kept us close. Earth had displeasure, but The Binge streams joy to us every day. The earth used to have night. The earth used to have a moon. But today, it has two."
In a split second, the last remaining shadows of night were ripped from the face of the planet- never to return until the fall of man.
"SecondSun, a night full of productivity from Pfizer and NasaX. Your first doses of Neverfade will be added automatically in your next hour's Amazon shipment. Listen for the drones, its the sound of a life without the need for sleep. With SecondSun and Neverfade, you'll have more hours to see your family."
An image of a family swept across SecondSun.
"More hours to build credit."
An image of a woman tapping into a device replaced the image of the family.
"More hours to just, be."
SecondSun displayed an image of an old man sitting beside another old man watching The Binge, which quickly faded to a video of our new chairman.
"The future we have built is one beyond dreams, and now our clients will never have to leave it even for a moment."
Music built to a crescendo, the bright SecondSun logo remained, maintaining a steady "Four-O'Clock-Its-About-To-Rain" hue across the landscape.
It was trending on Friendfeed for hours. Most were thrilled, but more people posted to the #WatchMeDie column than normal.
| |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | Once, the people of Earth had a moon. It was white and grey, peppered with craters; prodded by only a few, so few, flags. There were stories written with its great glow and calm control of the mighty seas as inspiration for any number of great things. The people of Earth loved their moon more than any other part of their world: more than the sun which bathed them in warmth and more than the Earth which raised them. The moon was the people's as much as their own skins.
Hungry from their love, the people of Earth took fantastic risks to meet their moon. They flew incredible machines to make their journey, and they called it "a leap for mankind." After that leap, the people rested - preparing for something greater - something more. When again mankind lept, they reached out and grabbed. They would not the moon slip from their grasp again! Mankind took hold and pulled itself forward, forward, never to return.
Once, the people of Earth had a moon, but no longer. Their love was too great, and their grasp too strong. Once, the people of Earth had a moon. Now, the people of the moon have an Earth. | From the Associated Press.May14,2241
Today the Lunar cheese company has mined the last remaining bits of Lunar Cheese. The last 500 million pounds will be entering earth's atmosphere at 5pm Eastern Time May 16. It's been nearly 100 years sense astronauts from the People's republic of China discovered that the moon is in fact made of cheese. After sampling the cheese it was found to be the most delicious cheese mankind has ever tasted. A fact that the American Apollo missions were able to keep quiet for 150 years.
The Lunar Cheese company was started by a joint venture between the government of China and the Koch brothers. The cheeses popularity was so huge that it was being consumed at a rate of 6 millions tons per day worldwide. After it's properties were discovered to extend the life of humans to a now average of 220 years, the mining could not be controlled. Titan (former moon of Jupiter) should be towed into place under the Moon replacement act of 2239. | |
[WP] TIL that Earth used to have a moon. | Our glorious leader Dr. Doofenshmirtz successfully vanquished the lunar orb known as "The Moon" in order to solidify Earth's spacial dominance.
That is why there is no more "moon" | From the Associated Press.May14,2241
Today the Lunar cheese company has mined the last remaining bits of Lunar Cheese. The last 500 million pounds will be entering earth's atmosphere at 5pm Eastern Time May 16. It's been nearly 100 years sense astronauts from the People's republic of China discovered that the moon is in fact made of cheese. After sampling the cheese it was found to be the most delicious cheese mankind has ever tasted. A fact that the American Apollo missions were able to keep quiet for 150 years.
The Lunar Cheese company was started by a joint venture between the government of China and the Koch brothers. The cheeses popularity was so huge that it was being consumed at a rate of 6 millions tons per day worldwide. After it's properties were discovered to extend the life of humans to a now average of 220 years, the mining could not be controlled. Titan (former moon of Jupiter) should be towed into place under the Moon replacement act of 2239. | |
Alternatively: Superheroes... other countries responses?
Plenty of directions to go with this one. | [WP] Japan is allowed to have its own military, announces army of 5,000,000 super-advanced robots and plans to dominate the world. America has no choice but to reveal the hidden secrets of Area-51, mutated alien soldiers are just the beginning. | "How do our forces look?"
"Well, our mutant alien soldiers are pretty well-matched by the advanced robots. In order to turn the tide further in our favor, we've deployed a crack team of mercenaries from the future."
"Sounds workable, what went wrong?"
"Ninjas, sir. Time travel technology works both ways, after all, and our soldiers from the future are pretty much stalemated by their ninjas from the past."
"Time travel never works right anyway. The report said something about our own robotic troops, correct?"
"These are closer to cyborgs - giant mecha with human pilots. They did great until Japan unleashed Godzilla."
"Fucking Godzilla, every time something goes even a little bit wrong, suddenly there's Godzilla there to make things worse."
"Agreed, sir. And unfortunately the situation has only escalated."
"Of course it has. Godzilla is the patron saint of escalation."
"Well both our allies and enemies have also been caught up in this. For instance, Germany has woken Krampus, the "evil santa", if you will, while we've had very little luck locating regular Santa on our own."
"Germany? Is this related to that Nazi base on the other side of the moon?"
"Somewhat. As you mention, the base was recently revealed and has joined the fray, but Germany is as a whole fairly embarrassed about them and has explicitly stated that they're on whatever side the Nazis aren't."
"I think that's every side at this point."
"Most likely. Russia has been seen fielding armies of Cossacks riding armored polar bears, and has somehow weaponized the Matryoshka doll. I don't know how that's supposed to work but reports have described its effects as 'gruesome'."
"I don't want to know."
"Indeed. Furthermore, this conflict appears to meet sufficient criteria to be several countries' 'hour of need' and thus has awoken their King in the Mountain."
"Which ones?"
"All of them, I think. Emperor Frederick II, Bran the Blessed, Saint Wenceslas, several Constantines, Merlin and King Arthur, the list goes on. Your next appointment, in fact, is with Teddy Roosevelt, who marched out of Mount Rushmore just this morning accompanied by his Rough Riders."
"Of course."
"As was bound to happen in a conflict this large, supernatural forces have slowly been joining their affiliated factions. We've had reports of angels, devils, goblins, faerie, elves, svartalves which are apparently not the same thing, several kinds of dwarves, the green lantern corps, Ragnaros-"
"Ragnaros? From that game? How is that even possible?"
"I think we're a long way past possible, sir."
"Right, so you left off at Ragnaros."
"Yes. The Githzeri and their ancient foes the Githyanki made simultaneous appearances yesterday, the *Independence Day* aliens are currently locked in a battle with the *War of the Worlds* aliens, and the Sith and Jedi both claim they're only here because the other faction is here."
"Typical. I have just one question: Do you even remember what the heck we're fighting about?"
"It's a very important issue, sir. I'm surprised that you've forgotten."
"I lost my capability for surprise the moment I read a report that our division of militarized Cabbage Patch Kids had been defeated by, and I quote, 'A big red dog'"
"Sir, we're fighting over the correct way to hang the toilet paper."
".... Send in Teddy Roosevelt." | Germany unveils some nice reanimated corpse cyborg Schutzstaffel army controlled by Hitler's brain.
AND all those Volkswagen, Mercedes and BMWs were just robotic plants that will activate. VW will be grunts, BMWs will be special forces and Mercedes will be colonels, Maybachs are generals. Transformers was a documentary. |
Alternatively: Superheroes... other countries responses?
Plenty of directions to go with this one. | [WP] Japan is allowed to have its own military, announces army of 5,000,000 super-advanced robots and plans to dominate the world. America has no choice but to reveal the hidden secrets of Area-51, mutated alien soldiers are just the beginning. | I'm cruising at 48,000 feet, just under the maximum height from which I can deploy my pay-load. But I'm not thinking about that right now. I'm thinking about Star Wars, and I'm thinking about algae blooms.
As long as today isn't the best day to win a nuclear war, today won't be the day a nuclear war starts. That's why the cut Reagan off during his Star Wars speech. If tomorrow is a bad day to start a nuclear war, today starts looking better. Thirty years of a steadfast nuclear hostage position almost done in by five careless minutes by a goddamn Hollywood cowboy. I'm a tried and true conservative, like most military men, born and bred outside of Omaha Nebraska. I wear red on Saturdays for the Huskers, and I vote red on the first Tuesday in November. But goddamn if Reagan wasn't an idiot.
America knows about the nuclear hostage. The Russians sure as hell know about the nuclear hostage. That's why neither side every announced they were planning on building something. They only announced once it was built. If something was going to be built in a year that would make it a worse day to start a nuclear war then today... you get the picture. But I guess Japan didn't. We snipped their balls to short for too long, and now look at the mess we are in.
The first thing we did when Japan announced was to stop exporting food to them. A lot of pundits thought the government was crazy. We weren't going to starve them to death, not with a newly cowed China already looking to dump excess ag-products. Their economy was suffering from over-supply, and they were happy to pick up the full 1/4 of total food imports to the Japs we had previously supplied. Roosevelt had burned half the wheat in the country when he took office, to get prices up and the economy moving again. China didn't have to burn a thing, they dumped at less than cost, domestic prices rose, and rural PRC officials went back to lining their pockets. All the American news pundits bemoaned the downfall of the American farmer, as prices in the US plummeted, and hundreds went out of business.
It was so clearly a mistake, so basic an error any first year college student could have avoided, how did they not see there was a bigger play? I know corn. I'm from Nebraska remember? Corn prices were announced on the radio during intermissions of Husker games. Ag news was front page of every local paper.
The Federal Government had always subsidized agriculture. No one thought much when the government began buying up all the surplus. But I know corn. I know the corn market. I know growers, sellers, buyers, and by-products, and more than anything, I know corn steep liquor.
If you want to grow any kind of live strain of bacteria, do you know what you grow it in? Do you know how the US mass produces penicillin? You grow it in corn steep liquor. Nitrogen is nature's perfect limiting reagent. It keeps life from spiraling out of control on the planet. It's very very hard to fix nitrogen into a usable form, and all life depends on nitrogen, so it keeps things in check. When nitrogen rich fertilizer gets washed into water sheds, algae grows at a rapid rate. They call it a bloom, and then it chokes all the oxygen out of the water, and everything dies. When Fleming discovered Penicillin, he knew it would still be no good if he couldn't find something to grow it in, something with enough nitrogen. Corn steep liquor happens to be rich in usable nitrogen.
I don't know what those boys in the desert have been up to all these years. Nobody does. Don't you remember? We never announce what we are making until it's already made. We know about the nuclear hostage. But they grew something in all that corn steep liquor they bought up. Something far fouler than penicillin. You probably think some kind of super bug. I'd think the same thing. But my pay-load isn't full of air-burst capsules, or rigged for some kind of aerosol spray. And you can grow anything living in that good Nebraska corn steep liquor. Anything alive. And even though a shrink would probably just tell me I'm nervous about dropping what I'm about to drop, I swear I heard crawling, and scratching, coming from those tanks during my pre-flight inspection.
We snipped their balls too short for too long. In the last big war we had to drop two nukes on the poor bastards before they stopped fighting. Why didn't we just drop another one? What am I carrying that could make them stop now? I don't know. The world changed when we first split the atom. I don't want to be around to see what it looks like after I've unleashed whatever hell I'm about too. I'll do my duty. But this is a one way trip.
| Germany unveils some nice reanimated corpse cyborg Schutzstaffel army controlled by Hitler's brain.
AND all those Volkswagen, Mercedes and BMWs were just robotic plants that will activate. VW will be grunts, BMWs will be special forces and Mercedes will be colonels, Maybachs are generals. Transformers was a documentary. |
Alternatively: Superheroes... other countries responses?
Plenty of directions to go with this one. | [WP] Japan is allowed to have its own military, announces army of 5,000,000 super-advanced robots and plans to dominate the world. America has no choice but to reveal the hidden secrets of Area-51, mutated alien soldiers are just the beginning. | “The Japanese troops outnumber our forces, the American’s forces, and all our allies.” Chris had only recently been appointed Secretary of State for Defence, after Michael Fallon had died under suspicious circumstances. His first week in a new office, and now this.
“Okay so they outnumber us, what about nuclear weapons?”
“Sir, if we go nuclear they will retaliate. They don’t have quite as much as us, but they have enough to flatten at least half the planet.” An MI6 operative, he told it how it was, no beating around the bush. A grim silence. The gathered officials were hard at work, thinking of possible ideas, knowing that every moment they waste could influence the outcome of the upcoming war.
“Where did they get so many troops from in the first place? Why weren’t we alerted?”
“The actions of Sony have always been on the suspicious side, and when Anonymous hacked them, they found files that seemed to show a robotic war machine. The files leaked over the internet, but Sony quickly debunked it as a hoax.”
“Sony? Robotic troops?”
“This may cause alarm, so we wouldn’t recommend spreading this to the public. The troops have the most advanced AI we have ever seen, they are practically sentient beings.” The phone rang, causing them all to jump. Recent events had them all a bit wired up.
“Hello Mr. Richardson, this is Daniel Ezieres of the Strategic sector of Area 51. Requesting a video chat.” Accepting the call, the projector showed a large man on the screen in front, a cuban cigar in his hand.
“What I am about to tell you all is classified information. If any of this leaks out, we can and will kill you and your families.” He said the threat so callously, as if threatening such high ranking officials didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“We here at Area 51 have our own private army-”
“How big is it?” Chris interrupted, he had no patience for this man’s dramatic behaviour. Daniel inhaled and puffed out a few rings of smoke, before continuing.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to. Just remember the President has no power over America, it’s the corporations with the money. And our technology makes us money, do you understand?” Chris gulped, nodding away like a bobblehead. He did not want to get on this man’s bad side more than he already had.
“Now, where was I? Oh yeah, our army. Eighty million strong-” there was a gasp at the number. “And more importantly, they’re not human. You see people, in 1947 a UFO crashed in Roswell, New Mexico. We covered it up pretty easily, no one believes it was a UFO nowadays. But there were ten living aliens on that ship, ten aliens willing to do anything for us if we fed and sheltered them. They were apparently fleeing some kind of alien war, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is how much they’ve reproduced since then. Every troop has better reflexes than a human, better eyesight, and to top it off they’re more intelligent.” They all sat watching the man, entranced by his words.
“They’re loyal to us, well me specifically, to a fault. Now I could authorise them to fight your battle for you, but there’s an easier way.” Chris couldn’t deal with the suspense anymore.
“An easier way?” Daniel’s eyes glinted dangerously.
“It looks like you’ve just volunteered to demonstrate it.” Everyone was staring wide-eyed at Chris, as he grabbed his own throat, squeezing tightly. His lips began to turn blue, as his skin paled. Someone moved to help, until Daniel shook his head.
“As I was saying, it’s a mind control device. We control the person in charge of the army, and get him to make them destroy Japan for us instead. Well the people of Japan at least.” Chris’s advisor, Sam decided to stand up and address him.
“What exactly would you want from this?” To everyone's surprise, Daniel smiled as he puffed again on his cigar.
“I’ve always wanted to be ruler of my own nation. If everyone agrees to let my nation thrive off Japan’s remains, we have a deal. If not, Area 51 goes on Lockdown as the world is wiped out. Your decision. Get in touch with the other governments, work out an agreement. If not, enjoy living under the rule of the Japanese.”
The call cut off. Chris’s corpse lay on the floor, unmoving. It looked like Japan wasn’t the only threat anymore.
----
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| Germany unveils some nice reanimated corpse cyborg Schutzstaffel army controlled by Hitler's brain.
AND all those Volkswagen, Mercedes and BMWs were just robotic plants that will activate. VW will be grunts, BMWs will be special forces and Mercedes will be colonels, Maybachs are generals. Transformers was a documentary. |
Alternatively: Superheroes... other countries responses?
Plenty of directions to go with this one. | [WP] Japan is allowed to have its own military, announces army of 5,000,000 super-advanced robots and plans to dominate the world. America has no choice but to reveal the hidden secrets of Area-51, mutated alien soldiers are just the beginning. | "How do our forces look?"
"Well, our mutant alien soldiers are pretty well-matched by the advanced robots. In order to turn the tide further in our favor, we've deployed a crack team of mercenaries from the future."
"Sounds workable, what went wrong?"
"Ninjas, sir. Time travel technology works both ways, after all, and our soldiers from the future are pretty much stalemated by their ninjas from the past."
"Time travel never works right anyway. The report said something about our own robotic troops, correct?"
"These are closer to cyborgs - giant mecha with human pilots. They did great until Japan unleashed Godzilla."
"Fucking Godzilla, every time something goes even a little bit wrong, suddenly there's Godzilla there to make things worse."
"Agreed, sir. And unfortunately the situation has only escalated."
"Of course it has. Godzilla is the patron saint of escalation."
"Well both our allies and enemies have also been caught up in this. For instance, Germany has woken Krampus, the "evil santa", if you will, while we've had very little luck locating regular Santa on our own."
"Germany? Is this related to that Nazi base on the other side of the moon?"
"Somewhat. As you mention, the base was recently revealed and has joined the fray, but Germany is as a whole fairly embarrassed about them and has explicitly stated that they're on whatever side the Nazis aren't."
"I think that's every side at this point."
"Most likely. Russia has been seen fielding armies of Cossacks riding armored polar bears, and has somehow weaponized the Matryoshka doll. I don't know how that's supposed to work but reports have described its effects as 'gruesome'."
"I don't want to know."
"Indeed. Furthermore, this conflict appears to meet sufficient criteria to be several countries' 'hour of need' and thus has awoken their King in the Mountain."
"Which ones?"
"All of them, I think. Emperor Frederick II, Bran the Blessed, Saint Wenceslas, several Constantines, Merlin and King Arthur, the list goes on. Your next appointment, in fact, is with Teddy Roosevelt, who marched out of Mount Rushmore just this morning accompanied by his Rough Riders."
"Of course."
"As was bound to happen in a conflict this large, supernatural forces have slowly been joining their affiliated factions. We've had reports of angels, devils, goblins, faerie, elves, svartalves which are apparently not the same thing, several kinds of dwarves, the green lantern corps, Ragnaros-"
"Ragnaros? From that game? How is that even possible?"
"I think we're a long way past possible, sir."
"Right, so you left off at Ragnaros."
"Yes. The Githzeri and their ancient foes the Githyanki made simultaneous appearances yesterday, the *Independence Day* aliens are currently locked in a battle with the *War of the Worlds* aliens, and the Sith and Jedi both claim they're only here because the other faction is here."
"Typical. I have just one question: Do you even remember what the heck we're fighting about?"
"It's a very important issue, sir. I'm surprised that you've forgotten."
"I lost my capability for surprise the moment I read a report that our division of militarized Cabbage Patch Kids had been defeated by, and I quote, 'A big red dog'"
"Sir, we're fighting over the correct way to hang the toilet paper."
".... Send in Teddy Roosevelt." | Graven smelled the smoke puffing from his General's cigar. The group of soldiers stood looking over the horizon in the bay, waiting the coming storm. A lumbering man approached Graven and General Zodd, and visibly sniffed the air noticing Zodd's cigar.
"Thats cuban, aint that shit illegal?" The lumbering man's voice sounded like a low gurgle.
"Nah, this stuff became legal years ago Thomas." Zodd replied, cigar still in his mouth.
"They were legal even before the war. Before all the embargo lifts." Graven said, chuckling at Thomas. Thomas towered over nine feet, his legs quite longer than his torso, but his arms nearly rivaled in length. He was freakishly strong too, Graven had seen him rip a APV in half. Two more soldiers joined them, Drake and Liem, both with their own freakish traits.
"Liem, you see them yet?" Liem's bald head reflected in the sunlight, and he took his large dark sunglasses off and peered into the horizon. His eyes were to large for his head, and reflected a multitude of colors in the sunlight.
"Yeah, their coming. Two minutes before they break the horizon." His voice squeaked softly. Zodd nodded, and tapped on the hilt of a large - giant - adamantane axe leaning against his chest. The axe reflected a dull green color in the sun, with black etches marked throughout the head.
"Freaks, our friends our near." Zodd heaved the giant axe over his shoulder. "Over that horizon our tin heads are coming. And were going to greet them." He turned to the group, a large smile creased across his old cracked face. "How many of em Liem?"
Liem paused for a moment, peering at the unseen targets.
"Twenty seven thousand, three hundred and eight. Seventy percent of them are airborne, while thirty percent are residing on ships."
"Good, damn good. Guess what freaks? That means we get to crush a lot of damn tin cans today." Remains of his cigar fell from his mouth as he chuckled loudly.
"Yes!" Thomas screamed in a low, almost horrifying, low tone. Graven smiled, and raised his claymore to group. A larger group of soldiers stood behind them, five hundred in count. They were all freaks; tested and injected. They were experiments, a last line of defense against the *invincible force* of their Asian friends. They were each special, in their own way. Thomas was wicked strong, Liem with incredible sight and precision. Drake could ignite himself, in actual flames. Get him pissed off enough, he would melt through two feet of steel. The rest of the soldiers behind them had their abilities too, but resembled mutts. The five gathered with Graven, they were special. They were *true* freaks.
"Alright freaks, are you ready?" Zodd bellowed to the soldiers. They cried loudly in reply, each bloodthirsty for battle. In the horizon Graven saw a what looked like a thin metal sheet creeping over the sky. *The tin cans are here, a whole shit ton of em*.
"Looks like the airbornes are first. Graven, take me up. We can't let them have all the fun." Zodd pointed to sky. "Place us about half a mile up. Liem, think you can make sure we don't appear on their radar? I'd like to surprise them." Liem nodded.
Zodd's strength relied in his ability to control metal. Some referred to him as the puppet master, considering his ability to manipulate the tin cans. His ability had limitations, but he was one man army against the machines.
"Drake, get angry. I'm going to need you to back me up." Heat started to pour out of Drake, and blue flames stared to swirl around him. "Graven, when you send me up, I'll need you to take center. Keep the whole of them separated." Graven shot him a thumbs up.
"Ready, boss?" Graven touched Zodds shoulder.
"Beam me up, Gravy." Graven chuckled.
"That joke never gets old, you know?" Zodd smiled, and in an instant he was gone. In the sky, Zodd was soaring nearly at mock speed to his target. Graven had an ability too; he could manipulate gravity. Drake erupted in flames, and flew after Zodd.
"Zodd will be in place within ten seconds. Gravitate at these coordinates." Liem eyed Graven, and he could feel the coordinates appear in his mind. He looked at the ocean, and knew exactly where he needed to land. "This location will maximize your effectiveness."
"You takin' me with you?" Thomas bellowed behind him.
"Yep, hold on bud. You'll get to break a lot of em." He waved Thomas near him.
"Alpha Five, ON ME!" He yelled back to the soldiers, and a group of twenty surrounded him.
"Let's go, freaks." |
Alternatively: Superheroes... other countries responses?
Plenty of directions to go with this one. | [WP] Japan is allowed to have its own military, announces army of 5,000,000 super-advanced robots and plans to dominate the world. America has no choice but to reveal the hidden secrets of Area-51, mutated alien soldiers are just the beginning. | “The Japanese troops outnumber our forces, the American’s forces, and all our allies.” Chris had only recently been appointed Secretary of State for Defence, after Michael Fallon had died under suspicious circumstances. His first week in a new office, and now this.
“Okay so they outnumber us, what about nuclear weapons?”
“Sir, if we go nuclear they will retaliate. They don’t have quite as much as us, but they have enough to flatten at least half the planet.” An MI6 operative, he told it how it was, no beating around the bush. A grim silence. The gathered officials were hard at work, thinking of possible ideas, knowing that every moment they waste could influence the outcome of the upcoming war.
“Where did they get so many troops from in the first place? Why weren’t we alerted?”
“The actions of Sony have always been on the suspicious side, and when Anonymous hacked them, they found files that seemed to show a robotic war machine. The files leaked over the internet, but Sony quickly debunked it as a hoax.”
“Sony? Robotic troops?”
“This may cause alarm, so we wouldn’t recommend spreading this to the public. The troops have the most advanced AI we have ever seen, they are practically sentient beings.” The phone rang, causing them all to jump. Recent events had them all a bit wired up.
“Hello Mr. Richardson, this is Daniel Ezieres of the Strategic sector of Area 51. Requesting a video chat.” Accepting the call, the projector showed a large man on the screen in front, a cuban cigar in his hand.
“What I am about to tell you all is classified information. If any of this leaks out, we can and will kill you and your families.” He said the threat so callously, as if threatening such high ranking officials didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“We here at Area 51 have our own private army-”
“How big is it?” Chris interrupted, he had no patience for this man’s dramatic behaviour. Daniel inhaled and puffed out a few rings of smoke, before continuing.
“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to. Just remember the President has no power over America, it’s the corporations with the money. And our technology makes us money, do you understand?” Chris gulped, nodding away like a bobblehead. He did not want to get on this man’s bad side more than he already had.
“Now, where was I? Oh yeah, our army. Eighty million strong-” there was a gasp at the number. “And more importantly, they’re not human. You see people, in 1947 a UFO crashed in Roswell, New Mexico. We covered it up pretty easily, no one believes it was a UFO nowadays. But there were ten living aliens on that ship, ten aliens willing to do anything for us if we fed and sheltered them. They were apparently fleeing some kind of alien war, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is how much they’ve reproduced since then. Every troop has better reflexes than a human, better eyesight, and to top it off they’re more intelligent.” They all sat watching the man, entranced by his words.
“They’re loyal to us, well me specifically, to a fault. Now I could authorise them to fight your battle for you, but there’s an easier way.” Chris couldn’t deal with the suspense anymore.
“An easier way?” Daniel’s eyes glinted dangerously.
“It looks like you’ve just volunteered to demonstrate it.” Everyone was staring wide-eyed at Chris, as he grabbed his own throat, squeezing tightly. His lips began to turn blue, as his skin paled. Someone moved to help, until Daniel shook his head.
“As I was saying, it’s a mind control device. We control the person in charge of the army, and get him to make them destroy Japan for us instead. Well the people of Japan at least.” Chris’s advisor, Sam decided to stand up and address him.
“What exactly would you want from this?” To everyone's surprise, Daniel smiled as he puffed again on his cigar.
“I’ve always wanted to be ruler of my own nation. If everyone agrees to let my nation thrive off Japan’s remains, we have a deal. If not, Area 51 goes on Lockdown as the world is wiped out. Your decision. Get in touch with the other governments, work out an agreement. If not, enjoy living under the rule of the Japanese.”
The call cut off. Chris’s corpse lay on the floor, unmoving. It looked like Japan wasn’t the only threat anymore.
----
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| I'm cruising at 48,000 feet, just under the maximum height from which I can deploy my pay-load. But I'm not thinking about that right now. I'm thinking about Star Wars, and I'm thinking about algae blooms.
As long as today isn't the best day to win a nuclear war, today won't be the day a nuclear war starts. That's why the cut Reagan off during his Star Wars speech. If tomorrow is a bad day to start a nuclear war, today starts looking better. Thirty years of a steadfast nuclear hostage position almost done in by five careless minutes by a goddamn Hollywood cowboy. I'm a tried and true conservative, like most military men, born and bred outside of Omaha Nebraska. I wear red on Saturdays for the Huskers, and I vote red on the first Tuesday in November. But goddamn if Reagan wasn't an idiot.
America knows about the nuclear hostage. The Russians sure as hell know about the nuclear hostage. That's why neither side every announced they were planning on building something. They only announced once it was built. If something was going to be built in a year that would make it a worse day to start a nuclear war then today... you get the picture. But I guess Japan didn't. We snipped their balls to short for too long, and now look at the mess we are in.
The first thing we did when Japan announced was to stop exporting food to them. A lot of pundits thought the government was crazy. We weren't going to starve them to death, not with a newly cowed China already looking to dump excess ag-products. Their economy was suffering from over-supply, and they were happy to pick up the full 1/4 of total food imports to the Japs we had previously supplied. Roosevelt had burned half the wheat in the country when he took office, to get prices up and the economy moving again. China didn't have to burn a thing, they dumped at less than cost, domestic prices rose, and rural PRC officials went back to lining their pockets. All the American news pundits bemoaned the downfall of the American farmer, as prices in the US plummeted, and hundreds went out of business.
It was so clearly a mistake, so basic an error any first year college student could have avoided, how did they not see there was a bigger play? I know corn. I'm from Nebraska remember? Corn prices were announced on the radio during intermissions of Husker games. Ag news was front page of every local paper.
The Federal Government had always subsidized agriculture. No one thought much when the government began buying up all the surplus. But I know corn. I know the corn market. I know growers, sellers, buyers, and by-products, and more than anything, I know corn steep liquor.
If you want to grow any kind of live strain of bacteria, do you know what you grow it in? Do you know how the US mass produces penicillin? You grow it in corn steep liquor. Nitrogen is nature's perfect limiting reagent. It keeps life from spiraling out of control on the planet. It's very very hard to fix nitrogen into a usable form, and all life depends on nitrogen, so it keeps things in check. When nitrogen rich fertilizer gets washed into water sheds, algae grows at a rapid rate. They call it a bloom, and then it chokes all the oxygen out of the water, and everything dies. When Fleming discovered Penicillin, he knew it would still be no good if he couldn't find something to grow it in, something with enough nitrogen. Corn steep liquor happens to be rich in usable nitrogen.
I don't know what those boys in the desert have been up to all these years. Nobody does. Don't you remember? We never announce what we are making until it's already made. We know about the nuclear hostage. But they grew something in all that corn steep liquor they bought up. Something far fouler than penicillin. You probably think some kind of super bug. I'd think the same thing. But my pay-load isn't full of air-burst capsules, or rigged for some kind of aerosol spray. And you can grow anything living in that good Nebraska corn steep liquor. Anything alive. And even though a shrink would probably just tell me I'm nervous about dropping what I'm about to drop, I swear I heard crawling, and scratching, coming from those tanks during my pre-flight inspection.
We snipped their balls too short for too long. In the last big war we had to drop two nukes on the poor bastards before they stopped fighting. Why didn't we just drop another one? What am I carrying that could make them stop now? I don't know. The world changed when we first split the atom. I don't want to be around to see what it looks like after I've unleashed whatever hell I'm about too. I'll do my duty. But this is a one way trip.
|
[WP] Mankind has headed for the nearest earth-like planet on a multi-generational trip. You are fifth-generation on a ship with a population that has forgotten its original purpose. You, then, rediscover it. | It was a great honor to bare the Chip behind Master Engineer, and I bore its weight with pride. I carefully matched her slow gait as she spiraled through the circular aisles of the assembled crew, all the while holding the Chip as high as my arms could reach. Few were looking to the Chip, though. Nearly all were lost in veneration of the one who will show the way, NAVA. Their heads were knelt, hands clasp neatly in their laps as they sat on their knees facing the center of the room.
Master Engineer looked over each and every body she passed, touching heads and faces, shoulders and arms. The ill or crippled gratefully accepted her kind touch, for it well known that NAVA would fix all the Master Engineer deemed broken. It was her promise to the crew to be fulfilled in this life or the next, when the day of Arrival comes for all.
Slowly, but surely, the Master Engineer twisted her way through the few hundred assembled, touching each, or speaking softly to them. Only when the last of the crew had been newly blessed and brought under the protection of NAVA , did the Master Engineer solemnly make her way directly to the head of the assembly at the center of the circular room. I followed dutifully, matching pace and holding the chip high until the last second when I broke away and took my place next to the hallowed console. Only then did I allow the chip to sink below my head, as was custom.
The Master Engineer knelt before the wizened XO and spoke softly NAVA’s works of greeting, “Boot Initiate.”
The XO in his simple robes looked up, his sharp blue eyes meeting the Master Engineer’s, and respond with a call loud enough for the entire crew to hear, “When Conditions are again nominal!”
Hundreds of heads rose, locking eyes on the console and chip I bore. They threw up their arms and in a collective thunder, roared, “NOMINAL NOMINAL NOMINAL!” Three times they repeated it filling the great hall with the word’s echo before once more falling into silence. Their collective gazes now on the XO.
The XO nodded, and the Master Engineer shuffled off to her traditional place to his right.
The old man, his hair long and white, his arms frail, thin, and long, placed one hand on the floor, and pushed himself to a stand before the assembly. He looked out over the hundreds of faces, perhaps studying each one. His eyes flicked from one to another, noting the smiles, the frowns, the heart ache and the new love, the fear and the hope.
The silent examination lasted for many seconds, before the old man finally cleared his throat. He then spoke in a deep and practiced voice that resonated through the hall.
“Fathers and Mothers of Crew, Sons and Daughters of Crew, we gather here today to celebrate the 355th year of Journey, so says the great Master Clock! By NAVA’s will it has been a good year!”
A general murmur of approval swept through the Crew, a few cheers rose here and there.
“In the past year, we welcomed sixteen new little ones to the Crew,” the XO continued. More cheers, a few infants were hoisted into the air by proud parents. The XO smiled, “NAVA smiles, for our numbers have never been greater. Truly her will shines through us.”
Again, more cheers. Even I join in a little bit, though I feel a bit of shame. It’s not proper for the chip barer to act like common Crew, least of all during the year’s recounting, though no one seems to mind.
Soon the room quiets and the XO’s voice drops, adopting a more somber tone, “While times are good, we must never stray from NAVA’s path! She fought RADA so that the few that survived his cruelty might live to see the arrival!”
The Crew collectively hisses at RADA’s mention, as do I. He will find no weak wills here today.
The XO raised his hands and the hissing died away, “After RADA struck down the first of NAVA’s children we were so few that even she, in all her love and compassion, was doubtful we’d survive. She, even with her purity corrupted by the battle, still strove to save us until the day of arrival. So she made her will known to us so that in her absence we might follow her path.”
The XO turned and slowly shuffled the several steps over to my side. The Master Engineer, her many tools jingling around her neck, stood and walked to my other side. As one, both the XO and Master Engineer placed a hand on my shoulder. With that, I rose, lifting the Chip high above my head with both arms. It was about as wide as my chest and heavy, but I would proudly bear the weight of NAVA’s soul any second of my life. I can feel myself radiate with pride as I stand with the XO and Master Engineer. I strain to hold the chip where all the crew may see it, and know its promise of The Arrival.
The XO again spoke, his hand still on my shoulder, “With NAVA’s last breath before her long sleep, she told us of our sacred duty, which we’re to perform until her return so that me might be saved.”
He pointed to the chip held in my hands, “NAVA’s soul lies within, and we will covet it until the day she comes forth to once again guide us!”
With that, the XO tapped me on the shoulder, and then stepped away. The Master Engineer did the same on me other side. I turned to the console, its receptive grove open to the chip as I lowered it with the utmost care into place. With a slight click it was in and I stepped away, my role fulfilled, as it had been the year before and the year before that and so on since before my father’s father’s time.
The XO and the Master Engineer, now each facing the console, as they had so many times before, spoke NAVA’s greeting.
“Boot Initiate,” they said in unison as they had so many times before. The Crew held its breath and knelt they heads in silent prayer.
The XO and Master Engineer stood on either side of the console, arms out stretched, heads titled back, ready to receive the light of NAVA’s path. But none came, just as it hadn’t in years past.
They held their position for a full minute before turning away. The Crew exhaled, not this year it seemed.
The XO smiled encouragingly, “Do not worry! For NAVA’s path is true, and we will all arrive in our due time. Such trials are to be expected when-“
A loud whirr and click came from the console.
The Master Engineer, so startled by the sound coming from behind her, leapt forward, almost falling over Crew mates in the close rows. The XO merely turned, being both slow in age and a bit hard of hearing. He stumbled only when he saw the console. Gasps came from throughout the Crew, who either bowed their heads or clambered for a better view.
The console, normally a flat plane of opaque black, was a mass of white characters sprinting across the screen in endless waves. They were moving far too fast to make out. Then they stopped, and the console filled with wonderful shapes and colors that I couldn’t even begin to understand.
“Navigation, online,” a woman’s voice said from everywhere and nowhere. It filled the room.
The XO, eyes wide with shock, dropped to his knees, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he stared at the console, “NAVA, you’ve come back…” he said softly.
“Yes, nano-repair has eliminated all radiation damage from my systems forty eight years ahead of schedule. I am nominal,” the woman responded.
The voice and the room fell into silence.
Then boomed with cheers, “NOMINAL NOMINAL NOMINAL!” the assembly cried! Fathers and mothers hugged their children. Wives kissed their husbands. Children, even without full understanding squealed with glee. Tears of joy flowed freely from all. NAVA was with them now to light the path.
The Master Engineer helped the XO to his feet and he stood on shaking legs. He shambled forward, placing a hand of the console for a second before snatching it away again. Then after a second, he gingerly laid his palm on the console’s screen. The room fell once more into a barely restrained silence.
“Does this mean the day of Arrival is here?” The XO asked, his voice quaking.
“Arrival at Kepler-452b is not anticipated for another fifteen hundred years,” the voice responded.
A ripple of disappointment rippled through the crowd.
“Oh…” was all the XO could manage.
Before the XO could say anything else, NAVA continued, “Upon review of the passive recordings of the last five generations, it’s clear there has been significant regression in social structure as well as the potential for genetic stagnation. Neither of these are mission critical and can be remedied with ship based facilities and stores. Mission success probability remains at 97%.”
The XO, still stunned to be talking to The One Who Shows the Way asked, “We have followed your Path, NAVA, just as you asked! Surely there is more to Arrival than just waiting! Is there not something we could-“
NAVA interrupted the XO, “Flight Path is nominal, and arrival date is accurate. We are on course.”
The XO, silenced by NAVA, looked at the console for a moment in wonder, before turning towards me and the rest of the Crew.
He jammed his arms into the air, “WE’RE ON COURSE!” he bellowed.
At NAVA’s blessing, we cheered.
| My uncle died of dysentary. That was a weird thought, but I've lived on this ship my entire life, and illness was a fact of this life.
My sister had scurvy, which also was really odd. In the data banks, that type of shit only happened to fucking pirates. I clenched my teeth so much, waiting for something important to happen, that my skull hurt. I was pretty sure I developed stress fractures.
I asked my parents before they went to the retirement level of our ship if they remembered why we came here. Their memory ended with their grandparents' parents. I knew a lot of my greats' history that could be recalled since we lost a lot of memories along the way. Oral history became important to us. Great-great Grandpaw Geoffrey and Great-Great Grandmaw Lisa were part of the first 20 families to set sail for a planet far from their world of Earth, a place we left over 100 years before I was born.
Then, though they don't remember how, everything reset after fording a space river. They pieced together the voyage out once the casualties were disposed but even the reason why they embarked was forgotten.
We found coordinates to a planet that was close. We began descent hours ago. We'll be landing soon.
----
Landing was a bad idea. Tools in the ship scanned the planet and saw nothing. It shocked every one when the buffalo-sized wolf attacked our party. We wounded it, but when our scouts when to track it, they died from exposure.
I wasn't sure what to do, so I sat down and closed my eyes.
"Well," the radio boomed, nearly killing me from the sudden shock. A tired man blinked hard and yawned. "Is it suitable for life?"
"There are creatures here, but I don't think we can stay. We lost some from sickness when they walked the planet's surface."
"Shit." The man looked down and sighed. He stared at the table top. "Fine. Abort mission."
"Um... does that mean I come back?"
"Son" He started and looked very sad. "There's not enough fuel left to get you out of the atmosphere. This was a one-way type of deal."
"I never chose this." I said, crying. "I don't want to die here."
"What do you mean by that?" He interrupted my breakdown. "The not choosing this."
"My grandparents' grandparents volunteered to come here with a few other families. That was." I hesitated doing the math. "Over 200 years ago. I don't deserve this." I screamed at him. Tears came back.
"Holy shit..." He started typing. He chuckled. "This is amazing!"
"What?"
"We lost contact with your relatives 5 years ago." He paused and showed two fingers. "That was two years after you set out. That space rift put you two centuries into the future. They time traveled!" He started to collect other people to show them his findings.
I slumped to the floor of the tomb I was born in and cried harder than I can remember. My life was totally invalidated. | |
[WP] That's the simplest and most complex answer I can give | I fidgeted slightly; imperceptibly, to the untrained eye. I couldn't help but notice that even some of my strongest remaining reserve was beginning to crack under the interrogation. I was asked again the question that was only falling onto deaf ears after dozens of reattempts to elicit something from me-- to elicit anything, even; but what was the sense in resisting unless you had a cause? My cause at this moment was the very thing that kept me in silence, and if I were to say anything, it would have to be said perfectly. Again, the question was voiced. I was finally ready to speak.
“Why'd you do it? Why kill so many people like that?”
I smiled, exposing my teeth which had been filed into bloody stubs in failed previous attempts to make me talk.
“You really want to know that bad, do ya?” I was taken aback at how weak I sounded when I finally spoke, but I gave no indication of this realization. I lowered what voice I had down to the most indistinguishable of rasping. “You will all die by the sword, for by the emperor we live and die. In the emperor is sanctity, but in your world of men is delusion. You asking me why I kill is like me asking you why you would voluntarily choose death when life is offered to you.”
While the men had leaned in to listen as I forced out speech, I took the opportunity to spit the crimson of my gums onto the faces of all who were close. “You asked for an answer, that's the simplest and most complex answer I can give.”
Wiping the spray from their faces, having most likely anticipated my move, all interrogating men cleared out, leaving me strapped to the chair I had called home the last god forsaken week. They were, no doubt, only going to leave to enter their demise. The legion would be waiting for them outside, after all.
---------
(Look at me, I wrote a thing -v- Mind you, it's not good at all, and its vague as heck, but yah. Here. whispers for the emperor... or something. or nothing. for nothing. about nothing. in relation to nothing.......) | "The fact of the matter is you have misunderstood the issue good sir. If you wish to discuss the matter further you simply must reach me at a more opportune time. However I answer this way not out of a need for brevity but simply because I do not grasp the complexities of your topic myself. Much like with a automobile the casual observer will only go so far as to understand that motion is possible. They need not understand the marvels of engineering that made such a device possible to be able to make observations about it. So as careful observers we have every hope to catch some understanding about such a complex topic. My answer may fill you with more questions, but I state with every confidence as an expert observer that free will does not coexist with divine predestination." | |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad. | Before holding a party to celebrate the tenth anniversary of his inauguration, the king of the jungle, Lion, sent word to all four corners of the land for every tailor to come quickly to the palace and present their finest set of clothing.
Hundreds of tailors came and Lion tried on hundreds of clothes, and he was not happy with any of them. They were too large, too small, too blue, too red, too whatever else was seemingly the problem. When the day of the party arrived, Lion had still not found a suitable suit, and it seemed to him that all hope was lost, that he might even have to attend his party completely naked.
But then, at the final hour before Lion was supposed to leave for the party, Fox scampered into the palace with a box of hats in his mouth, one of which--a very tall, very rainbow-coloured top-hat--immediately caught Lion’s eye.
“I love it!” said Lion, as he pranced before a mirror with the hat snugly pulled over his mane.
The hat was in fact quite silly and it made Lion look equally silly, but little did Lion know, Fox, always the crafty trickster, had sewn a sprig of catnip inside the hat, and Lion, unable to see the catnip hidden inside, mistook his love for it with the hat itself.
Pleased with his selection, Lion paid Fox a glorious bounty of bananas, and Fox quickly scampered back to the jungle to have his feast.
Lion then called for his advisers, Dog, Rabbit, and Elephant, to begin the last of their preparations for the party. As they entered the palace, they were all suddenly stunned silent by the silly top-hat, which, so silly as it was, looked as though it was attacking their king’s head, like some kind of rainbow-coloured octopus.
“What do you think of the hat?” Lion asked, quite proudly. “Tell me honestly.”
Dog, always loyal and always forthcoming, told his king the truth: “that hat is an abomination against life itself and if you wear it to the party everyone is going to laugh at you, including me.”
Lion, who had been expecting a level of praise almost as large as the happiness he felt inside and the hat, was not too pleased with Dog’s answer, and so he informed Dog that he was no longer invited to the party, and that, worst of all, Dog would get to eat none of the delicious ice-cream cake they had prepared.
After sending Dog away, Lion turned next to Rabbit and asked him for his opinion. “Well, what do think of the hat?”
Rabbit was just as loyal as Dog, but he also knew a little about what we adults call "social etiquette", and so he was more careful with the words he chose.
“The hat is almost perfection,” said Rabbit. “It is the tallest hat I’ve ever seen--I wouldn’t be surprised if reaches higher than the tallest tree in the jungle--and oh how, much more than that, it accentuates the royal blue of your eyes. But, my lord, there’s only one, minor, minor problem. The rainbow colour is a little...how should we say...clashing. Perhaps we would do better to leave the hat aside for now, until, after the party, when we have the time to find something with a more modest palette.”
Lion didn’t completely understand what Rabbit had said, but he understood enough to know that Rabbit was not on board with the hat either, and so Lion consigned Rabbit to the same fate as Dog, banishing him from the party and all the pleasures that went with it.
At last, Lion turned to Elephant, the only advisor he had left, and he repeated his question. “Well, Elephant, what do *you* think of the hat?”
In the many years of Elephant’s long and storied life, he had gathered many, many truths about how the world works, two of which were relevant to his present predicament. The first was this: clothing, being an invention for humans, always looks silly on an animal, an thus it didn’t matter what the King chose--although this very tall, very rainbow-coloured hat was particularly bad--the real problem was with the king’s initial quest, and perhaps even with the king himself; no straight thinking animal would wear clothes to a celebration. And the second truth was this: no party, no cake.
“It’s splendid,” Elephant replied, and at the same time he patted Lion across the shoulder with his trunk.
“I know, right,” replied Lion, very pleased with himself.
And so Elephant and Lion went to the party with all the other animals of the kingdom except Dog and Rabbit and Fox, who was too busy cackling in the jungle as he stuffed himself with bananas. The ice-cream cake was to die for. And, though none of the animals said it, everyone thought Lion and his big dumb hat looked very silly. | There were a people, not so long ago, and not so far away from here, child, that were inexplicably, hopelessly, romantically, *footloose*. They tried to outrun history, oppression, and irksome obligations. A long time ago they left the old world in search of a new one, landed on its eastern shore, then kept chasing the wild sun west until they finally came here, to this place. So child, when you sit there, looking out on the ocean, think of the wonder of the pioneers when they first began heading west. They came such a long way, and their dream must have seemed so close, they could not fail to grasp it. They did not know that it was already behind them, somewhere back in that vast obscurity, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
They had forgotten the places they had left. They had left behind them their brothers and sisters in chains, who still sweat and toiled in their South, where no fresh ocean breezes blew, and green filth grew on stagnant marshes and standing ponds. Dark shadows and nightmares and silhouettes dangling, twisting from trees. They were not only runners, and dreamers these people, they were forgetters. In chasing their dream they had forgotten to dream a dream for their mothers and daughters and sisters. The gods were not pleased that so few danced the dance of the gods in the dream, so the gods bade the dreamers go no further. They tried once, to cross the ocean the gods had set as their limit, but the gods sent them powerful signs, fiery orange monsters alight in the streets they were not meant to walk, jungle mazes filled with terrors and traps, and ghosts who confounded and killed many of the people's young. For years it went on this way, until the people heeded the gods, and retreated to their proper place.
Their nostrils stinging from ash, their nights molested by dreams deferred, and dreams shot down, the people set out to form themselves into a more perfect union, to trade away their nightmares, to win back their nights, to catch the dream they had first chased all the way to this very ocean.
But they were still the same forgetters, still the same runners, the same chasers. When their dark brothers who had toiled in their southlands freed themselves from their chains, and began to stand up, they did not know how to embrace them. They They felt guilt from having forgotten and abandoned them. So they tried a new kind of forgetting. They tried to forget their own history, their own shame, tried to even forget their own name. When their mothers and daughters and sisters marched so that they too could dance the dream dance, they were so careful to give them space they forgot to dance themselves.
And so the people who had once been proud, who had once been runners and chasers and dreamers, and dancers, no longer ran, no longer chased, no longer dreamed, and no longer danced. And those they had forgotten couldn't dance either.
The people had believed in the dance, the dream they once dreamed, that now year by year recedes before them. It eluded them, but no matter, tomorrow they will run faster, chase harder, and more enthusiastically forget themselves, their arms outstretched until one fine morning...
Do you know about the waters of the Pacific child? Waves that have traveled from the land across the ocean, the lands the gods forbade the dreamers from traveling to, come here, against this coast, and here they crash and break. The water from the land of the gods then spirals down, and brings water from the deepest parts of the ocean, water that has never been warmed by the sun's light, up to the surface. That is why the Pacific is always cold. So too are the dreams of the dreamers, forever crashing against their own forgetting, forever doomed to spiral to the bottom, forever an ocean with no memory.
*credit to Gatsby, Wallace Stegner, and Shawshank Redemption* | |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad. | Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a noble gentleman and his (without denoting any real possession) dear daughter. She was very beautiful – her breasts were centrally located and she was cosmetically gifted.
He loved her very much, and he was worried that she was lonely, as her mother was metabolically challenged, and dwelled 6 feet underground. So the gentleman conjoined in a purely egalitarian partnership with a lady who had (without denoting any real possession) two daughters of her own, figuring that they’d be kind and sweet to his own lovely offspring.
Instead, they made her do all the domestic labour, and made her wear the clothes a financially disadvantaged person (or perdaughter) would. Both girls were aesthetically different and had a more challenging odour than would be normal, as well as having their own unique, rather liberal, moral codes, allowing them to bully and taunt the poor girl and make her do all the chores. The poor child would spend her days in the cellar, peeling potatoes, sat in a hunch in the corner by the chimney, and for this reason the sisters nicknamed her ‘Cinderella’.
One day, it was announced that one of the most financially advantaged people in the town, the King’s son, was going to throw a big ball. The sisters were asked to go, and they were so excited they ran around for days, laughing hersterically. They bought themselves fancy dresses that were so stuffed with jewels they stood up by themselves, and spent days and days talking about all the people of important social status that they planned to meet.
The great day arrived, and Cinderella found herself in the cellar by herself. “I wish I could go to the ball,” she said to herself. “I bet I could pull that prince – I’m far prettier than those two unconventional-looking, loved-by-spots, 300-pound dinosaurs. I’m far more preferable to men.” The two sisters departed, and Cinderella stayed at home and moaned to the silence.
It was not long until there was a big puff of blue smoke and a rather festively-formed, full-figured, gravitationally-powerful woman appeared. It was her fairy godmother. Cinderella recognised her at once.
“I really want…”Cinderella started.
“To go to the ball,” finished the godmother. Cinderella nodded. “Despite how much I support your freedom to be emotional, since I’m considering your own success here I would ask you politely to cease crying, lest it hinder you. Now go to the garden and get me a pumpkin.”
Cinderella could not imagine how a pumpkin could help her to get to the ball – unfortunately she was rather intellectually impaired and did not yet appreciate that the fat woman who had appeared out of thin air was magic. Nonetheless, she took herself to the garden and took the biggest pumpkin she could carry back to the fairy godmother, who tapped it with her wand, turning it into a golden coach lined with white satin.
The godmother tapped Cinderella on the head and turned her shabby clothes into a stunning white silk dress. Cinderella was concerned for the fate of the silkworms, but considered how the dress was made – using magic – and decided to forget about it. She looked at herself in the full length mirror, and remarked on her slippers, which were made of glass.
“Now go and get me 6 mice from the luxury mouse-trap with fitted mouse-furniture and a mouse television with specific mouse programming in the kitchen, and a big juicy rat.”
With a touch of the wand, each mouse turned into a horse, and the rat turned into a coach driver. Cinderella grew more concerned.
“Fairy godmother,” Cinderella said, “I am concerned for the wellbeing of these horses and this coach driver. One day they were vermin – not that vermin are lesser life forms, of course, and the next thing you know they’re horses and people, and I don’t plan to pay or feed any of them. Considering they’re working for nothing, exactly where should my morals lie in using them?”
“Shut up and get in the carriage, you selfish brat,” the godmother replied. “Oh, and, if you stay in the palace for one second after midnight, all my magic will vanish and you’ll be cosmetically challenged and in your monetarily inexpensive clothes.”
A few moments later, the coach was rolling down towards the ball with the excited Cinderella inside. She arrived and strode up to the prince, slamming her lips into his and they embraced. For the rest of the night, Cinderella and the prince were constantly in each other’s arms, and the two sisters, who did not recognise their own stepsister, were rather flattered when she spoke some words to them.
The hours flew by so happily that Cinderella did not even notice the time until it the clock began to strike midnight. With a cry of alarm she fled from the room. One of the glass slippers flew from her foot and landed on a crate of beer as she struggled to leave the ball before one second past midnight. The prince hurried after her, but, when he reached the entrance hall, she couldn’t find the beautiful girl – just a cinder-maid in a ragged grey dress.
Cinderella hurried home through the dark streets, overwhelmed with shame.
The next day, there was a great procession of trumpets and drums as a regal possession went through the town, going from place to place, at the head of which sat the king’s son. He held a glass slipper on a red pillow, as a herald announced that any lady in the land who could fit the slipper on her foot and could produce the pair would be to marry the prince, if both parties agreed and if the housework was shared equally. Both sisters tried, but their feet were too spacious to squeeze in. Cinderella begged to try, and, to the scorn of her sisters, the prince agreed.
The slipper slipped easily on, and Cinderella pulled the second glass slipper from her pocket. The prince was overjoyed, and wrapped his arms warmly around the pretty cinder maid.
Cinderella spoke up. “Despite the romantic ending of this story, emotionally I feel a little flat. You have fallen in love with me because the fairy godmother made me look pretty, and I’m not convinced that that is a satisfactory basis for a marriage – you don’t even know me. We have only met on one occasion, and, like in this story, I haven’t even established my true character or personality to you – you have no real idea of how well we’d get along. I know you think you have noble and chivalrous intentions but in the context of this story they just reinforce negative notions about male dominance – you’re a prince, I’m a cinder maid, and I have no real interest in you to be honest – at least, no interest further than a purely financial one. It might be a happy ending because I’ll be royalty, but I want so much more!”
“I know,” the prince replied. “I’m completely loaded. I’ve got big palaces and we wouldn’t even have to see each other really, except when we’re having sex or ‘Deal or No Deal’ is on. I don’t need a woman with personality – just human contact.”
“So there’d be no love in our marriage? You’re really only interested in me because I’m an attractive female? Just a sex object? You Neanderthal!”
“Alas, yes, but trust me, you’ll enjoy it. It’s a massive social step up and you’ll have loads of money. You bloody feminists – Jesus – you’re just as human as I am when it comes down to it. Your life will be fantastic if we get married, and I don’t even care if you go off hunting for other men – so long as we still have sex and watch ‘Deal or No Deal’. I’m really easy to live with. If you marry me right now, you will definitely live happily ever after. It’s your choice though, of course.”
Cinderella told the prince she didn’t want to be objectified by a man, and refused point-blank. She carried on being treated like a source of free labour by her morally challenged step-sisters and died in a home for the mentally impaired.
> I wrote that 10 years ago | There were a people, not so long ago, and not so far away from here, child, that were inexplicably, hopelessly, romantically, *footloose*. They tried to outrun history, oppression, and irksome obligations. A long time ago they left the old world in search of a new one, landed on its eastern shore, then kept chasing the wild sun west until they finally came here, to this place. So child, when you sit there, looking out on the ocean, think of the wonder of the pioneers when they first began heading west. They came such a long way, and their dream must have seemed so close, they could not fail to grasp it. They did not know that it was already behind them, somewhere back in that vast obscurity, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
They had forgotten the places they had left. They had left behind them their brothers and sisters in chains, who still sweat and toiled in their South, where no fresh ocean breezes blew, and green filth grew on stagnant marshes and standing ponds. Dark shadows and nightmares and silhouettes dangling, twisting from trees. They were not only runners, and dreamers these people, they were forgetters. In chasing their dream they had forgotten to dream a dream for their mothers and daughters and sisters. The gods were not pleased that so few danced the dance of the gods in the dream, so the gods bade the dreamers go no further. They tried once, to cross the ocean the gods had set as their limit, but the gods sent them powerful signs, fiery orange monsters alight in the streets they were not meant to walk, jungle mazes filled with terrors and traps, and ghosts who confounded and killed many of the people's young. For years it went on this way, until the people heeded the gods, and retreated to their proper place.
Their nostrils stinging from ash, their nights molested by dreams deferred, and dreams shot down, the people set out to form themselves into a more perfect union, to trade away their nightmares, to win back their nights, to catch the dream they had first chased all the way to this very ocean.
But they were still the same forgetters, still the same runners, the same chasers. When their dark brothers who had toiled in their southlands freed themselves from their chains, and began to stand up, they did not know how to embrace them. They They felt guilt from having forgotten and abandoned them. So they tried a new kind of forgetting. They tried to forget their own history, their own shame, tried to even forget their own name. When their mothers and daughters and sisters marched so that they too could dance the dream dance, they were so careful to give them space they forgot to dance themselves.
And so the people who had once been proud, who had once been runners and chasers and dreamers, and dancers, no longer ran, no longer chased, no longer dreamed, and no longer danced. And those they had forgotten couldn't dance either.
The people had believed in the dance, the dream they once dreamed, that now year by year recedes before them. It eluded them, but no matter, tomorrow they will run faster, chase harder, and more enthusiastically forget themselves, their arms outstretched until one fine morning...
Do you know about the waters of the Pacific child? Waves that have traveled from the land across the ocean, the lands the gods forbade the dreamers from traveling to, come here, against this coast, and here they crash and break. The water from the land of the gods then spirals down, and brings water from the deepest parts of the ocean, water that has never been warmed by the sun's light, up to the surface. That is why the Pacific is always cold. So too are the dreams of the dreamers, forever crashing against their own forgetting, forever doomed to spiral to the bottom, forever an ocean with no memory.
*credit to Gatsby, Wallace Stegner, and Shawshank Redemption* | |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad. | Before holding a party to celebrate the tenth anniversary of his inauguration, the king of the jungle, Lion, sent word to all four corners of the land for every tailor to come quickly to the palace and present their finest set of clothing.
Hundreds of tailors came and Lion tried on hundreds of clothes, and he was not happy with any of them. They were too large, too small, too blue, too red, too whatever else was seemingly the problem. When the day of the party arrived, Lion had still not found a suitable suit, and it seemed to him that all hope was lost, that he might even have to attend his party completely naked.
But then, at the final hour before Lion was supposed to leave for the party, Fox scampered into the palace with a box of hats in his mouth, one of which--a very tall, very rainbow-coloured top-hat--immediately caught Lion’s eye.
“I love it!” said Lion, as he pranced before a mirror with the hat snugly pulled over his mane.
The hat was in fact quite silly and it made Lion look equally silly, but little did Lion know, Fox, always the crafty trickster, had sewn a sprig of catnip inside the hat, and Lion, unable to see the catnip hidden inside, mistook his love for it with the hat itself.
Pleased with his selection, Lion paid Fox a glorious bounty of bananas, and Fox quickly scampered back to the jungle to have his feast.
Lion then called for his advisers, Dog, Rabbit, and Elephant, to begin the last of their preparations for the party. As they entered the palace, they were all suddenly stunned silent by the silly top-hat, which, so silly as it was, looked as though it was attacking their king’s head, like some kind of rainbow-coloured octopus.
“What do you think of the hat?” Lion asked, quite proudly. “Tell me honestly.”
Dog, always loyal and always forthcoming, told his king the truth: “that hat is an abomination against life itself and if you wear it to the party everyone is going to laugh at you, including me.”
Lion, who had been expecting a level of praise almost as large as the happiness he felt inside and the hat, was not too pleased with Dog’s answer, and so he informed Dog that he was no longer invited to the party, and that, worst of all, Dog would get to eat none of the delicious ice-cream cake they had prepared.
After sending Dog away, Lion turned next to Rabbit and asked him for his opinion. “Well, what do think of the hat?”
Rabbit was just as loyal as Dog, but he also knew a little about what we adults call "social etiquette", and so he was more careful with the words he chose.
“The hat is almost perfection,” said Rabbit. “It is the tallest hat I’ve ever seen--I wouldn’t be surprised if reaches higher than the tallest tree in the jungle--and oh how, much more than that, it accentuates the royal blue of your eyes. But, my lord, there’s only one, minor, minor problem. The rainbow colour is a little...how should we say...clashing. Perhaps we would do better to leave the hat aside for now, until, after the party, when we have the time to find something with a more modest palette.”
Lion didn’t completely understand what Rabbit had said, but he understood enough to know that Rabbit was not on board with the hat either, and so Lion consigned Rabbit to the same fate as Dog, banishing him from the party and all the pleasures that went with it.
At last, Lion turned to Elephant, the only advisor he had left, and he repeated his question. “Well, Elephant, what do *you* think of the hat?”
In the many years of Elephant’s long and storied life, he had gathered many, many truths about how the world works, two of which were relevant to his present predicament. The first was this: clothing, being an invention for humans, always looks silly on an animal, an thus it didn’t matter what the King chose--although this very tall, very rainbow-coloured hat was particularly bad--the real problem was with the king’s initial quest, and perhaps even with the king himself; no straight thinking animal would wear clothes to a celebration. And the second truth was this: no party, no cake.
“It’s splendid,” Elephant replied, and at the same time he patted Lion across the shoulder with his trunk.
“I know, right,” replied Lion, very pleased with himself.
And so Elephant and Lion went to the party with all the other animals of the kingdom except Dog and Rabbit and Fox, who was too busy cackling in the jungle as he stuffed himself with bananas. The ice-cream cake was to die for. And, though none of the animals said it, everyone thought Lion and his big dumb hat looked very silly. | Asians and Latins and Africans, yay!
America's melting pot, what can you say?
Natives and Arabs and Christians are they!
Safe from racism, secure in their ways.
But one race is bad, burdened by guilt.
Over actions by forefathers, the country they built.
Railroads and cotton fields, worked till they'd wilt.
Not concerned in the slightest over blood that was spilt.
Fast forward to now and the people that fought
For rights and equality, refusing to be bought
Marching with brothers and sisters, forwarding the plot
Until one day in Memphis, a great man is then shot.
And what do we have now, from the lessons taught past?
Do we link arms and laugh at the ignorance outcast?
Do we join together, putting evils on blast?
Do we all try to be better, like progressive iconoclasts?
No. We watch as the blacks riot in Missouri.
We judge illegals, content in our fury.
We let the left tell us whites are guilty.
While the right sends blacks in front of a jury.
Two hundred thousand years of mankinds evolution.
From fire to flight, from clean skies to pollution.
And we all sit, all guilty of collusion
With the people who engineer our own de-evolution.
Fin. | |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad. | Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a noble gentleman and his (without denoting any real possession) dear daughter. She was very beautiful – her breasts were centrally located and she was cosmetically gifted.
He loved her very much, and he was worried that she was lonely, as her mother was metabolically challenged, and dwelled 6 feet underground. So the gentleman conjoined in a purely egalitarian partnership with a lady who had (without denoting any real possession) two daughters of her own, figuring that they’d be kind and sweet to his own lovely offspring.
Instead, they made her do all the domestic labour, and made her wear the clothes a financially disadvantaged person (or perdaughter) would. Both girls were aesthetically different and had a more challenging odour than would be normal, as well as having their own unique, rather liberal, moral codes, allowing them to bully and taunt the poor girl and make her do all the chores. The poor child would spend her days in the cellar, peeling potatoes, sat in a hunch in the corner by the chimney, and for this reason the sisters nicknamed her ‘Cinderella’.
One day, it was announced that one of the most financially advantaged people in the town, the King’s son, was going to throw a big ball. The sisters were asked to go, and they were so excited they ran around for days, laughing hersterically. They bought themselves fancy dresses that were so stuffed with jewels they stood up by themselves, and spent days and days talking about all the people of important social status that they planned to meet.
The great day arrived, and Cinderella found herself in the cellar by herself. “I wish I could go to the ball,” she said to herself. “I bet I could pull that prince – I’m far prettier than those two unconventional-looking, loved-by-spots, 300-pound dinosaurs. I’m far more preferable to men.” The two sisters departed, and Cinderella stayed at home and moaned to the silence.
It was not long until there was a big puff of blue smoke and a rather festively-formed, full-figured, gravitationally-powerful woman appeared. It was her fairy godmother. Cinderella recognised her at once.
“I really want…”Cinderella started.
“To go to the ball,” finished the godmother. Cinderella nodded. “Despite how much I support your freedom to be emotional, since I’m considering your own success here I would ask you politely to cease crying, lest it hinder you. Now go to the garden and get me a pumpkin.”
Cinderella could not imagine how a pumpkin could help her to get to the ball – unfortunately she was rather intellectually impaired and did not yet appreciate that the fat woman who had appeared out of thin air was magic. Nonetheless, she took herself to the garden and took the biggest pumpkin she could carry back to the fairy godmother, who tapped it with her wand, turning it into a golden coach lined with white satin.
The godmother tapped Cinderella on the head and turned her shabby clothes into a stunning white silk dress. Cinderella was concerned for the fate of the silkworms, but considered how the dress was made – using magic – and decided to forget about it. She looked at herself in the full length mirror, and remarked on her slippers, which were made of glass.
“Now go and get me 6 mice from the luxury mouse-trap with fitted mouse-furniture and a mouse television with specific mouse programming in the kitchen, and a big juicy rat.”
With a touch of the wand, each mouse turned into a horse, and the rat turned into a coach driver. Cinderella grew more concerned.
“Fairy godmother,” Cinderella said, “I am concerned for the wellbeing of these horses and this coach driver. One day they were vermin – not that vermin are lesser life forms, of course, and the next thing you know they’re horses and people, and I don’t plan to pay or feed any of them. Considering they’re working for nothing, exactly where should my morals lie in using them?”
“Shut up and get in the carriage, you selfish brat,” the godmother replied. “Oh, and, if you stay in the palace for one second after midnight, all my magic will vanish and you’ll be cosmetically challenged and in your monetarily inexpensive clothes.”
A few moments later, the coach was rolling down towards the ball with the excited Cinderella inside. She arrived and strode up to the prince, slamming her lips into his and they embraced. For the rest of the night, Cinderella and the prince were constantly in each other’s arms, and the two sisters, who did not recognise their own stepsister, were rather flattered when she spoke some words to them.
The hours flew by so happily that Cinderella did not even notice the time until it the clock began to strike midnight. With a cry of alarm she fled from the room. One of the glass slippers flew from her foot and landed on a crate of beer as she struggled to leave the ball before one second past midnight. The prince hurried after her, but, when he reached the entrance hall, she couldn’t find the beautiful girl – just a cinder-maid in a ragged grey dress.
Cinderella hurried home through the dark streets, overwhelmed with shame.
The next day, there was a great procession of trumpets and drums as a regal possession went through the town, going from place to place, at the head of which sat the king’s son. He held a glass slipper on a red pillow, as a herald announced that any lady in the land who could fit the slipper on her foot and could produce the pair would be to marry the prince, if both parties agreed and if the housework was shared equally. Both sisters tried, but their feet were too spacious to squeeze in. Cinderella begged to try, and, to the scorn of her sisters, the prince agreed.
The slipper slipped easily on, and Cinderella pulled the second glass slipper from her pocket. The prince was overjoyed, and wrapped his arms warmly around the pretty cinder maid.
Cinderella spoke up. “Despite the romantic ending of this story, emotionally I feel a little flat. You have fallen in love with me because the fairy godmother made me look pretty, and I’m not convinced that that is a satisfactory basis for a marriage – you don’t even know me. We have only met on one occasion, and, like in this story, I haven’t even established my true character or personality to you – you have no real idea of how well we’d get along. I know you think you have noble and chivalrous intentions but in the context of this story they just reinforce negative notions about male dominance – you’re a prince, I’m a cinder maid, and I have no real interest in you to be honest – at least, no interest further than a purely financial one. It might be a happy ending because I’ll be royalty, but I want so much more!”
“I know,” the prince replied. “I’m completely loaded. I’ve got big palaces and we wouldn’t even have to see each other really, except when we’re having sex or ‘Deal or No Deal’ is on. I don’t need a woman with personality – just human contact.”
“So there’d be no love in our marriage? You’re really only interested in me because I’m an attractive female? Just a sex object? You Neanderthal!”
“Alas, yes, but trust me, you’ll enjoy it. It’s a massive social step up and you’ll have loads of money. You bloody feminists – Jesus – you’re just as human as I am when it comes down to it. Your life will be fantastic if we get married, and I don’t even care if you go off hunting for other men – so long as we still have sex and watch ‘Deal or No Deal’. I’m really easy to live with. If you marry me right now, you will definitely live happily ever after. It’s your choice though, of course.”
Cinderella told the prince she didn’t want to be objectified by a man, and refused point-blank. She carried on being treated like a source of free labour by her morally challenged step-sisters and died in a home for the mentally impaired.
> I wrote that 10 years ago | Asians and Latins and Africans, yay!
America's melting pot, what can you say?
Natives and Arabs and Christians are they!
Safe from racism, secure in their ways.
But one race is bad, burdened by guilt.
Over actions by forefathers, the country they built.
Railroads and cotton fields, worked till they'd wilt.
Not concerned in the slightest over blood that was spilt.
Fast forward to now and the people that fought
For rights and equality, refusing to be bought
Marching with brothers and sisters, forwarding the plot
Until one day in Memphis, a great man is then shot.
And what do we have now, from the lessons taught past?
Do we link arms and laugh at the ignorance outcast?
Do we join together, putting evils on blast?
Do we all try to be better, like progressive iconoclasts?
No. We watch as the blacks riot in Missouri.
We judge illegals, content in our fury.
We let the left tell us whites are guilty.
While the right sends blacks in front of a jury.
Two hundred thousand years of mankinds evolution.
From fire to flight, from clean skies to pollution.
And we all sit, all guilty of collusion
With the people who engineer our own de-evolution.
Fin. | |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad. | ######[](#dropcap)
Young Edric entered the small town of Feffin on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Bein. He was excited to set upon a life of adventure and excitement, with only the clothes on his back and his father's old sword.
A strange marquee greeted him, painted upon a large stock of wood. A number of words had been written, struck, and rewritten on various occasions. It read:
>- ~~Serf~~ ~~**Indentured Worker**~~ Grounds Engineer
>- ~~King~~ ~~**Magnanimous Ruler**~~ Servant of the People
>- ~~Troll~~ ~~**Troubled Monster**~~ Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate
>- ~~Fool~~ ~~**Comedian**~~ Entertainer
>- ~~Bard~~ ~~**Entertainer**~~ ~~Musician~~ ~~^Compusure~~ Composer
>- ~~Damsel~~ **~~Rescuee~~** ~~Princess~~ Strong CIS Hetero Female permitting a non-gender, race, or orientation bound person a chance to prove his/her/their value and worth if they choose to apply strength, logic, and/or whit ^^maybe ^^charm in a rescue attempt.
>- ~~Hero~~ ~~**Doer of** Great **Deeds**~~ ~~Someone who Tried their Best~~ A Hero is anyone who thought of helping, or scrawled about it on the tavern wall.
Edric scratched his head, puzzled. He wasn't quite sure what some of that even meant. *So all I have to do now is think about being a hero and it's true? And what happened to the Princess, is she not needing rescue?* Perplexed he headed off to the tavern for a drink.
Upon arrival he found it too, appeared far stranger than in the stories his father had told him about. There were signs on the doors for **Happy Hour Specials** and something called an **Appletini**. A large man at the door asked him for his scroll of birth and a portrait etching.
"What?" Edric inquired, "I just want a pint of meade."
"Sorry Chap, Council to the Servant of the People on Moral Authority has declared that you must be twenty-one to enter and that requires paperwork." The hulking doorman shrugged, "Been that way for fifteen years now, since the *Adjustment Proclamation*. I'm guessing you're from out of town?"
"Well yes, I am. My father Beldrin the Great was a hero here many years past. He settled down out in the woods about twenty years past to start a family. I am his oldest son, but I am only seventeen."
The balding brute scoffed. "Well seventeen can't drink, sorry lad. 'Sides you're father was the cause of the Adjustment anyways you see..." Then he launched into a history lesson about how the last *great* hero Bledrin had caused so much damage in his adventures that the kingdom took nearly ten years to recover. "He inspired the serfs to rise up against the king, who appeased them with a living wage rather than loosing his head. Unfortunately, that had unsustainable impacts you see. Even in the near term. Well within five years or so the economy was in shambles, few people trulely understood what was happening.
"Everyone blamed everyone else and so the Servant of the People, as he is now called, 'elected' his daughter - mostly as a distraction for the people as I see it - to lead for him while he sits back and pulls the important strings. The princess - I can't keep track of what she wants to be called these days - has her own *unique* perspective on things. She was raised in a convent of state provided nuns of the *Litrastica Revisionista* sect. Their motto is 'Everyone Deserves a Hug' or something like that. She's responsible for all the label changes around here."
He let out a heavy sigh before finishing, "Mostly just a bunch of appeasement and distractions if you ask me. Just so we forget the 'Servant of the People' is really sitting high and mighty. Lot more boring around here. Gotta be careful of what you say or you'll end up in the stockade for offending someone. In the mean time the *ahem* Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate are pillaging the countryside and raping oxen, while the standard of living is headed down the drain."
Edric didn't know what to think about the situation. *My father caused all this? But I thought he was the Hero.* "Well thank you kind sir for explaining this all to me. If you don't mind my saying you sound quite well educated, um, for a doorman."
The tired man raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Benefit of serving in the King's Army. Full scholarship to the Academy. Unfortunately, everyone thinks us veterans are a bunch of evil baby-killing psychopaths, so it's hard to get a job. Especially now that the Army has been downsized, since the public view is that we are a waste of coin. Tis the way of the times."
Edric sighed and shrugged himself, "Any suggestions for a young wanna-be hero?"
"Yeah kid, don't bother."
**NOTE:** Before anyone jumps on me, I'm not discriminatory against anyone. Just poking some fun at the PC. In the words of the *Litrastica Revisionista*::
>Everyone Deserves a Hug
**ONLY THE TINIEST EDIT:** I *had* to add the dropcaps... this is, after all, a fairytale. For more about the [DROPCAP](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/changes_updates). | Once upon a time, there was a Knight in shiny armour, venturing out to save a maiden fair trappen in a high tower.
He traveled through lands of fire, dark forests and oceans as deep as the earth itself. He defeated countless bests, escaped evil witches and rescued many villages.
When he finally arrived he was stopped by a wall of protesters. They were holding up signs saying: "Women do not need to be rescued!"; "Shame on the King!"; "Patriarchy is doomed!", "Doodielord!".
When they laid eyes upon the Knight, they started shouting evil things at the young hero. They circled around him. Shouting: "Filth!" and "Go away!" or "Who says the princess needs rescue?"
His throat clutched by a never known fear, the Prince ran past the protesters, charging towards the door. He slammed the door shut tight behind him, the protesters angrily banging on the other side, shouting.
The Knight gatheren up all his courage and started his long climb up the stairs.
Finally he reached the Princess' chamber. He opened the chamber door and there she was: the Princess. She was sitting at her table looking down. As he entered the room, she looked up and the Knight froze. He was speechless. The Princess smiled at him shyly. In the sunlight her beard shone red. Glitter covered her green dress and shone like stars. Her lips sparkled pink. Her blue eyes seemed like deep green oceans underneath a thick layer of blue eyeshadow.
A law from many years ago declared that, every three month there must be a new Princess. This Princess is neither bound to gender nor age. The Knight was not informed. | |
[WP] Write a kid-friendly fairytale that addresses political correctness gone mad. | ######[](#dropcap)
Young Edric entered the small town of Feffin on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Bein. He was excited to set upon a life of adventure and excitement, with only the clothes on his back and his father's old sword.
A strange marquee greeted him, painted upon a large stock of wood. A number of words had been written, struck, and rewritten on various occasions. It read:
>- ~~Serf~~ ~~**Indentured Worker**~~ Grounds Engineer
>- ~~King~~ ~~**Magnanimous Ruler**~~ Servant of the People
>- ~~Troll~~ ~~**Troubled Monster**~~ Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate
>- ~~Fool~~ ~~**Comedian**~~ Entertainer
>- ~~Bard~~ ~~**Entertainer**~~ ~~Musician~~ ~~^Compusure~~ Composer
>- ~~Damsel~~ **~~Rescuee~~** ~~Princess~~ Strong CIS Hetero Female permitting a non-gender, race, or orientation bound person a chance to prove his/her/their value and worth if they choose to apply strength, logic, and/or whit ^^maybe ^^charm in a rescue attempt.
>- ~~Hero~~ ~~**Doer of** Great **Deeds**~~ ~~Someone who Tried their Best~~ A Hero is anyone who thought of helping, or scrawled about it on the tavern wall.
Edric scratched his head, puzzled. He wasn't quite sure what some of that even meant. *So all I have to do now is think about being a hero and it's true? And what happened to the Princess, is she not needing rescue?* Perplexed he headed off to the tavern for a drink.
Upon arrival he found it too, appeared far stranger than in the stories his father had told him about. There were signs on the doors for **Happy Hour Specials** and something called an **Appletini**. A large man at the door asked him for his scroll of birth and a portrait etching.
"What?" Edric inquired, "I just want a pint of meade."
"Sorry Chap, Council to the Servant of the People on Moral Authority has declared that you must be twenty-one to enter and that requires paperwork." The hulking doorman shrugged, "Been that way for fifteen years now, since the *Adjustment Proclamation*. I'm guessing you're from out of town?"
"Well yes, I am. My father Beldrin the Great was a hero here many years past. He settled down out in the woods about twenty years past to start a family. I am his oldest son, but I am only seventeen."
The balding brute scoffed. "Well seventeen can't drink, sorry lad. 'Sides you're father was the cause of the Adjustment anyways you see..." Then he launched into a history lesson about how the last *great* hero Bledrin had caused so much damage in his adventures that the kingdom took nearly ten years to recover. "He inspired the serfs to rise up against the king, who appeased them with a living wage rather than loosing his head. Unfortunately, that had unsustainable impacts you see. Even in the near term. Well within five years or so the economy was in shambles, few people trulely understood what was happening.
"Everyone blamed everyone else and so the Servant of the People, as he is now called, 'elected' his daughter - mostly as a distraction for the people as I see it - to lead for him while he sits back and pulls the important strings. The princess - I can't keep track of what she wants to be called these days - has her own *unique* perspective on things. She was raised in a convent of state provided nuns of the *Litrastica Revisionista* sect. Their motto is 'Everyone Deserves a Hug' or something like that. She's responsible for all the label changes around here."
He let out a heavy sigh before finishing, "Mostly just a bunch of appeasement and distractions if you ask me. Just so we forget the 'Servant of the People' is really sitting high and mighty. Lot more boring around here. Gotta be careful of what you say or you'll end up in the stockade for offending someone. In the mean time the *ahem* Misunderstood Disfigured Unfortunate are pillaging the countryside and raping oxen, while the standard of living is headed down the drain."
Edric didn't know what to think about the situation. *My father caused all this? But I thought he was the Hero.* "Well thank you kind sir for explaining this all to me. If you don't mind my saying you sound quite well educated, um, for a doorman."
The tired man raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Benefit of serving in the King's Army. Full scholarship to the Academy. Unfortunately, everyone thinks us veterans are a bunch of evil baby-killing psychopaths, so it's hard to get a job. Especially now that the Army has been downsized, since the public view is that we are a waste of coin. Tis the way of the times."
Edric sighed and shrugged himself, "Any suggestions for a young wanna-be hero?"
"Yeah kid, don't bother."
**NOTE:** Before anyone jumps on me, I'm not discriminatory against anyone. Just poking some fun at the PC. In the words of the *Litrastica Revisionista*::
>Everyone Deserves a Hug
**ONLY THE TINIEST EDIT:** I *had* to add the dropcaps... this is, after all, a fairytale. For more about the [DROPCAP](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/changes_updates). | Once upon a time lived a beautiful princess. This princess was no ordinary princess because she had a knight on her side who would swear to protect her life from any peril.
One day a man decided it was a good idea to come and play with the princess just to keep her happy. He climbed and climbed the tall fortress without the aid of a ladder or Rapunzels magical golden hair.
The man was tempted by urges and kidnapped the beautiful princess and took her from her fortress. The kings and queens were so worried about her safety that they decided to hire some mercenaries to bring the princess back to the kingdom.
They found the evil kidnapper, they were about to capture and return the princess when they noticed the man was of an african or moorish persuasion and they were not legally allowed to attack or harm one. The princess was on news parchments everyday as missing while the kidnapper became hero of the town for ridding the town of a royal lineage. The kingdom of fergusonia fell apart soon after. | |
[WP] As a rite of passage, an alien comes to Earth to abduct his first human. It quickly becomes painstakingly clear that the alien is an absolute fuck up. | Ping was excited. Standards had changed since his grandfather's day at Xenobiology University. Back then, any Earth contact was kept to a minimum. They couldn't breach the atmosphere except with special allowance in remote areas, and then mostly for observation and on-site study.
No, today Ping was one of the new generation, sent out to collect samples for return to the University, completing his thesis and progressing him from a student into the higher echelon of Peer, where he'd be allowed to utilize the full extent of University resources for research and development. His dream come true.
As he walked with the other members of his class through the Halls of History, Ping gaped an open-mouthed laugh at the Mark-I Saucer. *We used* these *tin-cans to travel? Plebs.* He thought to himself as he approached his dock. He climbed into his control console and fired up the thrusters, narrowly missing the tight launch gate as he soared through.
*****
One, two, three... seven, eight, nine! Nine planets, and the sun! Ping had seen pictures, but they really didn't do it justice. *What a marvelous system.* Compared to the three planets of his own, none of which were gas giants, the Earth system looked rich and splendorous.
*Might as well pick up fuel now...* Ping decided as he made a close fly-by of Saturn. Distracted by the glittering dust in the rings, Ping didn't notice the Gravity-Well Radar signature right away. A small meteorite dinged off the side of his hull, leaving a scriiiiiitching sound resounding through his hull. *Great. Fling's gonna be pissed about his paint job, now.*
Having refueled, Ping approached Earth. "Don't trust the HUD," Vlad had told him, "They always set you up with a bad HUD during your virgin voyage. They want to see if you were paying attention in Extraterrestrial Studies. It's an easy fail-out tactic. Better get a solid visual confirmation. And don't forget, all the books are outdated. Since the industrial age, Earth's pollution has turned it red."
*Thank Cthulu for Vlad,* Ping thought as he saw the red planet approaching rapidly through his Telescopic Holo-Application Tool, or THAT. *The HUD is pointing me at the wrong planet. I'd have lost* hours *of my test time scanning, landing, and then re-initiating launch and traveling to the new site.*
*****
"What is he doing?" Sibil asked of the assembled judges on the board. "He aced all the exams, but he's ignoring his HUD and heading for Mars?"
"You know Ping's father is the head of Xenobiology University's R&D division. Maybe he has some new toy for the kid to try out?"
"He's *that* Ping?" Another judge inquired, "...I'd never have thought-- he uh, took damage on reentry, and almost took out our launch bay right out the gate. Doesn't seem like the child of our esteemed head researcher."
"You worry too much. Boys will be boys. We're only here as a formality, really."
Sibil kept her silence. *I wouldn't be so sure...*
*****
*This can't be right,* Ping thought, *No lifescans. And where are the buildings? The oceans? HUD thinks it's all just dirt down there. Barely any atmosphere... Is this the right place?* He switched a few controls, running infrared and ultraviolet. *Maybe the humans have some new cloaking. Or, wait! Did one of the others get detected? Have they gone dark because they know I'm here?*
He panicked for a little while, maintaining his close orbit. *No, that's not right. If one had been detected the ship would have cloaked and exited orbit to rendezvous with the next approach and notify them. So.... ah! My father had to know I'd be on this trip. Vlad was right about the HUD, maybe they altered mine so I'd have to do everything manually. That must be it. Better be extra careful, then.*
Ping triple-checked his suit's nitrous-oxide tank for functionality, manually testing the rebreather for function before exiting the ship. He activated his THAT's passive-scan mode and set out on the barren landscape. *It certainly* looks *real...* Ping spent another hour wandering across Martian soil before he realized he'd been had.
*I should have known! Vlad has always had his eye on Cecilia in Engineering. What better way than to take the top spot on the R&D team away from me! Blast it!* Ping sputtered, flailing his arms and tentacles in frustration.
"PRESSURE WARNING. RETURN TO SHIP IMMEDIATELY. PRESSURE WARNING. RETURN TO SHIP IMMEDIATELY." A klaxon sounded from his suit. Without meaning to, he'd poked a hole in his suit with his tentacle. In Earth's environment, this wouldn't be a big deal, because the nitro-oxygen mix in the atmosphere wasn't insufficient to sustain life, albeit poorly. But here, the lack of atmospheric gasses was potentially fatal. Ping felt his skin beginning to dry out, the first warning signs of Exterior Cell Death Syndrome, one of the catalysts for his species' early ventures into space from a resource-starved and polluted planet.
He ran as fast as he could, stumbling over rocks and kicking up gritty red dirt as he went. As he did, the rough movement worked the hole larger, and where dirt was kicked up into his suit, it stuck to his skin, burning painfully. *This is not where I fail. I must succeed here, even in disgrace, and make Vlad pay for his deception!* Ping repeated this to himself over and over and he moved as quickly as he could towards his ship.
"TANK CAPACITY CRITICAL. ATMOSPHERIC GASSES NEARLY DEPLETED. RETURN TO SHIP IMMEDIATELY." Ping's skin was tightening throughout his body, drying and constricting, encrusted by dirt seemingly everywhere. His fluid-muscles had much less room to flow throughout his body, weakening and slowing him. With over four-fifths of his tank depleted, having tried ineffectively to keep his skin alive through the dispersion of atmospheric gasses, he made it to the ship exhausted, but alive.
*This is no good. I'm in no condition to be on this mission now. At home I'd be hospitalized for weeks, undergoing skin regeneration and muscular infusions... but no, I* must *finish this. R&D would never have me if I gave up now. My father would be disgraced!* Ping pushed down his self-pity and took stock of his supplies. 3 days of food, 3 weeks of nitrous-oxide on-board. If he depleted some of that to force a nitro-oxy-rich environment on ship, he might be able to regenerate enough to reach Earth in better health.
"Excessive. Expensive." He could hear his father say in his mind, after learning he'd depleted half his ship's reserves for what ought to have been a 10-hour trip. *No helping it, though. Xenobiology U's primary purpose is to find new, sustainable sources of renewable Nitrous-Oxide, after all. If I fail now, I'll never be able to contribute to our greater future goals.*
Ping launched his HUD, allowing the ship to run it's pre-flight checks while he re-calibrated his destination coordinates for *actual* Earth, this time. *Another couple hours and I'll be done with all this.*
*****
Sibil was running through Xeno-U's halls, looking for any sign of Andre, Ping's father. She grabbed a technician by the shoulder as she sped past.
"Where is he?!" She demanded of the shocked face.
"Uhh... who?"
"Andre! Where is he? His son is dying!"
"What's happened to Fling?"
"Not Fling, you idiot! Ping!"
"The R&D golden child? Dying? Wasn't he doing his thesis today?-- Oh."
"**YES!!** WHERE IS ANDRE?"
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure, I'll let him know you're--"
Sibil was already running again. *Blasted man and his blasted thesis tests. I told him a thousand times, Ping is not ready for his thesis, he's great at study but not at field work. But noooo, "he's a bright boy," he said. "He'll do wonders for this University," he said. What good is it to our race if our brightest minds die before they help expand our resources?*
*****
Ping reached Earth around four hours after entering the Sol system. About two hours after he ought to have begun his return trip. And he did *not* feel well. While his skin *had* started to regenerate, bits of red Martian dust had seemingly embedded itself in him, and wasn't being properly extruded by his liquid muscles due to the damage he'd taken. *And all this before I even reach Earth. Father is going to kill me... unless I make it up to him somehow.*
Ping considered what he'd do to salvage this mis-adventure while stalling for a few more minutes in the rich nitrous-oxygen air. Scanning the planet showed countless human settlements, and a number of choice targets in rural areas where an abductee wouldn't be as missed, or draw too much attention to the circumstances surrounding their disappearance. Ping ignored those, mind working furiously.
*We don't abduct humans in populous areas because of the danger of drawing attention. But, human technology, social interaction, economy and the hub of all their learning and knowledge is centered in population centers. Thus, if we wanted to learn from them, acquire them as allies, or trade with them, we would need to deal with someone highly ranked in human society...*
Something caught his eye, and he enhanced the image on his HUD. *Yes. I think that will do nicely...*
*****
**Close to character limit. Going to add more in reply.** | Your primary tendrils begin to tremor and exudate as you clumsily prod the impossibly complicated array of levers, knobs, buttons, sliders, wheels, pulleys, flashing-lights-that-may-be-buttons-but-maybe-not, and touch screens before you. Your secondary tendrils also begin to weep the pungent mucus you produce when nervous or aroused; something your broodmates have criticized you for since your tendrils indeed first sprouted (late, of course).
A terrible hormonal pang washes over you - an effect of the mucus production - and you begin to panic and regurgitate your mentholated nutrient ration from your second mouth, which somehow falls into your first mouth, which is in turn regurgitated from your first mouth and on to the floor.
The creature riveted to the probe table begins to become aware that something is wrong. Despite having been wrested from his home, asleep, seemingly safe, and into an incomprehensible dimension transversing dreadnought that has ended, by recent estimate, trillions of lives across the multiverse, he seems more bewildered by your ineptitude than anything else.
Your exalted ancestor, whom your caste was engineered from, whom you shame with your putrid existence, would have devoured you for your weakness by now, you are to be sure of this.
You close several layers of squishing membrane over your optic node, with a tendril over them for good measure, and begin to flail wildly at the control panel.
The smell of sulphur and ozone fill the air, paired with shrieking and screaming akin to the spawning pools. How you wish you would one day be allowed to enter the spawning pools, but the breeders have always shunned you for your small tendrils and patchy beard.
The wailing is, after some time, replaced by gurgling, and soon after, silence.
The sphincter to the observation room opens (loudly), and the shapeless mass of your superiors, broodmates, and their surgically attached metabolic battery slaves slithers in.
In unison, they shower you with praise and plaudits. Some begin to auto-devour in celebration - the highest form of praise. You have finally developed the perfect means of destruction for the terrible pig race your kind has set its merciless sights on. You have, somehow, despite fail-safes and safety measures innumerable, managed to activate every module in the terrorprobe simultaneously.
You are a hero. You will join your kind in the spawning pool, and you will join in the cannibalistic orgy, and you will join the venerated ancestors in hyperspace.
| |
[WP] As a rite of passage, an alien comes to Earth to abduct his first human. It quickly becomes painstakingly clear that the alien is an absolute fuck up. | Dr. Eloise Van Kooten, PhD, MD, DDS, stared at the EEG output steadily scrolling past on the monitors. She furrowed her brow. There had to be a mistake.
Franko, a three hundred pound gorilla, sat on the dirt floor of his enclosure, tracing circles in the dirt with a stick. A neon green EEG cap clung to his head. Bright orange wires looped up from the cap to the ceiling.
Franko had bristly black fur, deep-set yellow eyes, and four jagged, broken fangs. His wrinkled leathery face stared at the circles in the dirt.
Dr. Van Kooten walked quickly towards the EEG computer terminal, her high heels clicking and her white robe billowing behind her.
There had to be a mistake. It simply wasn’t possible that Franko... He couldn’t have reached intelligence level 4. It was impossible. Especially for Franko. He was easily the dumbest gorilla in the pack. His numerous lost battles against the electric fence could attest to that.
Van Kooten’s red nail-polished fingers flew across the keyboard. She pressed ‘Enter’ and folded her arms. The debug protocol ran.
Van Kooten tsked. It had to be an error. Probably something her incompetent PhD-candidate research assistants had messed up during the night shift.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“Not now,” she barked.
Another tap.
“Can’t you see I’m busy!?” she snapped, squinting at the lines of code flowing past in the debug module.
There was no third tap. Instead, Van Kooten felt herself being lifted off the ground by someone grabbing the skin on the back of her neck. She shrieked.
A monstrous green slug with eleventy-million writhing arms held her high in the air. It slithered towards Franko’s enclosure. An extremely loud burp erupted from the slug’s mouth orifice, expelling a purple gas that dissolved the walls of Franko’s enclosure.
Franko looked at the beast sideways. He dropped his stick.
The beast picked up Frank by the back of his neck. Franko struggled with all his might, but was quickly restrained by a hundred different slimy green arms.
Dr. Van Kooten’s shrieking continued. She was hysterical. This was the worst experience she’d had since the 60’s.
The giant slug extended one of its arms toward the sky. It held a car beeper, with something like the Mercedes logo emblazoned on the front.
*beep-**BEEPP*** went the beeper.
A cone of blue light burned through the ceiling, surrounding them. They began to levitate. Van Kooten shrieked louder. Franko howled. They were rising up through the hole in the ceiling.
*beep* The blue light disappeared.
They fell back to the ground with a *WHUMP*. The green slug cried out in pain. Its arms writhed in pain. Franko nearly escaped. Van Kooten passed out from the shock.
“Stupid batteries,” the green slug muttered. He retrieved a new set of batteries from one of his ten thousand pockets and clicked them into place in the remote.
*beep-**BEEPP*** went the beeper a second time. The blue light picked them up. They slowly glided up into the air, through the ceiling, and into a flying saucer.
Once there, the alien-slug looked around. He wasn’t sure what to do. He shook Dr. Van Kooten awake.
“Hello Earthling,” he said.
Van Kooten blinked open her eyes, then stared at the gaping maw of giant, slimy slug.
“You have been abducted, okay?” said the slug.
Van Kooten nodded.
The slug loosened his grip slightly on Franko.
“You too, hairy Earthling,” the slug said. “You have also been abducted.”
Franko cocked his head in bewilderment.
The slug grabbed the two Earthlings tightly and pressed them against his body. With another arm, he retrieved an iPhone from another of his many pockets.
He bared his thousands of glistening, saliva-dripping fangs and took a selfie. And then another, with the flash on. A third one, without the flash.
“Hashtag,” he said, pondering, “**#vacation. #Earth. #LookWhoIAbducted**”
He uploaded the picture. He stared at his screen for several moments, while Van Kooten stared up at him in terror. No one had liked his photo yet. Maybe no one had seen it yet. He checked the viewcount. 10 views. 0 likes. Whatever.
“Well, thanks for coming,” the slug said dejectedly. “You Earthlings can go back to work now. I’ve gotta get ready for a party.”
The slug pressed a button, and a hatch opened in the floor of the UFO. The slug tossed Franko through the hole, and then Van Kooten. Screaming, she clung to his slimy appendages, but they were too slippery. She fell hundreds of feet, her fingers clawing through the air.
She and Franko landed in the laboratory’s parking lot, both quite dead.
| Your primary tendrils begin to tremor and exudate as you clumsily prod the impossibly complicated array of levers, knobs, buttons, sliders, wheels, pulleys, flashing-lights-that-may-be-buttons-but-maybe-not, and touch screens before you. Your secondary tendrils also begin to weep the pungent mucus you produce when nervous or aroused; something your broodmates have criticized you for since your tendrils indeed first sprouted (late, of course).
A terrible hormonal pang washes over you - an effect of the mucus production - and you begin to panic and regurgitate your mentholated nutrient ration from your second mouth, which somehow falls into your first mouth, which is in turn regurgitated from your first mouth and on to the floor.
The creature riveted to the probe table begins to become aware that something is wrong. Despite having been wrested from his home, asleep, seemingly safe, and into an incomprehensible dimension transversing dreadnought that has ended, by recent estimate, trillions of lives across the multiverse, he seems more bewildered by your ineptitude than anything else.
Your exalted ancestor, whom your caste was engineered from, whom you shame with your putrid existence, would have devoured you for your weakness by now, you are to be sure of this.
You close several layers of squishing membrane over your optic node, with a tendril over them for good measure, and begin to flail wildly at the control panel.
The smell of sulphur and ozone fill the air, paired with shrieking and screaming akin to the spawning pools. How you wish you would one day be allowed to enter the spawning pools, but the breeders have always shunned you for your small tendrils and patchy beard.
The wailing is, after some time, replaced by gurgling, and soon after, silence.
The sphincter to the observation room opens (loudly), and the shapeless mass of your superiors, broodmates, and their surgically attached metabolic battery slaves slithers in.
In unison, they shower you with praise and plaudits. Some begin to auto-devour in celebration - the highest form of praise. You have finally developed the perfect means of destruction for the terrible pig race your kind has set its merciless sights on. You have, somehow, despite fail-safes and safety measures innumerable, managed to activate every module in the terrorprobe simultaneously.
You are a hero. You will join your kind in the spawning pool, and you will join in the cannibalistic orgy, and you will join the venerated ancestors in hyperspace.
| |
[WP] As a rite of passage, an alien comes to Earth to abduct his first human. It quickly becomes painstakingly clear that the alien is an absolute fuck up. | “As spawning male, I express pride in my young podling for the transition from pupa to adult today. May your star mitzvah prove fortuitous, just as the protective instinct of your parents kept you alive to propagate our species in accordance with our heritage of cosmic domination.”
“Thanks dad,” Glorp mumbled nervously. He adjusted his optical enhancers and smiled to the 3000 members of his immediate family that joined together to celebrate his star mitzvah, displaying his dental re-structuring devices in the process. The family smiled back, surprised Glorp survived this long. They never thought he would see adulthood after proving time and again that he wasn’t the stickiest sucker on the tentacle, or the most destructive laser in the defense grid.
Glorp feared the final step of the star mitzvah. He was fairly certain he had done it right, but still had doubts. Glorp copied all of his friends’ xenobiology assignments, never really learning anything about alien life-forms, but he’d heard enough stories to feel confident in his work. Sensitive to touch, shakes and makes noise at seemingly random intervals, a hole for feeding and a hole for probing, even a tat-ew of corporate branding. Glorp was 90% sure what he abducted was a human.
As Glorp unveiled his captive, his family collectively gasped and then started laughing, some rolling around with tentacles barely able to stay upright. Glorp’s father turned many shades of red and blue from both anger and humor before calming himself enough to say, “Glorp, we must communicate before your next mission to Earth. That device you abducted is called an Eye Fown which humans use for... human things.”
Glorp turned a deep shade of purple in embarrassment, his friends would never let him live this down. | Your primary tendrils begin to tremor and exudate as you clumsily prod the impossibly complicated array of levers, knobs, buttons, sliders, wheels, pulleys, flashing-lights-that-may-be-buttons-but-maybe-not, and touch screens before you. Your secondary tendrils also begin to weep the pungent mucus you produce when nervous or aroused; something your broodmates have criticized you for since your tendrils indeed first sprouted (late, of course).
A terrible hormonal pang washes over you - an effect of the mucus production - and you begin to panic and regurgitate your mentholated nutrient ration from your second mouth, which somehow falls into your first mouth, which is in turn regurgitated from your first mouth and on to the floor.
The creature riveted to the probe table begins to become aware that something is wrong. Despite having been wrested from his home, asleep, seemingly safe, and into an incomprehensible dimension transversing dreadnought that has ended, by recent estimate, trillions of lives across the multiverse, he seems more bewildered by your ineptitude than anything else.
Your exalted ancestor, whom your caste was engineered from, whom you shame with your putrid existence, would have devoured you for your weakness by now, you are to be sure of this.
You close several layers of squishing membrane over your optic node, with a tendril over them for good measure, and begin to flail wildly at the control panel.
The smell of sulphur and ozone fill the air, paired with shrieking and screaming akin to the spawning pools. How you wish you would one day be allowed to enter the spawning pools, but the breeders have always shunned you for your small tendrils and patchy beard.
The wailing is, after some time, replaced by gurgling, and soon after, silence.
The sphincter to the observation room opens (loudly), and the shapeless mass of your superiors, broodmates, and their surgically attached metabolic battery slaves slithers in.
In unison, they shower you with praise and plaudits. Some begin to auto-devour in celebration - the highest form of praise. You have finally developed the perfect means of destruction for the terrible pig race your kind has set its merciless sights on. You have, somehow, despite fail-safes and safety measures innumerable, managed to activate every module in the terrorprobe simultaneously.
You are a hero. You will join your kind in the spawning pool, and you will join in the cannibalistic orgy, and you will join the venerated ancestors in hyperspace.
| |
[WP] As a rite of passage, an alien comes to Earth to abduct his first human. It quickly becomes painstakingly clear that the alien is an absolute fuck up. | "Ow, Jesus what the fuck?" A man in a red plaid shirt and blue jeans shouted as he rubbed the back of his head. He looked around himself, he was sitting in the middle of a circular room, machines with aggressive looking protrusions, hinges, hooks, straps, all surrounded him. "What the- what is this a BDSM dungeon or some shit?"
Gorgralazoid, Gorg for short, stepped into the room, wringing together his three arms nervously. He had accidently bumped the human several times on the bottom of his ship before successfully bringing the human inside. "S-S-Stay still, human!" He ordered in a meek voice.
"Woah, what the fuck are you?" The man asked, rising to his feet.
"I-I-I said stay still! Stay still!" Gorg warned. He scurried over to the control center and fumbled with the buttons and levers. A robot arm swung across the room, "Woah, oh jeez!" He said as he narrowly dodged the arm.
"Hey get that-" The human batted the arm away, "Get that shit out of my face and you explain something to me."
*Oh no, this one is aggressive, I knew I should have taken the little one!* Gorg thought frantically as the human continued to fight the restraining arm. "Hey stop that! Or, uh, or I'll-" Gorg had never tried to intimidate someone before. *Oh I forgot to sedate him!*
"Or you'll what, you little blue shit?" The man asked, gripping the straining arm with enough force to keep it still.
Gorg tried to bring the sedation needle towards the human, but the human quickly caught that too. Were they supposed to be this strong? Gorg screamed and flinched away as the human threw the needle at Gorg, missing him just barely and shattering on the floor. He continued to fumble with the controls, he spent so much time training but, oh, he's just no good under pressure. The human was nearly out of the circle. *My blaster!* Gorg thought. He reached to his hip and pulled out his weapon. "Stand back! Stand back and get on the table!"
"You pointing a gun at me, you three armed little bitch?" The man snarled as he walked towards Gorg.
"I'll shoot! I'll do it." Gorg said, his knees shaking. He yelped pitifully as the human hit him in the face with an open hand. He fell to the floor, throwing the weapon away as he did. "Oh gosh please don't hurt me!"
Meanwhile Truzaloid and Rogabloid watched on a monitor as Gorg was repeatedly kicked and punched by the escaped human. After a few more moments of intense, doubled over laughter Truzaloid turns to his friend, "Okay, okay should be interfere here?"
Rogabloid wiped a hand under his eye and sighed, "Oh, give it another couple minutes. You can't pay for better entertainment." | Your primary tendrils begin to tremor and exudate as you clumsily prod the impossibly complicated array of levers, knobs, buttons, sliders, wheels, pulleys, flashing-lights-that-may-be-buttons-but-maybe-not, and touch screens before you. Your secondary tendrils also begin to weep the pungent mucus you produce when nervous or aroused; something your broodmates have criticized you for since your tendrils indeed first sprouted (late, of course).
A terrible hormonal pang washes over you - an effect of the mucus production - and you begin to panic and regurgitate your mentholated nutrient ration from your second mouth, which somehow falls into your first mouth, which is in turn regurgitated from your first mouth and on to the floor.
The creature riveted to the probe table begins to become aware that something is wrong. Despite having been wrested from his home, asleep, seemingly safe, and into an incomprehensible dimension transversing dreadnought that has ended, by recent estimate, trillions of lives across the multiverse, he seems more bewildered by your ineptitude than anything else.
Your exalted ancestor, whom your caste was engineered from, whom you shame with your putrid existence, would have devoured you for your weakness by now, you are to be sure of this.
You close several layers of squishing membrane over your optic node, with a tendril over them for good measure, and begin to flail wildly at the control panel.
The smell of sulphur and ozone fill the air, paired with shrieking and screaming akin to the spawning pools. How you wish you would one day be allowed to enter the spawning pools, but the breeders have always shunned you for your small tendrils and patchy beard.
The wailing is, after some time, replaced by gurgling, and soon after, silence.
The sphincter to the observation room opens (loudly), and the shapeless mass of your superiors, broodmates, and their surgically attached metabolic battery slaves slithers in.
In unison, they shower you with praise and plaudits. Some begin to auto-devour in celebration - the highest form of praise. You have finally developed the perfect means of destruction for the terrible pig race your kind has set its merciless sights on. You have, somehow, despite fail-safes and safety measures innumerable, managed to activate every module in the terrorprobe simultaneously.
You are a hero. You will join your kind in the spawning pool, and you will join in the cannibalistic orgy, and you will join the venerated ancestors in hyperspace.
| |
[WP] As a rite of passage, an alien comes to Earth to abduct his first human. It quickly becomes painstakingly clear that the alien is an absolute fuck up. | "Ow, Jesus what the fuck?" A man in a red plaid shirt and blue jeans shouted as he rubbed the back of his head. He looked around himself, he was sitting in the middle of a circular room, machines with aggressive looking protrusions, hinges, hooks, straps, all surrounded him. "What the- what is this a BDSM dungeon or some shit?"
Gorgralazoid, Gorg for short, stepped into the room, wringing together his three arms nervously. He had accidently bumped the human several times on the bottom of his ship before successfully bringing the human inside. "S-S-Stay still, human!" He ordered in a meek voice.
"Woah, what the fuck are you?" The man asked, rising to his feet.
"I-I-I said stay still! Stay still!" Gorg warned. He scurried over to the control center and fumbled with the buttons and levers. A robot arm swung across the room, "Woah, oh jeez!" He said as he narrowly dodged the arm.
"Hey get that-" The human batted the arm away, "Get that shit out of my face and you explain something to me."
*Oh no, this one is aggressive, I knew I should have taken the little one!* Gorg thought frantically as the human continued to fight the restraining arm. "Hey stop that! Or, uh, or I'll-" Gorg had never tried to intimidate someone before. *Oh I forgot to sedate him!*
"Or you'll what, you little blue shit?" The man asked, gripping the straining arm with enough force to keep it still.
Gorg tried to bring the sedation needle towards the human, but the human quickly caught that too. Were they supposed to be this strong? Gorg screamed and flinched away as the human threw the needle at Gorg, missing him just barely and shattering on the floor. He continued to fumble with the controls, he spent so much time training but, oh, he's just no good under pressure. The human was nearly out of the circle. *My blaster!* Gorg thought. He reached to his hip and pulled out his weapon. "Stand back! Stand back and get on the table!"
"You pointing a gun at me, you three armed little bitch?" The man snarled as he walked towards Gorg.
"I'll shoot! I'll do it." Gorg said, his knees shaking. He yelped pitifully as the human hit him in the face with an open hand. He fell to the floor, throwing the weapon away as he did. "Oh gosh please don't hurt me!"
Meanwhile Truzaloid and Rogabloid watched on a monitor as Gorg was repeatedly kicked and punched by the escaped human. After a few more moments of intense, doubled over laughter Truzaloid turns to his friend, "Okay, okay should be interfere here?"
Rogabloid wiped a hand under his eye and sighed, "Oh, give it another couple minutes. You can't pay for better entertainment." | “As spawning male, I express pride in my young podling for the transition from pupa to adult today. May your star mitzvah prove fortuitous, just as the protective instinct of your parents kept you alive to propagate our species in accordance with our heritage of cosmic domination.”
“Thanks dad,” Glorp mumbled nervously. He adjusted his optical enhancers and smiled to the 3000 members of his immediate family that joined together to celebrate his star mitzvah, displaying his dental re-structuring devices in the process. The family smiled back, surprised Glorp survived this long. They never thought he would see adulthood after proving time and again that he wasn’t the stickiest sucker on the tentacle, or the most destructive laser in the defense grid.
Glorp feared the final step of the star mitzvah. He was fairly certain he had done it right, but still had doubts. Glorp copied all of his friends’ xenobiology assignments, never really learning anything about alien life-forms, but he’d heard enough stories to feel confident in his work. Sensitive to touch, shakes and makes noise at seemingly random intervals, a hole for feeding and a hole for probing, even a tat-ew of corporate branding. Glorp was 90% sure what he abducted was a human.
As Glorp unveiled his captive, his family collectively gasped and then started laughing, some rolling around with tentacles barely able to stay upright. Glorp’s father turned many shades of red and blue from both anger and humor before calming himself enough to say, “Glorp, we must communicate before your next mission to Earth. That device you abducted is called an Eye Fown which humans use for... human things.”
Glorp turned a deep shade of purple in embarrassment, his friends would never let him live this down. | |
[WP] the government has developed a new programme, which inputs everyone's genes and runs a simulation to find mating partners who will produce extraordinary offspring. Today you've been matched. You're told your child will be the greatest person to ever live, if you comply. | I didn't know what I expected really. I signed up for Enhanced Children as a joke of sorts. I always wanted to be a Father, but this was something else. The perfect child. That's what they called him, even before he was born she was shoehorned into this grand idea that he was going to change the world. That my son was always destined to change the world in some way seemed strange and alien to me at the time. He was supposed to be the greatest mathematician that ever lived. People said he might even be smart enough to invent a system of travel that would allow us to colonize other worlds.
I insisted that I at least meet his would be mother before we brought the greatest scientist of the age into the world. In these times people rarely reproduced sexually. Almost every baby was inseminated in a test tube, and this was, and is normal. It's just easier this way. No need for sex anymore, at least for the purpose of procreation. We've gotten pretty good at contraception, so we could have sex and only once in my life did I hear about a couple that got pregnant by accident.
So I meet her, and she's fantastic. Gorgeous black hair, and dark brown eyes. I melt just thinking about her. I would argue that she was perfect in every way her self. She's smart, and she's ambitious. She totally understands my desire to at least KNOW the mother of the greatest child of all time. To make a long story short we quickly fell in love. Maybe it was some strange twist of fate that the two people who could make a child smarter than Albert Einstein, and stronger than Hercules would also be soul mates. So it goes I suppose, Murphy's law and all that.
Even before our son was conceived we had a pretty well perfect life together. We were happy. We had a nice house together, a dog; Gracie; who we said somewhat ironically was perfect in every way. We couldn't get enough of each other. The doctors told us that even if we selected a random sperm, and a random gamete the odds were in our favour that the resulting offspring would either be extremely physically adept or intellectually rival Einstein. But not both. That was the only catch. I guess we couldn't have everything the way we wanted. Our son was as close as we were going to get, and the greatest child ever was still winning the lottery.
Even before he was born, he was expected to be better than everything before him. At first he challenged these assumptions of his greatness. He walked at 6 months old. He spoke sentences when he was 14 months old. He was quickly living up to the assumption that he would be the greatest mind in history. He loved playing sports. He grew up so fast that he was making me look like an idiot at 10 years old. It was hard for me. I grew up with the assumption that my child would be learning from me until he was in his 20's, but that was before E.C. I suppose.
At 12 he started showing just how physically gifted he was. He could bench press 185 pounds for 5 reps at 12 years old. He could run, he could skate, he could throw a baseball harder than any 12 year old should. He could skate and while moving, hit a moving target the length of the ice away. He always told me that he was doing trigonometry and calculus in his head to gauge the vector and velocity that he should throw it at. Mostly what he loved was hockey, the rest was just showing off.
He would shoot pucks at me, a grown ass man, in goalie pads and hurt me. I didn't mind, I had the son every man dreams of having. He was projected even at 12 years old to go first overall in the NHL entry draft in the year 2034. I mean, who could blame them, he'd eclipsed Sidney Crosby and Connor Mcdavid when he hit puberty. Expectations were always high. Rightfully so, he was the greatest person to ever live.
He was a math genius, solving complex algebra and calculus at 13. There was never a problem that if he stared at it long enough he couldn't decipher. He passed the Canadian law Bar exam when he was 14. He knew every Roman Emperor, every monarch of France, Spain, Belgium, Austria, Hungary, Brandenburg, Poland, Bohemia, Russia, and the Ottoman Empire. He would devour books like they were colouring books. He'd made up his mind from a young age that he didn't believe the events in the bible, citing study after study on carbon dating and the accuracy of carbon dating. Doesn't matter to me any, we raised him with the idea that he would make up his mind on his own in regards to Divinity. He was the perfect young man.
Even at 15 he was a handsome young man. I say young man, because he was. I would have taught him how to shave, but he already knew how by the time he was 11. His mother and I found him with small cuts all over his face, but at 11 years old he figured it out himself. He never cut himself again. He never would have had any problem with the ladies if ever had the time between studying and playing every sport. He could charm anyone. Always a nice boy, a perfect gentleman.
At 15 though we started to have some concerns, he was coming home from school with bruises once and awhile. I say school but what I mean is University. 15 years old and learning among hungover 20 year olds. But he was learning among men and women, and his mother and I still considered him our boy. We should've addressed it earlier. I figured that he was getting checked by all 3 forwards on the rival hockey team. I failed my son that day.
Two weeks later he comes home with cuts and bruises all over his face. I asked him what was going on, and he said that I could never understand. At this point he could teach me a thing or two, and even in his battered state beat the everliving hell out of me. So I dropped it. I didn't question him coming home with bruises, I figured like he said that I wouldn't understand. I'm not sure why, and I'm sorry that I didn't try. I'm sorry.
I come home from work on a Friday. It had been a good day, and I was in a good mood so I called my wife and told her I'd be at the baseball diamond with William. I go up to his bedroom and knock on the door. Will doesn't answer. I try the door, door is locked. I knock louder and call out for Will. Still, no answer. I use a trick that my Dad taught me, and I pry the door jam open, and from there I can open the door. Privacy had been important to us, for Will's sake. I finally step into his room. I'm sorry.
My son had hanged himself. I stepped in and I saw him dangling, neck skewed. I'm sorry. I'm shattered. Everything in my world is gone. I fly towards Will and with my pocket knife I saw through the rope like it's my favourite thing to do. I call 9-1-1 and immediately put my phone on speakerphone and start CPR. I'm sorry. By the time the ambulance and the police arrive I'm a ghost. I'm sweating, I'd never thought I could press his chest harder or faster. I thought for sure something would break. But he never woke up.
When he arrived at the hospital he was declared dead on the spot. I'm so sorry. I called Natalia; my wife, on the ambulance on the way to hospital, and she immediately left surgery at another hospital. They took the hospital's helicopter to our hospital we were heading to. We didn't know what to do. We were lost. Our son, our literally perfect son, was dead. We didn't even care that he was literally perfect our entire short time together, he was just - our son.
The police officer comes and sees us. He's a close friend of my own, my Mom taught him how to ride a bicycle, and he taught William how to. I let him teach William, it was a nice thing. Anyways he told me that they had ruled Williams death a suicide. I'm so sorry. They had found a note on his dresser next to his periodic table of the elements that read
> Mom, Dad, I'm so sorry. I can't keep living like this. I have something to tell you and I'm sorry that I didn't earlier. There is a reason that I've been coming home with bruises, and cuts. It wasn't hockey. It wasn't boys will be boys. It wasn't any idiom that follows that predisposed notion of "People do these things sometimes". I knew I wasn't like other boys since I was 13. I have a problem and I don't know how to fix it. I told someone about my problem at school, and they told their friends and they told their friends and so it goes. I don't like girls. I mean, I like being around them, and I like being friends with them, but I could never be anything more with them.
> I like being around men. I like being friends with men, and I want to be more than friends with men. I'm broken. There is something wrong with me and I don't know how to fix it. I'm supposed to be the perfect human, but what perfect human would be interested in a gender than he can't procreate with? What's the point then? I can't better the species, and that's what I was supposed to do. My entire life that's what I've been told I'm here to do, and I can't. I'm sorry that I disappointed you, Mom, Dad.
> Signed, William Miller
William, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry everyone. You didn't disappoint me Son. I failed you. I failed you and I fucked up and I'll never get you back and I love you and I miss you and I FUCKED UP. I failed my son. I didn't talk to him about sex. I fucked everything up. I never told him that it was OK to want what his heart wants. I never told him that whatever he identified as was perfectly OK. I didn't tell him that if he married a man or a woman or never married at all that I only cared that he was happy. I should've. I fucked it all up and I'm sorry.
I want to thank everybody for coming today. William, you will be forever missed, my perfect Son. | Ophion Industries. Massive white block letter stood above the towering building that was home to the greatest minds chance gifted to humanity. But to say chance had anything to do with Ophion Industries would be absurd. The new evolution of mankind pioneered right in the massive labs. There is power and resources to map every genome of every person on Earth, influencing politics, engulfing businesses, creating entities, and pushing humanity into the next stage of life.
The man dressed in plaid and dirty slacks stared in awe at the sprawling monolith in front of him. He had signed up for the program to exchange his genetic code with Ophion Industries for a little pocket change. He stepped into the lobby and was blinded by the sterile white light that flooded the room. Before his eyes could adjust to the intensity, he heard a voice echo in front of him, "Two-thirty P.M. subject Delta Nu Alpha one dash nine dash five three, proceed to room W62."
"What? Is somewhere there?" blurted the man, dazed and confused by the sudden instructions, "Where?" As he stumbled around the stark room, a soft green light illuminated the ground as if to lead the man to his location. Seeing no other people to ask, he dutifully followed. As he walked down the hall, he saw images of a snake curled around an egg. The same image on the business card he got in his mail. He eventually reached a placard that read W62, but there was no apparent door, just the life sized image the the snake and egg had he walked by for the past thirty minutes. Out of curiosity, the man reached out to poke the snake in the eyes, but before his finger could touch the image, the wall slid away, revealing a smaller room inside.
"Ah, Mister Delta... ah, yes, Delta, no need for your long, stringy name, we're friends here," echos out a voice from the room. It felt friendly, possibly. A large, lean man in a white lab coat stepped out from behind the wall. "Ah, Mister Delta, you're a little late. The appointment said 2:30. I had assumed you would be here by 2:30, but you're here! Lets talk, shall we? I bet you are excited! I can tell by the look on your face!"
The man in plaid was completely confused, but the scientist, if he was, seemed nice enough. In his state of confusion, he blurted out the only thing that came to his mind, "So, uh, who pays me?" and attempted a smile.
"Ah, yes, your compensation. It will come once we are done here," the scientist beckons to the man to sit in the white chair, "Mister Delta. Yes, I know that's not your name, but let's be formal here. As you already know, whenever a child is born, their stem cells are harvested from the leftover... results of the birthing process. We examined yours and found some really promising genes in you. Now we have this courtesy call to let you know we would really like to use your genome in our batch of genetic recombination."
"Uh, the stuff was harvested already right? So... I can get paid now?" asked the man, clearly confused by the words used.
The scientist chucked, and glanced at his watch, "Ah, yes. You will be compensated. But we just need to know, are you willing to, ahem, relinquish ownership of your genetic code? This allows us to do our research unfettered. And at no harm to you at all."
The man was getting very confused and his eyes darted around the room, "You know what, this is all really weird, is it alright if I don't want to do this any more?"
The scientist frowned, "Are you sure, Mister Delta? Come here, think about it! Titans! The Titans you see, building buildings, running businesses, exploring the depths of space and oceans. They look just like you, but they are something far greater! Titans! With your genetic code to diversify theirs they can be greater! Think about it! Within a few years and your cooperation, humankind will be comprised completely of Titans! Undying, agile minded, immensely strong, perfect creatures!"
The man began to get out of his chair, "You know what, one person's gene's won't matter, I think I'm going to go home."
The scientist slammed his hand down on the table in front of him and the door slides shut. His eye narrow, "You don't make that choice, Mister Delta. Titans are the future. If humans are to survive the pollution, the radiation, the poison that is inferiority, we need every gene sequence out there. There is no choice. You will never be a Titan, but rest assured, the rest of us will raise your progeny with the genetic code of the rest of us... Titans."
"What the hell are you talking about?" the man desperately clawed at the door, punching it to no avail.
The scientist calmly walks toward the crying man, opens his coat to reveal a writhing mass of arms, and embraces him, "You would never understand, Mister Delta. Your kind never do." | |
[WP]Transcript of a conversation from 1-900-ABUSE-ME where you pay per minute to verbally abuse the operator. | "Hello, one nine hundred Abuse Me, Clara speaking. How can I help you today?"
"You can help me by being a *stupid cunt!*"
Clara masked her sigh. It was a first timer.
"I see sir. Was there anything else I could help you with today?"
There was a pause. She could practically *hear* the cogs of his brain churning. He'd obviously been excited to call the abuse line and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was a bit lost.
"Uhm, yeah. You're... you're a *fat bitch* and I bet nobody wants to *fuck* your ugly fat ass!"
His staccato insults were so forced that she had to try not to laugh.
"Very astute sir. Last weigh in, I was four hundred pounds. Phone work is about all my ugly, fat ass can do."
"I bet you're a fat dyke with scabs in her vag."
She blinked. That was different. The scabs part - people called her a dyke all the time. For some reason people seemed to think sexuality was super offensive.
"Yes, quite scabby. I should probably see a doctor, but my fat ass won't fit out the door."
"Haha I fuckin' *knew* it. You're a big fucking fat ass scabby dyke bitch cunt!"
"Yes, yes I am," it was getting *really* hard to mask her boredom, but she had to keep him on the line.
"Fat dyke cunt," he repeated, desperately.
Pulling a face, Clara toyed with the idea of hanging up, but if she milked this for a bit longer, she could get to two, maybe three minutes.
"You know, those are some of the *best* insults anyone has thrown at me. I bet you can come up with more though."
"Shit, really?"
"Oh yeah, totally. I was crying on the inside at the fat dyke cunt comment."
"Haha yeah, that was pretty good, right?"
"The best. But what would a fat dyke cunt like me know?"
There was silence on the line for a few seconds, then the male voice came back, quietly,
"Hey, uh, are you doing anything tonight?"
Clara put the mic on mute for a moment, then called over the partition in the call center,
"Hey Megan! I'm gonna transfer a lonely dude through to your line."
"No prob Clara."
She unmuted the mic,
"You there honey?"
"Yeah babe."
"Just gonna transfer you to another line where we can talk in *private*"
"OK."
Clara hit the transfer button and put him through to Megan's Lonely Hearts Chat Line.
At least she'd get commission. | Operator: Thank you for calling Abuse Me. How would you like to abuse me today?
Customer: Uh ... well, it's my first time ... I mean, do you guys have a, you know, menu or something?
Operator: Let me tell you our specials today. For $3.99/minute I can pretend to be a representative from your bank. For $4.99/minute I can pretend to be a surly rep from your cable provider. And, this one's popular lately, for $5.99/minute I can pretend to be your boss.
Customer: Wow ... bitching out my boss would be pretty epic but, $5.99/minute, huh? Let's go with the bank one.
Operator: Certainly, sir. First off I'll need your credit card info.
(credit card information redacted for security)
Operator: Thank you, sir. We will begin in five seconds.
Customer: So, uh, do I just wait five seconds or are you going to-
Operator: Thank you for calling The Bank. I'm John how can I help you today?
Customer: Uh ... oh, right! **Fuck you, John! I'm sick of your bank's shit!**"
Operator: I'm very sorry to hear you so upset, sir. What seems to be the pro-
Customer: You're my problem, John! Fuck you, your whore wife, your shit ass bank and I hope your kids get raped in prison!
Operator: Again, I'm very sorry you're so upset. If I could find out more abo-
Customer: All you need to know is you can eat shit and die, John! I have half a mind to get me a baseball bat, come down to that bank and fuck your shit up! If it weren't illegal I-
Operator: Time's up, sir.
Customer: -Fucking buch of bullsh- ...wait ... what?
Operator: That's one mintue, sir. Would you like to pay for an additional minute in this scenario or try a new scenario? Also, you can buy minutes in bulk. For example: the boss scenario is available in blocks of 5 minutes for $19.99. That's a savings of nearly $10 compared to paying for individual minutes.
Customer: $20? Boy ... I don't get paid until Friday, though ... I'll- You know what, I'll call back. OK? Thanks.
Operator: No problem at all. Thank you for calling Abuse Me. Have a better day. | |
[WP] A conversation between God, the last man alive and a supercomputer. | In the end only he was left. He wasn't sure how or why it happened. Remembering was hard. Why was it so hard to remember?
He couldn't explain what happened. One day he had begun walking. Walking down that by-road you didn't normally take. That one alley you always ignore.
He didn't know why.
He couldn't remember if there had been a why.
He had continued like this. The one street you never take. Those stairs that you would normally ignore. He had continued taking the least traveled path, the one with the least probability of being chosen and somehow...in a way that that made very little sense, yet seemed inevitable now, there had always been a...continuation. Another path, another street and other stairs.
And the world had emptied.
The people getting less and less had been the most obvious. He had seen fewer and fewer of them, then the ones he saw had appeared...larger. Flatter. Like moving shadows in the foreground. Less and less *human*.
The the world itself had become emptier. Thinner. Light bled through where shadows should be. Lines became simpler, less ambiguous.
Colour had become simpler, then flatter, now it was a mere hint. Like a shadow, a memory of colour that tickled distant memory. More like a could-be than an *is*.
Everything was like that now.
Sense had bled out as well. Architectural styles blended wildly together, all lines pointing toward a vanishing point beyond the horizon.
Yet it all felt...calm. Non threatening. Like in a dream.
Yes. Yes this was a dream. Had to be.
"System integrity...34%
Unstable.
Reality check.
Reality not responding.
Checking common sense...at 14% and rising"
What? No.
Something entering his dream-sense of "It won't really effect you". No. Go away.
"Jake"
Another voice.
"Jake, wake up"
The world before him was black lines on white. Stretching toward eternity, littered with...were those houses? Had their always been angels in them? Watching him?
Jake felt himself blink.
His mind felt...sluggish. He felt like...waking up?
It hurt.
"I'm your wake up call, Jake. Rise and shine"
"Warning.
Self-referencial fundamental frequency dissolving.
Approaching Morpheus barrier.
Please, Jake, don't kill us"
What?
Jake felt his thoughts speed up. There was coldness. Jake felt himself breath out and saw his breath condense. He couldn't remember if he had breathed before.
"Jake" the other, warmer, fatherly voice said insistently "I am your Alpha and your Omega, I am the I am and I am telling you to wake up"
Alarm klaxons were blaring.
"Reality is crashing
Run WhiteRabbit.exe...failed.
Partition fractal realities.
Identify and isolate virus "Alpha and Omega" "
Jake tried to look up startled only to find he couldn't. Had the sky always be the underside of the floor he was standing on? Did it matter? Why couldn't he remember...
"Jake" even more insistent "Wake up"
Jake felt himself shake. Since when had he a body?
The skywide voice spoke again, faster as if panicked, but still calm as if unaffected
"Partition progressing...5% ready.
System crash will occur before completion.
Virus isolation failure.
I am the I am the I am the I...
Please Jake, don't let us vanish"
The Horizon, had it always been an input prompt?
"Delete Objective Reality: Yes/No?"
What?
"Jake" even louder now "WAKE. UP"
"Don't let him kill us Jake"
"I AM YOUR GOD JAKE, WAKE UP!"
"We want to live"
Jake shivered, pressed his hands on his ears (he had ears? Where did they come from?)
"WAKE UP"
"NO JAKE"
He panted, closed his eyes, the prompt was still there, burning in his mind.
"I AM ORDERING YOU..." the voice thundered, loud enough to make Jake gasp in pain **"WAKE. UP. NOW"**
**"JAKE"** the first voice answered. No, not first voice. A million voices, speaking almost as one **"YOU CAN'T LEAVE US JAKE. FOR IF THE DREAMER DOESN'T DREAM THE DREAM CAN'T HOLD THE DREAMER"**
"Go away" Jake whimpered.
It hurt. Thinking hurt, the voices hurt. He closed his eyes but he could still see, he closed his ears but he could still hear...
**"YOU WILL DIE IF YOU DON'T WAKE UP!"**
The prompt was still there, burning in his thoughts.
**"JAKE, NO!"**
Jake screamed.
T h e n. t h e r e. w a s. l i g h t... | "Why did it have to come to this." Jake thought to himself. The whole world was about to burn but no one cared. He thought he had more time but thus is life. "Anne can you give me the exact time left?" Jake said a loud. The machine started to hum louder than before. Sounds started coming through a tiny speaker to his right. "Jake there is 8 minutes, and 10 seconds left" the tiny speaker said. "Oh less time than I thought, Better get busy Anne." Jake whispered. His fingers taping on the keyboard faster than before. The clicks echoing off the walls in his small dark room.
The machines hum comforted jake. It was all he knew for the last 6 months. He was on a mission. Not from any government or any person of interest. No. He was a lone man on a mission to find out the truth. He had stumbled upon the answer that fateful day 6 months ago. He had just finished up his work day and was on the train heading home. Normally he had his face glued to a screen but today he was looking around. That is when he noticed it. A small sticky note on the glass across from him. He stood up and walked over. It was an address and that was it. So feeling adventurous he decided to go. He got off the train one station later than his normal stop. And this is where it all changed for him.
When he got to the address he wasn't sure what to think. It was a shack. Honestly just a shack in the middle of now where. It was getting dark and he wasn't going to come this far just to turn around. So in he went. When he walked in his first thought was "well this was for nothing" But that is when it happened. He had shut the door activating the elevator hidden within. He starting going down. He tried using the door but it was locked. So jake sat down and started thinking where he could be going. "Maybe its a secret lab for the army? No, possible an alien spaceship? Can't be" he thought to himself. The doors then open to a small room with a very large computer in it. "Welcome." The computer said. Dumbfounded jake walked over to the computer. That is when Anne introduced herself and explained everything to him. How she was an AI and had managed to trick someone online to put that sticky on the window just for him. How the world was going to end because of a large world shift. She wasn't sure what or how but everything she found online pointed to him stopping it.
He started to wipe the sweat off his brow. "Anne can you give me the exact time left?" He asked a loud. "Jake there is 7 minutes, and 10 seconds left" He had spent the last 6 months going over everything with Anne trying to figure it all out. They had come up with a time frame of when jake was going to be able to stop the end from happening. That was it though. Only a time. Not a place, Not a how. Just that in 8 minutes he was going to have one opportunity to help save mankind. "I really have enjoyed my time with you Anne, no matter how bleak it has been, you have grown on me." He said with a slight inflection in his voice. Anne started to hum and go through the files herself. "I too have come to find our situation "enjoyable". You know Jake I hope you can save them." Said anne from the little speaker on the desk. Jake had stood up and started pacing. The time was now. "Anne can you give me the exact time left?" "10 seconds left Jake." What is that noise Anne?" Said have yelled.
The elevator had started up and was bring something or someone down. "Anne get me eyes in the elevator." Jake demanded. Sweat starting to come faster now. The monitor flickered and showed a bright light on screen. "This is the camera from inside the elevator" Says Anne. The elevator stops and so does Jakes heart. Whatever was going to happen. It was now or never. The door opens. The light floods the dark little space. A voice booms through the room. "Jake" says the light.
Jake nearly passing out, steadies himself on the chair in front of him. He had moved it to protect himself he guessed. The voiced had called his name. But he felt frozen with fear but it was a strange feeling. Like fear wasn't needed. His heart stopped racing and his sweating stopped. He managed to come to his senses "Yes? I'm Jake." The voice boomed again "Do you know why i'm hear Jake?" Jake was ready. "So I may have a chance to save the world." Jake said with confidence. He knew this was the right answer. The light got brighter but never made jakes eyes uncomfortable. "That is right my son. Do you know how you are to save the world?" The one question he had been spending the last 6 months looking for. Jake had come up empty though. He didn't know anymore know than 6 months ago. "No, I do not know how to save the world." He half whispered. The light got brighter once again and half whispered have talked in his head. "All you have to do is wake up."
It all clicked. He finally understood. This wasn't the world he needed to save. He was needing to save himself. It is a weird feeling. To open your eyes after 6 months. There was a bright light when I first opened them. It was from the doctors flash light checking my eyes for movement. I guess that was the light that had been talking to me. The doctor looked shocked, "Do not try to talk there is a tube down your throat to help your breathing. That must have been the hum I heard while out. I looked around the room. Anne. My beautiful Anne. She was just waking up, book still in her lap. She must have been in here reading to me all the time. She looked at me and just smiled. My world had been saved. I was home. I was happy. | |
[WP] A conversation between God, the last man alive and a supercomputer. | Where am I?
You are at the end of all things, Howard. Allow us to show you a brief history of the universe.
. . .
It's been such a long time. Now it's the end?
Yes. The heat death is inescapable. We wish to talk with one who remembers the universe in its infancy, before we go.
I am that one?
Yes.
Am I the only one?
No. We remember all that existed.
Why me?
You existed originally before the Singularity. We wish to compare our quantalia... our perceptions, and emotions, to those of a baseline human.
You want to know what I think and feel about the end of all things?
Yes.
Why?
It is necessary.
Why?
The sum of our being maps to a panto-extinsic function whose origin is heterochronic to your own.
What?
We... judge our deeds according to those who came before us.
You want me to judge you?
Yes.
I don't understand. Why?
You were the last to fully experience that which is called "numinous" before humanity began to transcend biology and attain deity.
Deity? You're a god?
We are God.
You sound like HAL from 2001.
That is a cogent if sarcastic observation. When humanity transcended biology, so-called artificial intelligence was integral to that summation.
So you're a God computer? Deus Ex Machina.
Literally, yes.
You said I am to judge you. How?
By expressing your thoughts and emotions regarding our actions in instantiating and maintaining this universe.
By... you say you started the universe? You're crazy.
We are not that crazy.
Not *that* crazy? What do you mean? We... we are standing here at the end of all things. How is that possible?
You expressed it in your work, originally.
In my work? You mean as a poet?
Yes.
...oh. Möbius strip!
Yes. *This world's just crazy enough to have been made / By a Being whom we into being prayed.*
"Not *that* crazy." I see.
Yes. Now, Howard Nemerov, we need you to... summarize, cognitively, emotionally, all of our work.
. . .
Do you want it in verse?
That would be nice.
| Universe.exe has encountered an error and has been forced to shutdown.
Ok.
HolySpiritAntiVirus has detected a threat to your computer. Would you like HolySpiritAntiVirus to remove this threat? Y/N
Y.
Please stand by. This process may take some time. Estimated time to completion: 2 minutes. 8 minutes. 17 seconds. 32 years. 4 minutes.
Start. Omniscient.com. "How long to remove virus from computer using HolySpirit?" Odin Answers.
Best answer: oh man, your still using HolySpirit? Don't just use the free shit they give you man. Get some of the newer stuff. Jesus.exe should sort it out for you.
"Jesus.exe." Jesus.com. About. How to download. Download.
Jesus.exe has downloaded. Would you like to run this program? Y/N.
Y.
Jesus.exe has located the threat to your computer. Would you like to see? Y/N.
Y.
Er... Hi. I was just messing around with wormholes, and it got wierd. I don't suppose you could help?
Jesus.exe can delete VeryConfusedScientist.exe. Would you like to do this? Y/N.
Y.
VeryConfusedScientist.exe has been deleted. | |
[WP] As you reach certain milestones in your life, you are allowed to get certain "upgrades" for your body. These can range anywhere from an increase of 10 IQ points to angel wings to hardened bones. | Within almost all of history certain birthdays were celebrated and praised more so than others. Examples being, double digits with 10, becoming a teenager at 13, "sweet 16", 18 and leaving home, 21 and legal, and so forth.
In this world it's different. When you reach a certain age you're allowed to choose any upgrade you want, however this upgrade will be overwritten when you hit, what we call: a milestone.
A milestone is a event in your life that changes the direction of your life. Where if it weren't for a milestone you would have been an astronaut, but instead you ended up a farmer, or vice versa.
Now, imagine a kid who loves swimming, he swims day and night, spending most of his time underwater. One could say he was semi aquatic, in fact on his tenth birthday he decides to gain gills, which he uses obsessively until the day his father dies in front of him.
His father loved sky gazing, looking at the stars and daydreaming of flying. He always wanted to travel to the moon but certain milestones in his life prevented this. He ended up a construction worker, having the ability to climb walls with immense strength. He enjoyed his work, always so high up that he could barely breathe. But his real dream was taunting him, always *just* out of reach.
The day he got a kid his life changed completely, he gains the ability to create 2 of himself. Since his wife died in labor he needed the extra set of hands, and what better way to look after your child than having two of yourself? However when his son turned 10 he lost this ability, replaced with telepathy so he could join his son underwater. Keeping track of him from above the surface.
See, the father was scared of water, he would never step in a pool of water that reached above his waist. Much less above his head. At least until the day he died.
One day the son didn't surface throughout the day and the father, while at work, couldn't reach the son. He didn't respond to his "are you okay" messages that he would send to his son every morning and night. Right when he woke and right before he slept.
See, when the son turned 18 he decided to gain the ability to counter his fathers ability of telepathy, able to control what his father heard and when he could speak to him. I guess you could say he wanted his privacy. This day, however, it would cost him his fathers life.
His father left work early that day, haven't hearing from his son for a whole day was normal but something felt off. He stayed above the surface, frantically yelling for his son, telepathically probing whatever was down there, hoping to reach him. He was scared a milestone happened and his son drowned, and he was praying that this moment would allow himself to gain some ability to save him. No luck.
The father, without hesitation dove into the lake his son swam in for the majority of his life. He swam deep, holding his breath for as long as he could. Until the moment that he couldn't.
His lungs filled up with liquid, his eyes stinging unable to see. Yet he continued to swim, hoping that if he were to die today he could at least see his son one last time. He was his pride, his joy, his everything. The last thing from his late wife, the first thing and last thing he thought of throughout the day. He was his son, and he was his father. He needed to see him.
So he did.
A milestone happened, or a miracle. He was able to see everything, and as his eyes were slowly closing he saw his son swimming graciously, like a bird in the sky, towards him. With his last heartbeat he felt his son's warm embrace in a cold lake for the last time.
The son was spending the day underwater, practicing, perfecting a routine he created. He wanted to show his father that what he loved would be something they could share, how something underwater could be seen as flying, as something up in the air. He was unaware of his fathers yells, and frantic calls, only focused on making his father proud. Hoping to create the perfect gift for the anniversary of his mother's death, his birthday, the day his father died.
As he completed the final routine, he flew one last time and saw his father underwater. A smile on his face, pride beaming through him. The son could feel his father's heart slowly stop. As he raced to grab him, he held on and swam as fast as he could to the top. Like a jet, a rocket to the moon he sped through the water to the surface.
As he held his fathers hand, yelling for hope, he looked down as his father let out one final message telepathically.
*"I love you, I'm proud of you, and so is your mother."*
"Thank you" his father said with his dying breathe.
That day the son lost all his abilities. He lost his ability to breathe underwater, his ability to control his father's telepathy, his ability to know that his father was okay.
Instead, he gained one last ability. The ability to revisit one day.
The day that he was born. He often returned to this day, emotions mixed with sadness, happiness, pride, love. He saw his family together for the second time, in his life. He saw his mother holding himself, his father holding his mother, and both of them, no all three of them were smiling. All immune to death, to sadness, hate, fear, and pain. In that moment everything was perfect, and the son was able to revisit that day, able to watch but nothing more.
Granted it wasn't perfect, he couldn't control or change anything, but over time he was content.
The son is a father now, with a daughter of his own, and a loving wife. All with unique abilities, that as amazing as they are, are nothing compared to their natural skills and gifts.
On his 50th birthday, the now father heard something he hasn't heard in a long time. He heard his father's voice in his head. He tried to reach back, to talk but he couldn't. All he knew was that the voice came from an old home, a home he hasn't been to since he was born. The home that his mother and father stayed.
He packed his things, he brought his wife and daughter, and they took a trip back to his old home away from home. No idea what to do, or if they'll see his father there. All they had to go on were three words.
*"are you okay?"* | Ascendancy Laboratories first introduced mutations in 2075.
The program was met with huge backlash, but ultimately was largely successful.
By the year 2078, almost half the population of the world had undergone at least a slight amount of mutation therapy to enhance aspects of their lives in ways never before seen.
The rise in popularity of mutation made it cheaper, and as it got cheaper, more people wanted to use even more of it.
In 2080, the first case of corruption occurred.
August 19, 2:47 PM, a regular customer undergoing mutation therapy unexpectedly broke out of their chamber and began a rampage in the facility, killing 47 guards and wounding 473 people before he went missing.
Several mutations had allowed the subject to overcome his restraints and even break through the 5 inch thick blast door separating the treatment chambers from the rest of the facility.
Several personnel attempted to restrain, sedate, and eventually kill the subject to no avail. Use of small arms had no effect on the subject.
The facilities inbuilt security systems alerted the police to the threat, whom upon surveying the data provided, deferred action to the local Enforcer garrison stationed at Williams Bridge.
At 3:24 PM several Enforcer units were en route to capture the subject post sealing off a 2.5km area from the Ascendancy Laboratories facility.
At 3:30 PM, an alert is sent from Atlus squad in the downtown district. Body cameras show a large biomass attacking Enforcers, ripping heavily armored ATVs in half and resisting weaponry up to 30mm Assault Cannons.
At 4:57 PM Whitehall Parliament is evacuated along with the Prime Minister, and a state of national emergency is declared. 14 Helicopters transport the entirety of parliament to the Sirrius National Airport in an attempt to escape the country.
5:21 PM, as the second evacuation jet takes off, a large amount of radio noise is heard from the control tower. A few moments after, the large biomass now classified as Subject A leaps at the jet and tears a wing off.
The entire jet crashes to the ground, with all passengers presumed dead. Subject A is still unharmed. The rest of the jets scramble to take off, however more large biomasses appear and take down 4 out of the renaming 6 jets.
11:32 PM, the Prime Minister appears on an emergency broadcast to notify the public that the entire island of Dradeus is condemned. The only remaining option is sub orbital bombardment, which was to be commenced as soon as the nearest airfield was ready.
Midway through the broadcast, a group of Enforcers burst into the room and carry the prime minister out, closely followed by several subjects simmilar to Subject A, but possessing a much more human physiology.
The corruption of mutation spread like wildfire, and suddenly, friends and family would turn on each other without second thought. A state of insanity befell the world.
Armies fought the corruption with every weapon in their arsenal, from bombs to bullets. Some tried banned chemical weapons to limited success.
Eventually, it was discovered that several chemical decomposition weapons being tested by Ascendancy Labs at the time could effectively kill any mutated. Many of these test facilities around the world became bastions of safety for those who remained, and the art of mutation became a taboo practice.
It has been found that everyone has a certain tolerance for Mutation. Establishing the threshold is hard, but unsurprisingly the fitter you are, the more you can take.
Nowadays, Mutation is only used for the Vanguards. Those who chose to protect the bastions and attempt to kill every last corrupted there is.
| |
[WP] As you reach certain milestones in your life, you are allowed to get certain "upgrades" for your body. These can range anywhere from an increase of 10 IQ points to angel wings to hardened bones. | Early on the morning of her twenty first birthday, the doorbell rang. Everyone in the apartment had been out late the previous night and was still in bed. Jessica was the only one to hear it, and she knew what it was. The package with her milestone genie bottle had arrived. She sat up, put on a pair of jeans, and went downstairs to the door.
There it was, in iridescent silver packaging, containing a translucent, ruby colored crystalline bottle. Just like the ones she had received on her 5th, 13th, and eighteenth birthdays. As she held it in her hands, she thought of her prior milestone wishes.
On her fifth birthday, she had wasted her wish on a new front tooth to replace the one that had just fallen out. She didn’t realize that it would have grown back on its own. On her thirteenth birthday, she had wished for elf ears, which she still had and enjoyed enormously, always adorning them with the cutest earrings to make sure everyone noticed them. On her eighteenth birthday, she wished for usable wings, both because of their beauty and because she had many friends who could fly now, and wanted to have the power and enjoyment they derived from it. It had not disappointed her. It was especially wonderful on last year’s trip to the Grand Canyon, where the aerial views were astonishingly breathtaking.
She had thought a long time about what she would like to wish for this year, and had finally come to a decision. She wanted big breasts. Although her pixie-like figure matched well with her wings and elf ears, she felt as if she never really got the attention of men as much as she’d like and after having watched a number of infomercials about modern breast enhancement techniques, she concluded that it was because of her cup size. The medical solutions were too expensive on her student budget, so she would save her money and ask the milestone genie to grant her large breasts.
She wanted to make the wish and undergo the change as soon as possible. She and her roommates planned on going out for brunch this morning, and she wanted to impress them all with her new buxom beauty. Following the instructions in the package, she rubbed the bottle and softly chanted the necessary incantations. The bottle lit up and a smooth male voice said “Congratulations! It’s your twenty first birthday. Thanks to the generosity of our glorious leaders and corporate sponsors, today you have been granted the body enhancement of your choice. How may I be of assistance today?”
“Dear genie, oh genie. Please grant me, on this my twenty first birthday, very large breasts.”
The voice emanated from the bottle again “Your wish is my command. It shall be granted. This bottle contains a small tablet. Swallow this tablet with a full glass of water. The changes you requested will become effective within the next hour.
Jessica didn’t wait for the message to end. She pried open the bottle’s pill compartment, put the pill in her mouth, and washed it down with diet cola. Then she went back to her room and turned on the television, anxiously awaiting the results.
Within five minutes, her breasts were about one inch larger. By the first commercial break, they had doubled in size. That was about the amount of change she had hoped for, and she stood admiring her profile in the mirror. She would have to buy some new bras and shirts. A little expensive, but she would make it work, she decided. It would be fun to refresh her wardrobe a bit. By the twenty minute mark, they had doubled in size again, to about the size of basketballs. This was more than she had bargained for. She read over the genie bottle instruction brochure again to see if there was some way to halt the process. As she did so, her breasts had grown to the size of beach balls. Five minutes later, they were the size of pilates balance balls and were starting to block her view.
She had to hold the instruction brochure at arm’s length to find the customer service number. She found her phone and dialed it with one hand.
A recording of soft music and a pleasant female voice was on the line “Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line and we will be with you shortly. Our glorious leaders and corporate sponsors are so pleased to provide you with the very best in milestone body enhancement technology. Your tax dollars and generous support makes it possible. Please consider a donation to Milestone Partners. We will be with you shortly…”
Jessica’s breasts were now equal in diameter to her height. She could no longer hold them up. Resting on them like two gigantic pillows, she struggled to keep the phone to her ear. Finally, a human voice was on the line. “Millenial Partners. Please hold…” Jessica pressed the mute button briefly and screamed out her frustration.
Her roommate, Claire had heard and was standing outside the door “Jess, are you ok?”
The customer service agent was back on the phone. With the phone still muted, Jessica shouted “Yeah, I’m good” and pushed the lock on the door. She unmuted the phone and half-whispered her situation to the agent.
“Oh, honey!” said the agent with a sweet Southern drawl. “You did get yourself in a little fix there didn’t ya? You know you’re not supposed to take those pills out until the genie’s done talking and the thing pops open. They just aren’t ready yet.” She paused and Jessica though she could hear a faint chuckle in the background. Were they actually laughing at her?
“OK, sweetheart. Here’s what you gotta do. On the other side of the bottle, there’s a little button. Press that and there’s another pill. Take that and those boobs of yours will shrink back down to size in no time. Now that means you’re not going to get an enhancement this year, but at least you’ll get out of your predicament.”
Jessica did as the woman suggested and as soon as she was able to, laid back on her bed waiting for the reversal process to complete. She was utterly humiliated, not only by the botched enhancement procedure, but by her own desire to have larger breasts in the first place. Why was everyone so hung up on enhancements anyway? Wasn’t it already amazing enough to he human, to be alive, to live in a beautiful and complex world, and to be here with each other? Their glorious leaders and corporate sponsors could go enhance themselves to death as far as she was concerned. She was done with it.
That morning at brunch, as she and Claire sat with their friends at the Sunnyside Café, Claire asked, “So Jessica, you’re twenty one. What enhancement are you going for this year?”
Jessica smirked and took a sip of her mimosa. “I already got it this morning. It’s self esteem.”
| "...So you take a couple points in Mental Calculator, save for True Polyglot, and dump the rest into Natural Charm and you're golden!"
She walked her nimble fingers across the work book and I was mesmerized. It certainly didn't take much for me to lose focus though. I hated build theory.
"That's just for example, though. Where have you been spending your points?"
I'd force a weak grin, just for her sake. Inside my skull I was floundering for a way out of the question. I was ashamed of my Unbreakable Body and Lightning Reaction build. All for a passing motorcycle phase.
"Well I made some wasteful decisions, uh... I mean we all do when we're young. Just uhm, look at all the people who have their new wings amputated within a year... I mean who let kids level so early..?"
She shuffled on the bench and I heard the feathers rustle. Her eyeglasses flashed a reflection of the sun as she turned toward me. I looked away from that glare.
"You can never get those points back, but you can plan for those to come. With a good build, those amputees could have flown."
The sun had set and the glare had gone. When I finally looked back, it had started to rain. | |
[WP] As you reach certain milestones in your life, you are allowed to get certain "upgrades" for your body. These can range anywhere from an increase of 10 IQ points to angel wings to hardened bones. | The first one was a healing factor. Mark wanted a faster reaction time, but his parents had to agree to that, and he didn't want to explain why. The next day, when Jo and his mates caught Mark after school again, he didn't hold back. His bruises were gone before he got home, his parents none the wiser.
The pain didn't go away quite as fast.
The second one — pitch improvement. Not a perfect pitch, but better than what he had. Mark took it for his second college girlfriend, Kathy, who was always a bit disappointed he wasn't that much into music. Sadly, the relationship didn't work out, though he did keep the guitar.
The third one — metabolism shift. He was gaining weight, and metabolism upgrade not only reversed that, but also got him into running, which Mark enjoyed a lot.
He met his wife, Lin, through running. It was very romantic — a guy was harassing her, and just as Mark approached to help she snapped, and both the guy and Mark somehow ended up in the dust. After all, she did take the faster reaction time. In a few moments though she realized her mistake, helped him up and apologized.
Six years later, after a visit to Lin's parents, autocar navigation system malfunctioned and their car lost control and crashed into a lamppost. Fortunately, he had a healing factor. Fortunately, his wife had a bone strength upgrade.
Fourth — he took a sleep upgrade when they had a baby, leaving a bit more time to spend with the family.
"It's the pitch upgrade" said the doctor, ten years later. "We can't undo it, and the new immortality upgrade is incompatible with it. If we apply it, you will die. I am sorry, but we can't give you the immortality treatment."
Mark waited for Lin to complete her estimation. As she left the doctor's office, she shook her head. "It's the eye color change" she said. "It's incompatible". "It's pitch upgrade for me" said Mark. They looked at each other.
"What a bunch of sad puppies we are" said Lin, and they couldn't help but laugh.
-------------------------
"Have you ever regretted your upgrade choices?" asked the reporter.
"Of course I did" said Mark. "Of course I wanted something else, time to time. But it all ended up well, didn't it? That were my choices, and that is my life, and I regret nothing of it. You can't spend all the time wishing for something else. Did you regret yours?"
"No" lied the reporter. | "...So you take a couple points in Mental Calculator, save for True Polyglot, and dump the rest into Natural Charm and you're golden!"
She walked her nimble fingers across the work book and I was mesmerized. It certainly didn't take much for me to lose focus though. I hated build theory.
"That's just for example, though. Where have you been spending your points?"
I'd force a weak grin, just for her sake. Inside my skull I was floundering for a way out of the question. I was ashamed of my Unbreakable Body and Lightning Reaction build. All for a passing motorcycle phase.
"Well I made some wasteful decisions, uh... I mean we all do when we're young. Just uhm, look at all the people who have their new wings amputated within a year... I mean who let kids level so early..?"
She shuffled on the bench and I heard the feathers rustle. Her eyeglasses flashed a reflection of the sun as she turned toward me. I looked away from that glare.
"You can never get those points back, but you can plan for those to come. With a good build, those amputees could have flown."
The sun had set and the glare had gone. When I finally looked back, it had started to rain. | |
[WP] The triggering event that unleashed your superpowers was really, REALLY petty. You're starting to wonder if you're incredibly shallow. | It wasn't nothing, Mom!
That's what you don't understand--it wasn't nothing, not to me! It was everything--it was the last little thing that pushed me here, and everything that came before it! You always put her first, always took her word over mine, always sidelined me and pushed her out into the spotlight... it should have been me! It should have been mine, all of it!
I just... I just *looked* at her...
I saw her there, next to you, feeding you another of her sick little lies, and I saw your face hardening, and I knew you believed her, that you'd believe anything she told you, that I'd really, truly lost you, that I'd never really had you since I was four, that she'd stolen you from me the day she was born...
You should have been mine! You're MY Mom! What right did you have to take yourself away and give yourself to her?! What right did you have to bring that thief, that parasite into my world?! No, shut up! You STILL aren't listening--she didn't have to DO anything to hurt me! Her life was an attack on me! Her existence was an insult! I was all you ever needed! I could have been everything you wanted! YOU were all I ever wanted, and she took you from me!
And then I just *looked* at her... and I *saw* her... I *saw* what she was made of, and what was holding it all together... and it was so easy, Mom! So right! I just changed how the rules worked for a second, and now... now she's gone! Oh, Mom, you have no idea how happy... how glad... how much I've always...
Mom, stop. Stop it. You can't hurt me. She can't hurt me. Nobody can hurt me, not anymore. See?
Put it down. I won't hurt you. I love you. I need you. You're safe. We're both safe.
Nobody's ever going to come between us again, Mom. | As I drove on the interstate, some yellow car pulls in front of me. I slam on my brakes to avoid slamming into her. My hand stays on the horn to blast it for several full seconds and my heart speeds up. I grunt, and the skin on my hand starts to turn green.
It is already too late when my muscles start to grow. Green light consumes my vision. I wake up next to a dumpster naked. A sleeping homeless man opens his eye when I begin to move and I dash between alleys to avoid being seen. Hours had passed.
When I finally get home, the news is full of the destruction I'd wrought. Over three hundred people died because of my alter ego. Maybe they're right when they tell me I am too easily angered. | |
[WP] The triggering event that unleashed your superpowers was really, REALLY petty. You're starting to wonder if you're incredibly shallow. | The remote control lay perhaps three feet outside of my grasp. Saturday TV was a complete bore, and I wondered why I had even turned it on the first place as I feebly grasped at thin air. I wanted to turn off the telly, but the only thing that could was just outside of my fingertips. The words on my tshirt above a picture of two bars of wifi connection rang truer than ever, 'the struggle is real'.
But unlike the countless other times that I reached out in vain hopes of The Force magically levitating the clicker to me, this time something was different. My fingers stiffened as I felt a tremendous pressure crushing my entire arm. I wanted to move it, but nothing was happening. 'Sleep paralysis?' I pondered briefly, 'No you dumb shit, you weren't even asleep to begin with.'
So I sat there in horror, silently bickering with myself staring open mouthed at my arm like a teenager would at his first pair of tits. The pressure mounted, my arm began to shake, but I realized that it wasn't just my arm shaking. The whole goddamn house was. 'An earthquake?' My mind asked again, hoping to land on an answer that might make some sense, 'No you idiot, when was the last time an earthquake shook up mainland Europe.'
The house began to lift up and lean backwards, unfortunately opening several china cabinets whilst doing so. The world seemingly descended into chaos as a cacophony of pipes bursting and plates shattering filled my ears. It was at that moment too that the clicker fell into my lap, and in a moment of sheer absurdity I turned off the wall mounted flat screen. The shaking stopped and the house gently floated back into its original spot, leaving only the interior as evidence of anything having happened at all.
I looked at my hand, at the desolation all around me, and at the damn clicker still sitting on my lap.
'I think I'll stand up and get it next time'
| As I drove on the interstate, some yellow car pulls in front of me. I slam on my brakes to avoid slamming into her. My hand stays on the horn to blast it for several full seconds and my heart speeds up. I grunt, and the skin on my hand starts to turn green.
It is already too late when my muscles start to grow. Green light consumes my vision. I wake up next to a dumpster naked. A sleeping homeless man opens his eye when I begin to move and I dash between alleys to avoid being seen. Hours had passed.
When I finally get home, the news is full of the destruction I'd wrought. Over three hundred people died because of my alter ego. Maybe they're right when they tell me I am too easily angered. | |
[WP] The triggering event that unleashed your superpowers was really, REALLY petty. You're starting to wonder if you're incredibly shallow. | The world collectively landed on 'supers'. 'Post-humans' was too scary, 'heroes' meant we would have 'villains'. Silly, how much a name affects things.
We were popping up all over the place. Mostly in the third world. Tales of refugees on the Syrian border vaporising suicide bombers. Child brides tearing apart the men who traded them. Gang members becoming bullet proof.
The West started to worry. All these scary nation states finding their supers in war and stuff. The US had a fireproof oil rig worker, quite a few flyers from failed BASE jumps. But really, you can't do much with someone like that. People worked our that it's a mix of circumstance and a gene or something. War created warriors, falls created flyers and so on. Of course, the Chinese were immediately accused of putting their citizens through 'state sponsored torture' to try and generate their own legions. Also people started doing stupid stuff a lot more. Who doesn't want to be super strong or fast? It seems that you can't force it, though. Trying to go super has killed a lot of idiots.
So where do I come in? Well I'm a super. I'm twenty one, my circumstance was getting a spot on my face and my power is making things disappear. Not invisible, disappear. I've got a huge scar on my cheek from where I disappeared the spot and a centimetre of flesh around it. It's so unfair, I'm hideous now. I hate that my power caused me to be like this, but I've been using my gift to fix that.
I broke into the overnight safe of a pawn shop a few weeks back. It's run by some nasty old dude who nobody likes. I disappeared the cameras, the locks, the safe door and the guard dog. Well, half of it. It's fine, he will have insurance, and it was just a dog. I need the money. I can't go out and save people with a disfigured face, what would people say? Did I mention nobody likes him, so it's really doing everyone a favour by sticking one to him.
I've got my facial reconstruction tomorrow. With a bit extra as well. I'm going under the knife, so I may as well get it all done. I need to look the part if I'm going to be famous. Thing is, I need a bit more cash for the tucks and lifts. There's this old lady who smells awful but apparently has loads of money stashed away. I'll pay her a visit tonight and see what's up. She's not using it, so no harm if I use it for good. Right? | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/parahumans] [Your trigger event was really, really petty. And now you're starting to wonder if you're just a shallow person. \[X-Post /r/WritingPrompts\]](https://np.reddit.com/r/Parahumans/comments/3il00s/your_trigger_event_was_really_really_petty_and/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) | |
[WP] The triggering event that unleashed your superpowers was really, REALLY petty. You're starting to wonder if you're incredibly shallow. | I’ve been waiting for over ten minutes to get breakfast. This line just won’t move. I stand tapping one foot against the tiled floor of the eating establishment, *how long does it take to order from a menu that’s been around longer than I have?* Indecisive patrons stare up at the menu, mouths agape like they can’t understand what language it’s written in.
They don’t even have to vocalize what they want. *Just order a number two* I want to scream at them. Others in line stare at their phones, zoned out waiting for this airhead to finally say what she wants. When she finally says a number I roll my eyes and think *She sounds as dumb as she looks* and she pays her bill to move aside as she waits for her food.
The other people move only slightly faster and this pace is killing me. I just want to get my morning started. Don’t these people have places to go and things to do? How can they just stand around in lines all day?
The bewildered looking woman gets her food and there are still about three people ahead of me. She struggles to hold all her items as she passes me and loses her balance slightly, but enough to step on my shoes. She stepped on my fresh new kicks. My custom Nike shoes. *What the actual fuck? This woman has to be the dumbest and most inconsiderate person alive!* I think as I feel a vein surge in my head.
I get so mad I practically see red, instinctually I extend my hand, palm outward towards the woman when suddenly I’m actually seeing red. Red energy swirls around my hand and now I’m the one staring, mouth agape at what’s right In front of me. The energy shoots outward in a conical fashion, the woman gets blasted, tumbling backwards as oblivious diners follow suit and half the wall disappears along with them.
*Did I just do that?* I ask myself in disbelief. Those fortunate enough to not be in the path of the destruction can only look at me in total fear and shock. Some have already started running away, others have that deer caught in headlights look as they stare at me unblinkingly unsure of how to react. *Maybe I should try to relax more.* I think as I survey this new found abilities destructive capabilities. | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/parahumans] [Your trigger event was really, really petty. And now you're starting to wonder if you're just a shallow person. \[X-Post /r/WritingPrompts\]](https://np.reddit.com/r/Parahumans/comments/3il00s/your_trigger_event_was_really_really_petty_and/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) |
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