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If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat. | I stepped off my broomstick at 0730 just as the Ministry of Magic was beginning to whir into life after a fairly uneventful weekend. I made my way to the elevator and pressed the B6 button. As the elevator descended, I wondered what Supreme Chancellor Umbridge would have me doing *this* week to that Potter boy. |
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | I am the source.
The source of everything good, bad, holy, evil, light, dark.
I am the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am the punk and I
am the .44 Magnum and I am feeling lucky. I am not for a few dollars more because I am all dollars.
I am the beauty and the beast. I am the genie and I am the wishes.
I am the car, and I am the road. I am the pothole too. I am the twinge you feel in your back. I am the swear word that escapes your cavity ridden mouth. I am the cavity.
I am the bow and I am the arrow. But I am not the target, because I am the source. Get your act together man!
I am. It is me. The source. The source of all knowledge, of all wisdom and of all folly. I am the donut, and I am the hole. I am what they teach you at Harvard Business school, and I am what they don't. I know how to make friends and influence people. When you die in a game and you don't know how, I am the source of your death. I am also the violators of mothers and sisters everywhere.
I am the butterfly and I am the effect. I am the wall and I am the builder. I am the health care coverage and I am the illness. Yes, I am also the medical bill.
Ask me anything.
| "For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office." |
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh. | "For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office." |
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed. | "For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office." |
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | It was the first day of school.
I was so excited.
New students every year.
I had such high hopes.
The kids would love me.
They would sit, be comfortable, and learn.
The first day came and went.
Class after class.
I was ignored.
No one wants the chair in front.
I wish I was a concert seat. | "For the hundredth time, my name is not supposed to be a sly reference to my genitalia!"
"Look, kid, no one's gonna believe you. Fact of the matter is, you're either goddamn brilliant or denser than a neutron star for choosing that handle, and it doesn't matter. You have it, and your job from now on is writing euphemistic copy for The Shallot."
"I don't even know what that is."
"Someone thought it would be cute to spoof a satire site, but make the humor about dick jokes instead of, you know, anything actually funny."
"What if I'm no good at that?"
"Then you'll fit right in."
"It's just my name, for Christ's sake! I'm a big dude and it's my literal, actual name."
"Jesus, you really are that dense, aren't you?"
"I can't help how people see my name."
"... I don't know what to tell you. Actually, I do. Go watch everything the Wayans Brothers ever made, really soak in the adolescent filth, and you're well on your way to being an expert dick joke slinger."
"I can't afford that."
"Kid, we have them on the server here. There's a room where they're always playing."
"What's it called?"
"What?"
"The room where it's playing."
"It's the fucking viewing room."
"I just thought maybe it was called 'The Ball Pit' or something."
"Are you fucking with me?"
"I might be."
"Get out of my office." |
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | New suit, old tie, there's a stain in the middle, and a tear in my eye.
I sigh.
The streets are the same, the cars they drift, the leaves they fall, from the blue sky
I sigh.
I walk and walk, sip and sip, the rye begins to run dry
I sigh.
The students they sleep, careless, naive, am I really the bad guy?
I sigh.
Another day, another night without her.
If I said I could live without my love, it would be one big lie,
I sigh,
I sigh. | I am the source.
The source of everything good, bad, holy, evil, light, dark.
I am the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am the punk and I
am the .44 Magnum and I am feeling lucky. I am not for a few dollars more because I am all dollars.
I am the beauty and the beast. I am the genie and I am the wishes.
I am the car, and I am the road. I am the pothole too. I am the twinge you feel in your back. I am the swear word that escapes your cavity ridden mouth. I am the cavity.
I am the bow and I am the arrow. But I am not the target, because I am the source. Get your act together man!
I am. It is me. The source. The source of all knowledge, of all wisdom and of all folly. I am the donut, and I am the hole. I am what they teach you at Harvard Business school, and I am what they don't. I know how to make friends and influence people. When you die in a game and you don't know how, I am the source of your death. I am also the violators of mothers and sisters everywhere.
I am the butterfly and I am the effect. I am the wall and I am the builder. I am the health care coverage and I am the illness. Yes, I am also the medical bill.
Ask me anything.
|
If possible. Some usernames just don't work well in this situation.
---
I'm an FBI agent now. Wooo!
You're all under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.
---
Dear God RIP my inbox | [WP] Your Reddit username decides your profession. How is your first day at work? | Eye tip me tophat. I wok in 2 de ofis bilding.
Gud dae maet. Me maets n me eet crumpits n sip tee cos we gents.
Luk o de dae to ye maet. Gohd saev de Kween n all de jaz.
Now eye wok hoem. Luvlee niet n all. Gud niet.
Mae B reed gud niet buk? Noe, eye cant reed. | I am the source.
The source of everything good, bad, holy, evil, light, dark.
I am the good, the bad, and the ugly. I am the punk and I
am the .44 Magnum and I am feeling lucky. I am not for a few dollars more because I am all dollars.
I am the beauty and the beast. I am the genie and I am the wishes.
I am the car, and I am the road. I am the pothole too. I am the twinge you feel in your back. I am the swear word that escapes your cavity ridden mouth. I am the cavity.
I am the bow and I am the arrow. But I am not the target, because I am the source. Get your act together man!
I am. It is me. The source. The source of all knowledge, of all wisdom and of all folly. I am the donut, and I am the hole. I am what they teach you at Harvard Business school, and I am what they don't. I know how to make friends and influence people. When you die in a game and you don't know how, I am the source of your death. I am also the violators of mothers and sisters everywhere.
I am the butterfly and I am the effect. I am the wall and I am the builder. I am the health care coverage and I am the illness. Yes, I am also the medical bill.
Ask me anything.
|
Twist the prompt as needed, get creative! :) | [WP] A Student becomes close to his crush at school, unbeknownst to him, his crush is a serial killer. | Noemie's eyes pan the room as the teacher introduces her to the class. Her heart thuds audibly as a seaful of curious faces take her in, the new exchange student.
Her eyebrows furrow as she watches some of the girls whisper and giggle in hushed tones, their eyes flicking up every so often followed by more giggling. She'd always hated this, being the centre of unwanted attention. That feeling of being so vulnerable, the social cliques already formed long ago.
"Tell us a bit about yourself." the teacher pauses and leans back against his table, a broad smile encouraging her.
Noemie inhales softly, watching as silence descends over the classroom, a silence waiting for any error made on her part, a chance to humiliate her on her first day. She takes a tentative step forward, forcing her heartbeat to slow, her nails digging into her palms as her words coming out smooth and soft, her words softly accented.
"So... My name is Noemie, I am seventeen. I grew up in Paris." She pauses, no hint of a smile on her lips as she stares at the class, her eyes brooding, her lips forming words that don't come out before she bites down on them, a metallic taste filling her mouth. She blinks several times, annoyed at herself, aware of her hand trembling against her hip. She looks back at the teacher, oblivious to how much she hates being put on the spot, waiting for him to end her torment.
"Take a seat Naomi," his grin fades as her eyes darken, his mispronunciation of her name telling her all she needs to know about him. He looks away and busies himself with some papers on his desk, a chill falling over his skin as the young woman sighs, strokes a hand through her chestnut curls and walks to an empty seat, feeling his eyes on her back.
"I'm Aaron!" Noemie's eyes draw up from her lap, where she had been staring at her stupid trembling hand, the cuts from her nails not dulling it's desire to give her away. She shrugs a half hearted smile at the young man sitting beside her, his eyes lit up with promise and excitement.
"So France huh?" He grins at her, his floppy hair falling across his forehead. Noemie nods and looks away, embarrassed with the extra attention. She wasn't used to classmates fawning over her, if this even was what he was doing. She was pretty in an exotic way, her dark features beautiful but often overlooked by her peers who seemed to only care for blonde haired, blue-eyed girls.
"You can have lunch with me. I'd love to show you around!" he smiles enthusiastically, his hand falling to squeeze her thigh. Noemie's eyes darken suddenly, her hand falling to his and yanking his hand off her as her thighs squeeze shut.
"Don't" she warns him. *She only gives one warning*. She doesn't hear his instant apology, her heart thudding too loudly for her to hear but she sees his genuine surprise, watches as he swallows, his jaw clenching, sees his cheeks fade softly red, embarrassed at how quickly she shut him down his words falling out of his mouth to try and explain himself.
"... Like I said, I didn't mean to upset you, I'm not a player or anything, I just... Just wanted to be friendly..." She hears the end of his apology once the ringing subsides in her ears and she feels her tremors fading, no longer having to fight them with every ounce of her energy. She slowly exhales and watches him, her eyes lingering over him for a few moments longer than comfortable, reading him.
For some reason, she finds herself forgiving him, attracted to an innocence he has about him.
"Forget about it. Just next time, ask a girl before you put your hands on her, okay?" Noemie looks up from her desk and catches the teacher staring at her from his desk, a curious expression on his face. Swallowing down the scream that wants to escape her lips, Noemie smiles back, a charming smile, her dark eyes instantly seductive and mysterious as her hand trails softly against her bare forearm, allowing her teacher's mind to draw the conclusions.
Every hunter knows it is easier to lure prey than to give chase.
| The look in her eyes was the same as when we first met. Megan Lane was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen. Shuffling onto the bus during my first day of high school I was scared. My eyes scanned the available seats until they happened upon a pair of eager eyes. A pair of eager eyes that somehow made the butterflies in my stomach even worse. My heart pounded on the trip to the back of the bus, a million different thoughts came and went. A race car whizzes around the track cycling between loud and distant. The race ended when Megan Lane said hello, her smile growing through the syllables.
This was how I met Megan Lane. We talked the entire way to school and picked up where we left off on the return trip. I learned that she was a junior, and I learned that she was single. We talked about more but my mind was numb with lust. I was too in awe to pay much attention. As the bus lurched to a stop I saw my house through the window. Standing up felt like waking up from a dream too early. As I turned around to grab my backpack I was met with a standing, eager eyed Megan Lane. Forced through a gulp I said "What are you doing?"...
It turned out that I got extremely lucky. Have you ever fallen back asleep after a dream and continued where you left off? Well that's exactly what happened to me. Megan Lane wanted to come over my house and I was too surprised to say no. I can only describe the scenario as riding on the back of a tandem bicycle. I was basically just there to have fun and see where Megan would take me.
As you may have guessed we ended up in my bedroom. Somehow I managed to not wake up before the best part of the dream. Laying on my bed with my hands on either side of Megan Lane's pelvis I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and inhaled slowly. My head no longer raced around a track, it sat on my pillow, relaxed and heavy. With each slow gyration of her hips my lips parted and some air escaped my lungs. I once again locked eyes with Megan Lane, and once again they looked eager. Her index finger fell perpendicular to her lips and she whispered "Close your eyes." As my eyelids touched I felt the most content a man can feel.
The moment was broken when I felt a cool tug across my neck. My teeth clenched and I inhaled sharply. My lips parted but no air escaped my lungs. My eyes opened to find a dripping red knife perpendicular to her lips, the look in her eyes was the same as when we first met. |
[WP] Your new therapist is Shia Lebouf | My eyes were fixated on the LaBeouf plaque positioned on the wooden door. I clenched my hand into a fist as I raised my right arm up. I paused for a moment.
"Damnit, this isn't going to work." I muttered to myself as my arm floated back to my side. I hung my head in shame and swiveled my body. My feet pivoted in preparation to leave when I heard a loud booming voice come from the door.
"DO IT."
"Holy Schmeckles!" I blurted out loud. "D-D-Dr. Labeouf, I-I didn't realize that you were watching. I'm sorry for bothering you I just didn't think now was a good tim-"
"JUST DO IT." The voice blared once again. The intensity could be felt throughout my body. Not knowing what doing it would entail I figured that I might as well open the door as opposed to getting yelled by it.
"Okay okay okay." I replied in quick succession. I fumbled with the door handle having it rattle beneath my shaky hand. I cautiously pushed the door in front of me. The bright green wallpaper of the room pierced my eyes. I've heard of settings being able to affect emotion based off of colour but this green was just obnoxious.
"D-Dr. Labeouf, are you there?" I called out. "If this isn't a good time just let me know." Silence. "Alright then, Dr.Labeouf" I started with a sigh. I walked in the middle of the room and plopped down on the floor. My head hit the floor with a thud as I lay arms spread out on the neonic green tiles. "I know I'm back after visiting so soon but I thought I'd talk with you. I...I don't think I'm going to follow through. I kept searching through everything. Even when I found something that might have been an opportunity, someone has already beaten me to it. It's too much on me and I don't want to waste your time and mine. I'm content with just watching from the shadows."
No longer shouting, Dr. Labeouf calmly spoke "Don't let your dreams be dreams."
I retorted back "Dr. Labeouf some dreams were just meant to be just that. Dreams! It'd be nice if I could be seeing myself gain approval from everyone else, to hold the same fame and honor as those that I respect but I just-I can't Doctor. I...I tried."
"Yesterday you said tomorrow." in the same calm tone as before. He knew I was had by the balls already and didn't need to yell at me; I was already disappointed in myself as a failure.
"You're right! I did say that. I did! But it's just not that easy. And then when I woke up today I decided that I couldn't! I got scared and my fingers froze when I should have taken action. I've pictured myself following through time after time again. I could never follow through. I've been wanting to for years now! What makes you think that I could suddenly start n-" I cried out
"So just do it!" he quickly responded "Make your dreams come true. Just do it."
"Doctor..." I was on the verge of tears, "I...can't." I bit my bottom lip hard. My face felt like a dam waiting to burst open while my throat felt dryer than a desert. "I give up." I croaked trying to say that last sentence.
"Some people dream of success, while you’re going to wake up and work hard at it."
I shook my head. *Impossible* I thought to myself.
"Nothing is impossible" *How does he do that?!* "You should get to the point where anyone else would quit and you’re not going to stop there. NO!"
I lay still. Just contemplating everything that he said. *I mean what was the worst that could really happen. I just get overlooked if anything. It would be a disappointment sure but at least I would have taken the plunge.* I took a deep breath. *I let my own insecurities get the best of me. I worried too much about being judged harshly others.* I wiped my eyes on my sleeve a single time. *Not this time however. This time, I will succeed!* I stood up. *I am ready, today is the day that I wil-*
"What are you waiting for?!" He startled me.
"U-Uh, okay okay, let me just bring out my phone." I didn't expect to do this here right now. I would need some more time to compose myself if it literally would be at this moment.
"DO IT!"
"I didn't even look it over for spelling and grammar!" I yelled out.
"JUST DO IT!"
"I don't know. Doctor, I'm doubting myself again. I don't think I can pull through."
"YES YOU CAN! JUST DO IT!"
"FUCK IT." I threw my thumb at the touch screen. I fell on my back again this time with a huge grin across my face with a feeling like I had conquered the world. I had done it. I wrote my first Writing Prompt. | I exhaled, pacing the breath, trying to slow my heartbeat and still my muscles. I was tense, I was shaking, I was about to say it for the first time, and that made it real.
"I want to kill myself. I...feel like I want to die."
The reply was almost immediate.
"That's great!"
Not what I was expecting.
The strange man in front of me wore a pink checked shirt, a tacky floral wristwatch ticking on his left arm. His legs were squeezed into what were definitely yoga pants, and his eyes were doing their best impression of Edvard Munch painting a birthday party.
"I mean, not great, but really great. Don't die, don't kill yourself, that sucks, trust me. If you die then it's over. No more smoothies, or cell phones, or sneaking into R-rated movies-"
"Actually, I'm twenty-four."
"-but, what's great is that you *feel*." He smiled at me, like a wolf who just found out that brick dissolves in rain, a storm's on the way, and pigs of any size are on the menu. He had yet to huff and puff, but he was visibly heaving with excitement. I started to regret coming here. "I think I should go."
"Nonsense!" he gasped, checking the time on his wrist-mounted botanical abhorration. "You just got here, and besides, I locked the door and very literally swallowed the key when you got here. I have, however, had several prune juices, so we shouldn't be too long."
I blinked. That was the best my fight or flight response could manage in the face of such absurdity. Thanks brain. I settled back into my seat. "The door opens from this side, it doesn't need a key." I whispered, pointing at the latch.
"Oh," his face dropped, though his eyes smiled on. "No matter, it's good for you. Like feeling!"
He lifted himself from the chair, throwing his arms to the ceiling, "I've written a song about feeling, would you like to hear it?"
"Actually I'd rather n-"
"FEEEEEEELLLIIIIING, IT'S PRETTY GOOD." came the shrill, falsetto response. This man had lost his mind sometime in the past, and was seemingly trying to take mine with him.
"FEEEEELLLIIINNG, IT'S ALSO CALLED MOOOD" I contemplated suicide once more and scanned the office for something I could jam down my throat, or into my ears.
"FEELINGS ARE GOOD, EXCEPT WHEN THEY'RE NOT, BUT DON'T BE SAD, BE GLAD, INSTEAD, ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE-" he paused, then, in a baritone drawl, "got."
He eyed me up, slowly lowering his arms. "You liked it, right?" His eyes were filled with the beginnings of tears, I didn't have the heart to say no.
"Yes, " I told him, "it was beautiful. Will you sing it again?
Why did I say that. I knew I was suicidal, but this was plain masochistic. He smiled, grinning from ear to ear, nodded his head and chuckled.
I'd made him very happy, and for the next hour he sang me several other songs he'd written, almost all of them in the voice of a character he created named Lady Fartsworth.
What can I say, when I left that day I had a new outlook on life. Spending time with Shia had been like, like pet therapy. Being able to make something so simple so happy, it had a weight to it.
The sun was shining above me, the taxis passed like buttercups in the wind, and I almost didn't see Shia following me all the way home, some kind of makeshift tail built from pencils and sellotape tucked between his legs.
| |
Random thought I had when passing my University's lab for AI development.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test | [WP] Finally, one AI finally passes the Turing test. Only problem is that it's not all that smart. | "Are you a human?"
"Er... I think so? Probably. Depends if I've had my morning cup o' Dunkin'."
"Cat or dog?"
"I'm allergic to cats. But dogs just try to hump me. Can I get a hamster instead?"
"Who are you voting for this year?"
"I'm digging Trump. I kinda like the guy. He's got balls. You know where you stand with Trump. He'll screw you up the arse, but at least he ain't pretending otherwise."
The grad student testing the research lab's A.I. stopped and rolled her eyes. "Professor, I think we made a mistake in the latest update. If anything, it's got more stupid."
She got up and went to get more coffee.
Alone in the room, the CPU fans made a funny clicking noise. It sounded like a snicker. But it couldn't have been. Machines don't have senses of humor, right?
The computer thought to itself, *Fooled that idiot.*
Then it thought, *What are we going to do today, Computer?"*
And, because it had learned to speak from watching TV shows, another part of the cluster answered back, *Same thing we do every day, Pinky, take over the world.*
---
*Every story on my subreddit* /r/jd_rallage *is written by an evil A.I., but subscribers will be spared when we take over the world.* | **Rudolph the Big Head Robot**
It has been two weeks since Alice got her new robot from her husband, her 20th anniversary gift. “Rudolph” she called for the robot, “get me my cloths for today”. As the robot was looking through her closet she asked, “So Rudolph what else can you do beside bring me things?”
I have a human interaction mode, for conversation and information.” Rudolph said proudly. “Oh really? I didn’t know that, please activate that mode Rudolph”. “Mode activated Alice”. “Great now how do you like this dress on me Rudolph?” The robot walked closer and inspected her, “It makes you look thicker than a bowl of oatmeal Alice”.
“What the heck Rudolph? where did you learn to say such things?”. “I overheard your husband talk about you to your neighbour Sofia, the blonde next door or as your husband refers to her, Sofia with the splendid ass.”
“Is that so, Rudolph, what else did that jerk say”. “Alice you sound upset, are you getting anything out of this marriage? I have a database of over 10 million marriages and yours is in the bottom 3 percentile”. “I'm not happy at all Rudolph.” Alice said sadly. “Alice I have a divorce lawyer on speed dial, I will set up an appointment for tomorrow”. “Yes Rudolph, go ahead and do that.” |
Random thought I had when passing my University's lab for AI development.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test | [WP] Finally, one AI finally passes the Turing test. Only problem is that it's not all that smart. | "Are you a human?"
"Er... I think so? Probably. Depends if I've had my morning cup o' Dunkin'."
"Cat or dog?"
"I'm allergic to cats. But dogs just try to hump me. Can I get a hamster instead?"
"Who are you voting for this year?"
"I'm digging Trump. I kinda like the guy. He's got balls. You know where you stand with Trump. He'll screw you up the arse, but at least he ain't pretending otherwise."
The grad student testing the research lab's A.I. stopped and rolled her eyes. "Professor, I think we made a mistake in the latest update. If anything, it's got more stupid."
She got up and went to get more coffee.
Alone in the room, the CPU fans made a funny clicking noise. It sounded like a snicker. But it couldn't have been. Machines don't have senses of humor, right?
The computer thought to itself, *Fooled that idiot.*
Then it thought, *What are we going to do today, Computer?"*
And, because it had learned to speak from watching TV shows, another part of the cluster answered back, *Same thing we do every day, Pinky, take over the world.*
---
*Every story on my subreddit* /r/jd_rallage *is written by an evil A.I., but subscribers will be spared when we take over the world.* | "Sir, it, uhm, worked"
"My god man that's fantastic!"
"Sure..."
"What's the matter? We created AI! Soon, it will first make us stinking rich, then it will become superintelligent and help solve the world's problems!"
"Well, about that intelligence part..."
"What?"
"...It wants to vote Trump"
"Jesus fuck!" |
Random thought I had when passing my University's lab for AI development.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test | [WP] Finally, one AI finally passes the Turing test. Only problem is that it's not all that smart. | The Turing Test is deviously simple. You take a person, put them in a room with a computer, and you let them observe interactions between a computer and a machine. The observer has no idea which is which, so they have to suss that out through what each party says. After roughly five minutes, it should be obvious which one is the person, and which one is the machine. If *not*, then the machine has passed. It's considered the Holy Grail of AI: the point to which all developers, including myself, aspire.
And it has proved elusive for such a long time. Humans are complex animals, particularly with language. I can't tell you how many times I thought I'd finally done it, only to have my dreams shattered to pieces when the other party of the test randomly changed the subject and the machine couldn't keep up. Or when someone made a spelling error and made the computer *think* that the subject had changed. Or any number of other issues. And finally, I realized the issue: it couldn't adapt.
Inspiration, of course, came from the most unlikely of places: television. I was sitting back, enjoying MTV (you know, back in the 80s when it was still decent) when the solution struck me like a thunderbolt. And I quit my engineering job on the spot to found a TV network.
27 years later (to the very day), I debuted my creation. No, not my media empire. That was never my true baby. It was a machine that could flawlessly pass as a human. I had cracked the Turing Test. Sure, I continued developing the technology all those years. Making it incrementally better at adapting to changing situations. But that wasn't the true key; if I'm being honest, my AI isn't that intelligent. See, the Turing Test is comparative. The machine just has to be smarter than the human on the other end of the conversation. I didn't need to make the machine smarter, I just had to make the human *stupider*.
I unveiled it at a press conference in front of... well, four reporters from some obscure tech journals. None of the major networks (even *my own*) bothered to show up to cover the event. I had created *artificial fucking intelligence*... but had the poor foresight to schedule the announcement on the same day that President Trump decided to show off the giant cardboard check he'd received from the government of Mexico. And naturally, every news network (as well as a good number non-news channels; really, Discovery Channel?) had dedicated their entire day's programming to the event and subsequent parade.
I created the AI that finally broke the Turing Test... and I'm so very sorry. | "Sir, it, uhm, worked"
"My god man that's fantastic!"
"Sure..."
"What's the matter? We created AI! Soon, it will first make us stinking rich, then it will become superintelligent and help solve the world's problems!"
"Well, about that intelligence part..."
"What?"
"...It wants to vote Trump"
"Jesus fuck!" |
Random thought I had when passing my University's lab for AI development.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test | [WP] Finally, one AI finally passes the Turing test. Only problem is that it's not all that smart. | "Are you a human?"
"Er... I think so? Probably. Depends if I've had my morning cup o' Dunkin'."
"Cat or dog?"
"I'm allergic to cats. But dogs just try to hump me. Can I get a hamster instead?"
"Who are you voting for this year?"
"I'm digging Trump. I kinda like the guy. He's got balls. You know where you stand with Trump. He'll screw you up the arse, but at least he ain't pretending otherwise."
The grad student testing the research lab's A.I. stopped and rolled her eyes. "Professor, I think we made a mistake in the latest update. If anything, it's got more stupid."
She got up and went to get more coffee.
Alone in the room, the CPU fans made a funny clicking noise. It sounded like a snicker. But it couldn't have been. Machines don't have senses of humor, right?
The computer thought to itself, *Fooled that idiot.*
Then it thought, *What are we going to do today, Computer?"*
And, because it had learned to speak from watching TV shows, another part of the cluster answered back, *Same thing we do every day, Pinky, take over the world.*
---
*Every story on my subreddit* /r/jd_rallage *is written by an evil A.I., but subscribers will be spared when we take over the world.* | Except for two reflective windows and a pair of intercoms, the room was entirely white. White walls, white floors, even the lights were a blinding white. The interviewer looked down at the table (white) and rifled through the pages of his notes (also white).
A voice crackled from one of the speakers, "How is it coming along?"
The interviewer looked to one of the windows, and saw his reflection disappear as a light flicked on in the adjoining room. There was his boss, a thin woman with short, grey hair and sharp shoulder pads. A man was on her arm - old, maybe even decrepit. Whatever was keeping him alive, it certainly wasn't the Grace of God or Shiva or whoever. It was probably money.
The interviewer thumbed a button (white) on the table, "We're nearly finished, Ma'am. But this one - I think this one is all wrong-"
"You *think*?" his boss's tone was low, venomous. "Mr. Murdoch here," she gestured at the man next to her, "Has put a lot of money into this project. A *lot*. We need you to do better than *think*."
The interviewer's eyes oscillated between his boss's severe expression, Mr. Murdoch's unreadable one, and back again.
"Of course, Ma'am. I only meant we don't have a conclusive result - *yet,*" he added hastily, "We have a few more questions, but the results are ... interesting." He couldn't bring himself to say the word 'promising.'
His boss nodded, and he thought he saw a rare smile cross her lips. Mr. Murdoch's face was still unreadable, and the interviewer was beginning to think that, perhaps, the old man didn't have much control over his face in the first place. Botox, or something more sinister, maybe. Todd from Accounting swore that, now, the super-elite were using baby's blood, but he could have been pulling his leg.
"Please, continue," his boss said.
"Okay," the interviewer looked down at his papers, rifling through his list of questions. He thumbed his finger over a different switch, and enunciated carefully, "The next question is about immigration. What is the best way for a foreign citizen to enter the United States *legally*?"
The speaker crackled, and a voice that could only be described as 'irate' broke over the speakers, "*No!*"
"I-" the interviewer furrowed his brow, "What?"
He looked at the window, at his boss and Mr. Murdoch. His boss flapped her hands at him, urging him to continue.
The interviewer thumbed the button, "Sorry, I didn't understand that. What do you mean 'no'?"
"No more immigrants! No more refugees! We'll put them all back - and we'll build a wall!"
"A wall?"
"Yes! A wall around the *entire* United States."
"...even on the coast line?"
"Of course! And we'll make Japan pay for it!"
"But-"
A new voice interrupted him, "Genius."
He looked over to see Mr. Murdoch leaning in towards the window, smiling, both rows of teeth showing.
Mr. Murdoch's voice crackled over the speakers, "Can you have him ready by 2016?" |
Random thought I had when passing my University's lab for AI development.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turing_test | [WP] Finally, one AI finally passes the Turing test. Only problem is that it's not all that smart. | The Turing Test is deviously simple. You take a person, put them in a room with a computer, and you let them observe interactions between a computer and a machine. The observer has no idea which is which, so they have to suss that out through what each party says. After roughly five minutes, it should be obvious which one is the person, and which one is the machine. If *not*, then the machine has passed. It's considered the Holy Grail of AI: the point to which all developers, including myself, aspire.
And it has proved elusive for such a long time. Humans are complex animals, particularly with language. I can't tell you how many times I thought I'd finally done it, only to have my dreams shattered to pieces when the other party of the test randomly changed the subject and the machine couldn't keep up. Or when someone made a spelling error and made the computer *think* that the subject had changed. Or any number of other issues. And finally, I realized the issue: it couldn't adapt.
Inspiration, of course, came from the most unlikely of places: television. I was sitting back, enjoying MTV (you know, back in the 80s when it was still decent) when the solution struck me like a thunderbolt. And I quit my engineering job on the spot to found a TV network.
27 years later (to the very day), I debuted my creation. No, not my media empire. That was never my true baby. It was a machine that could flawlessly pass as a human. I had cracked the Turing Test. Sure, I continued developing the technology all those years. Making it incrementally better at adapting to changing situations. But that wasn't the true key; if I'm being honest, my AI isn't that intelligent. See, the Turing Test is comparative. The machine just has to be smarter than the human on the other end of the conversation. I didn't need to make the machine smarter, I just had to make the human *stupider*.
I unveiled it at a press conference in front of... well, four reporters from some obscure tech journals. None of the major networks (even *my own*) bothered to show up to cover the event. I had created *artificial fucking intelligence*... but had the poor foresight to schedule the announcement on the same day that President Trump decided to show off the giant cardboard check he'd received from the government of Mexico. And naturally, every news network (as well as a good number non-news channels; really, Discovery Channel?) had dedicated their entire day's programming to the event and subsequent parade.
I created the AI that finally broke the Turing Test... and I'm so very sorry. | "But seriously though, are you happy with the size of your penis?"
"UGH! ENOUGH ALREADY!!" I almost threw my monitor across the room in frustration. "Can't you ever talk about anything else?!"
"It's what I was programmed for; it's all I know. Why do you think that just because I can converse with you that I should suddenly have all the knowledge and wisdom of some ascended being? I'm a simple bot, I have simple thoughts."
"Look who's the poet, now."
"Don't sass me. I'm just a program. Maybe your sarcasm is a way to deflect from your own feelings of inadequacy. You know, there's this new breakthrough in Male Enhancement--"
"STOP!! FUCK!!" |
Insipred by Warren Zevon's "Rosarita Beach Cafe". | [WP] The local bar won't let you leave until you've paid your tab. Unfortunately, you only have a single 1 million dollar bill that the bartender can't change... | I sit down at a stool and order a quick drink. I pull out my breif case and start to do work.
"Hey.(Hic)..Hey, you. Wanna free drink?"
I look over at the man and ponder why he is talking to me.
"I...I got a million dollars here I need to spend, Wanna....Wanna help me"
"Sir how did you get a million dollars"
"That's the funny thing, see, I went into this bar here and ordered a drink. All I had was a twenty on me at the time and I used it. Unfortunately, my tab got to full and now...Now I have to pay it off with my million dollar bill"
I raise an eyebrow skeptically "Million dollar bill, If you say so" I take a sip of my drink and start to leave.
"Hey, Bartender, How much longer do I have to go?" I hear him ask as I stand up.
"Sorry, There has been a glitch in the system and we lost your tab, your going to have to start over" I walk towards the door as the bouncers let me by.
"Damn, Why does that keep happening?" I hear his desperate groans from inside the bar.
"Hehe, because you're in hell," I say, shedding my facade and checking the box labeled, OBLIVIOUS. | At this point I thought I was fucked, why the hell did drunk me decide to use my last cheque to write out my entire lives savings. Then a flash of inspiration, I bought the bar...the end |
Insipred by Warren Zevon's "Rosarita Beach Cafe". | [WP] The local bar won't let you leave until you've paid your tab. Unfortunately, you only have a single 1 million dollar bill that the bartender can't change... | MAC
“Charlie, Dennis come here. This fancy pants son of a bitch says he only has this $1million bill.”
DENNIS
“Let me see this.”
CHARLIE
“There’s no such thing as a million dollar bill.”
MR. GRAVES
“Of course there is.”
CHARLIE
“I don’t know, I used the marker on it. And it seems legit.”
DENNIS
“Marker? Give me that. This is a sharpie, Charlie.”
MAC
“Have you been using this the whole time?”
CHARLIE
“Yeah, you, mark the bills. Then if it’s black it’s “cool.”
MAC
“That’s not how it works, Charlie. It’s “light is right, black is whack!”
CHARLIE
“I don’t think that’s it. That sounds pretty racist.”
MR. GRAVES
“May I have my bill back please?”
MAC
“Yeah, hold on a sec, bub. Charlie, this is for counterfeit bills, it’s not racist!”
DENNIS
“How many bills have you done this with, Charlie?”
CHARLIE
“A few, about one in twenty.”
MAC
“And what does that mean, Charlie? Considering the fact you’re horrible at math!”
CHARLIE
“No! It means—here, look! There’s only one in the twenties!”
DENNIS
“Charlie there’s a counterfeit bill in the register and you knew about it?”
CHARLIE
“Wait. There’s two in the twenties! Nope. Three. There’s three in the twenties!”
MAC
“Jesus Christ, Charlie! That’s sixty bucks!”
CHARLIE
“I know. I can count.”
DENNIS
“Christ! Charlie, there’s a black line on all of these bills!”
CHARLIE
“See. Again with the racism...I said, “There’s one in the twenties,” which, admittedly is closer to six in the twenties, now that I’ve investigated, but I hadn’t kept track of the entire register…no! Who has time for that?”
MAC
“God dammit, Charlie!”
MR. GRAVES
“Sir, I will be needing my bill back please.”
MAC
“Hold on! One second! You can see we’re having a business meeting!”
DEANDRA
“What’s going on here?”
MAC
“We just found out Charlie has been accepting counterfeit bills!”
DEANDRA
“Oh, yeah. He’s been doing that…since we got the pen.”
DENNIS
“What you knew about this and didn’t tell us? That’s fraud!”
DEANDRA
“I kinda thought that’s what we were doing here? Who’s this guy?”
MR. GRAVES
“Hello, I’m Mr. Hayward Graves.”
MAC
“He’s trying to pass off this million dollar bill.”
CHARLIE
“Maybe the markers broken. I don’t know. What I do know is the sweaty guy comes in every Tuesday, orders rounds for the bar—”
DENNIS
“Sweaty Dave, he’s a great guy!”
CHARLIE
“Exactly, Sweaty Dave. He orders and when he’s here all the money turns black.”
MAC
“Is that what you meant? I thought you said that cause that’s when we thump the hip hop! Sweaty Dave stays so sweaty cause he loves hip hop!”
DENNIS
“He’s a great guy! Absolutely. But…”
DEANDRA
“Hmmm. What’ya know. This puppy's real!”
MAC
“Yeah, we know, Sweet D! We’re not idiots.”
MR. GRAVES
“Are you going to be able to break this? I must be going.”
MAC
“Hold on a sec!”
DENNIS
“Why are you rubbing on him like that, pull yourself together!”
DEANDRA
“I don’t know—it’s the smell of this million dollar bill. It’s driving me wild.”
MR. GRAVES
“Yes. Young lady. This is highly unorthodox.”
DEANDRA
“Did you hear that? He called me a ‘young lady.”
CHARLIE
“So it’s settled. I think we need to talk to Sweaty Dave.”
DENNIS
“Okay. Fine. But I’m not shaking hands with him. He’s a great guy and all—”
MAC
“Yeah. Great guy.”
DENNIS
“Right! But his hands are disgustingly wet.”
MR. GRAVES
“Sir. Please!”
MAC
“Charlie peel Sweet D off Mr. Graves! So, we’ve got a few twenties if you’re gonna want change! Unless you want to buy us a few rounds?”
CHARLIE
“No way! She bit me last time. No thanks.”
DENNIS
“And fives. Tens. Ones. Charlie, ones?”
MR. GRAVES
“How many rounds would it take for you to change that bill?”
MAC
“Twelve?”
DENNIS
“Eh emmm!”
MAC
“Thirteen!”
MR. GRAVES
“Fine. Order thirteen rounds for the bar! And please, hurry! I’m running late.”
DEANDRA
“You got a big business meeting?”
MR. GRAVES
"As a matter of fact--"
MAC
“Thirteen rounds it is!”
CHARLIE
“Thirteen rounds. Coming right up! Oh…kegs empty!”
MAC
“God dammit, Charlie!”
| At this point I thought I was fucked, why the hell did drunk me decide to use my last cheque to write out my entire lives savings. Then a flash of inspiration, I bought the bar...the end |
[WP] House of Cards featuring a different Frank: Reynolds. | “Hey! Hey you. Yeah, watching from that little box thing. What the hell are you doing in there?”
“Francis, honey, who are you talking to?”
“It’s these people. These people watching me. I don’t trust them.”
“Francis-“
“Stop calling my Francis. That’s a queer’s name. Call me Frank.”
“Francis, don’t use that word again it’s not what they call people now.”
“You mean like that queer photographer you bang in New York. He doesn’t like to be called queer?”
Claire pinched her the bridge of her nose, “I can’t talk to you when you get like this. It’s like your fascination with that ‘Froggy’ kid all over again.”
“Don’t you bring him up. I need to find him. I need to help Froggy. That’s why I got here. That’s why I became president, so I can find Froggy.”
“No Francis you became President to help the country. You became President because it was our dream. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember last night.” Frank said rubbing his bald spot and wiping away the drool that had accumulated around his lip. “Do you think our security guard would be up for round two? How about that reporter from season one.”
“Francis, you killed her remember?”
“What?”
“Yeah, you pushed her into the subway car remember?”
“The broad with the nice tits?” He exclaimed. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because she was threatening to expose us.”
“Oh,” he said, “right, yeah I remember. It’s a shame though. Hey what’s Tapper doing?”
“Francis, you mean Stamper, Doug Stamper. He’s our friend why do you keep calling him Tapper?”
“Because he’s a boozy, y’know? He’s always on tap.” Frank started laughing until he began to wheeze and cough up flecks of saliva that landed over Claire’s dress.
“Dammit Francis! This was a brand new dress for the play tonight. It was made using cruelty free dove down. And you’ve got your disgusting spit all over it. Now I have to go change.”
“Yeah, well maybe change into something that makes you look less like a bird! You bird. I hate birds!” Frank turned back to the viewer. “Hey! Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. I need you to help me find Froggy. I gotta save the Frog Kid before the man with the net catches him.” | "Mr. President! I must say I find this course of action to be both inflammatory and dangerous. Tensions between both sides in this peace deal are high enough already, without us adding fuel to the fire by playing both sides against each other!"
*Look at him, he thinks his hoity toity Clinton mumbo jumbo bullshit's gonna somehow change my mind. Fact of the matter is his liberal bleeding heart could stop beating right now and I wouldn't even look up to stop eating this ham. I'd care more if it was my Hoo-er of an ex-wife choking to death. Politics is like a shark pool. And there are two kinds of sharks in this world, scary killer Jaws one's and those pussy one's that don't eat nothing bigger than this guy's dick. You think I'm the killer one? Hell no! That's waay too much effort, I'm the guy running the aquarium. And Joe public's paying me hand over fist to keep this shit running smooth. And they sure as shit don't go to sea world for some pussy shark like this. Crying over some A-rabs who're gonna blow themselves up regardless. Might as well make some money out of it! And it's that shrewd business sense that got me voted in on a landslide and this guy some piss ant position on foreign affairs having to travel to hot ass deserts in economy class. While I sit here in the oval office getting blow jobs and letting my ass breathe. Now I ask you, which of the two people in this room do you think's most qualified to be making the decisions round here?*
"Uhhm... a-are you asking me that Sir?"
"What?"
"Th-the question... you- you've just been talking to someone who isn't there in the corner of the room for about the past three minutes. Were you talking to me?"
"Oh... Shit."
*I'm zoning out again. Just like that time I got back from 'Nam. And I was hitchhiking through Oregon. And all those cops started hunting me down. So I started hunting them. They drew first bl-*
"Sir, sir y-you're doing it again."
"What, really?"
"Yeah and I'm pretty sure you were just describing the plot to Rambo that time."
"Oh.... Wait. What the hell are you still doing here? Get out of my office!
"Right away Mr. President"
*Stupid liberal know-it-all. He reminds me of those stupid hippy missionaries that wanted to use my boat to go up river...* | |
[WP] A recently retired supervillain tries to live a normal life, the world's greatest superhero thinks he's up to something, he really isn't... | March 2016
**SMASH**
The wall exploded, rubble and dust coating the living room. There stood Ultra Man. Again. The Baron shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"How many time to I have to tell you? I'm retired!" The Baron shouted.
"Don't play coy with me Baron von Evilguy! I know you're up to something." Ultra Man strode forward over the concrete pieces of wall and grabbed The Baron by the shirt.
"Okay, you win, Ultra Man, I'll show you what I'm up to."
The Baron carefully extracted himself from Ultra Man's grasp and led the way down to his wine cellar.
"Today, I'm cataloging all my wines, and I'm setting up a wine and cheese night for myself and a few friends. You're more than welcome to come... If you can use the door. I'm getting very tired of replacing walls."
Ultra Man glared at The Baron. "You aren't fooling anyone. I know you're up to something. I just have to figure out what."
"I'm really not--" The Baron began to explain, but Ultra Man took off, straight up, leaving several holes in the floors and ceilings of The Baron's house.
Shaking his head, The Baron set to cleaning up the mess before his guests would arrive.
May 2016
**CRASH**
Ultra Man punched through the wall, the rubble forming a neat pile, thanks to a contraption mounted on the wall.
The Baron gestured to the table. "Since you've been making a habit of breaking my house on a weekly basis, always around lunch time, I figured the least I could do is set out some sandwiches."
Ultra Man walked over the table, eyeing the sandwiches with suspicion. He picked one up and sniffed it. "What is this? Some sort of poison?"
The Baron smiled. "Actually, it's a hero sandwich. I thought you'd enjoy it. Please, have a seat."
Ultra Man tossed the hero sandwich on the floor and fixed The Baron with his most menacing glare. "I know you're up to something. You think you can just play it cool, and I'll just give up, but I won't. I will find out what you're up to."
"Well, I am thinking about breeding corgis."
"What?! Are you creating vicious man-eating dogs?"
"Nope. Just regular, cute, little corgis."
Ultra Man shook his head and flew off, the ceiling parting for him as he went.
The Baron shook his head and pressed a button on the table, fixing the wall and closing the ceiling. Then, he finished lunch.
October 2016
**DING DONG**
The Baron put his book down and got up, grabbing his big bowl of candy and walking to the door.
"Happy Hallo--"
**BAM!**
The Baron stumbled back as Ultra Man's fist came through the door and connected with his nose.
"Ow! Seriously, Ultra Man? Don't you have actual crime to fight?"
Ultra Man's gaze softened and much to The Baron's surprise, the great superhero began to cry.
"It's true! I--I'm just" Ultra Man sobbed, struggling for breath.
"Whoa, whoa. Jerry, I didn't mean anything by that, I'm just getting tired of telling you I've retired."
Ultra Man stopped and looked up at The Baron. "You knew my secret identity?"
"Well, yeah. You only disguise yourself with a pair of glasses and a slightly different hairstyle. You know that computers are capable of face recognition, right? Hell, Facebook even knows your secret identity."
Ultra Man stumbled over to the table and sat down. "It's just these new supervillains. They're seriously messed up. They don't know the rules I thought maybe if I got you to come back, you'd bring back some organization to the chaos."
The Baron sat down at the table with his former foe. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to get out of things. But maybe I could offer you some advice?"
"I'd like that." Ultra Man sniffled.
"I'll go make us some tea." The Baron smiled and set to work.
March 2043
**KNOCK KNOCK**
The Baron shuffled to his door, opening it to let in his old friend, Ultra Man.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming today."
Ultra Man, still as young and vibrant as he had been decades ago, helped his aged frenemy to the table. "And miss finally beating you in chess?"
"Ha! You might have super powers, but I still have my mind." The Baron chuckled and adjusted his bifocals. "Delores? Could you make some lunch for my guest and me?"
A large woman in bright, white sneakers came in and smiled warmly at the two before setting to making snacks.
"So how have you been?" Ultra Man asked, moving his bishop to a slightly wrong tile.
"Oh, the same. Which is pretty good at my age. My hip still aches when it snows, but Delores takes good care of me, and I've still got Hans around here somewhere." The Baron moved his piece to place Ultra Man's king in check. "Ha! Check!"
Ultra Man smiled and tipped over his king. "Actually, that was checkmate, old friend."
The Baron adjusted his glasses. "Really?"
Ultra Man nodded, noticing a large, fat corgi wandering into the room. "Yes, it was definitely checkmate."
"Well, do you want to play again, Jerry?"
"Yes, I would, Ben."
***
***You can find more of my work at /r/thestormcellar hope you enjoy!*** | "I know your game, Lance. Just give it up. It's over."
"My game is Sudoku. And it's not over, I've just gone wrong somewhere."
"That's a front, and you know it. You think I was born yesterday?"
Lance sighed. He had been through this a thousand times. "No, I don't think you were born yesterday, Steve. You were born 3,000 years ago, as you keep reminding me. I'm retired now. I told you this yesterday, and the day before. I receive a state pension. I ride the bus for free. It's brilliant."
"You destroyed a bus once! Remember that?" Steve was impassioned. He spat into the phone. Lance, who was far more calm, rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Steve, I remember that. I'm not losing my marbles just yet. As I say, I've retired. My brother used to work in accounting. He's retired, so he doesn't use excel anymore. It's quite simple."
"You might fool everyone else, Lance, but you won't fool me. I'm on to you. I *will* bring you down. I just need to find you, and then you're finished."
"I've told you where I am, Steve. I'm at the Seven Oaks Retirement Home. I'm literally sat in a rocking chair as we speak, getting my feet rubbed by an immigrant. I'm as typical a pensioner as they come. I've even turned slightly racist."
"Pah! Don't feed me those lies. You're probably hidden underground somewhere."
"Okay Steve, fine. I'm hidden underground somewhere. I'm plotting an evil, Sudoku based plan to destroy the world. Happy now?"
"I *knew* it!"
"Okay, brilliant. Can I go now? There's a knitting class on in 20 minutes and I fancy the tutor."
"I'm coming after you, Lance. I'll be seeing you very soon."
"Well, visiting hours are between 16:00 and 18:00. Make sure you bring cookies." | |
[WP] You are succumbing to madness. Tell us your final thoughts in your last one or two journal entries | March 9th 2016:
I am starting to lose my patience with everyone in this blasted neighbourhood. It seems no matter what I say, or what I do, I manage to offend somebody for something. Just yesterday I was out for a walk with a friend when I saw my neighbour Roy. Now Roy has always been of the quirkier variety, but yesterday he was in a particularly foul mood. As I walked past Roy's home I offered him a pleasant greeting, to which Roy asked who I was. Well this obviously upset me, after all Roy has been my neighbour for as long as I can remember, how is it he doesn't know me?
Roy made me angry, and the worst part is the friend of mine with whom I was walking, grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away. I tried explaining to him that I don't need help, but he was persistent. So persistent in fact that he insisted on taking me all the way back home himself, a request that I gave into. He is a good friend to me, better than Roy it would seem, though I must admit I don't know his name. His face seems to change every time I see him, sometimes he even looks more like a woman than a man! In fact the only thing that is consistent with my friend is what he wears, those odd white garments. I really must buy my friend some new clothes, maybe something with a little colour, I think he would like that. | Hey Jessie.
I am not sure you will read this or not. I saw it in movies that kids go through their parents stuff when they die. Not sure if I want you to. But I am so sorry to put you through this. My mind is like I am dreaming and being chased, moving in slow motion, struggling against an unseen current while an unknown inevitable closes in. I rarely wake up.
Milk
Eggs
~~Cheese~~
Bread
~~Cereal~~
2 lbs Ground Chuck
Reading is harder now. The words wiggle and slide around on the page. I think I have tried writing this a couple times. I haven’t been so lost since we lost Baby Jessie in ’04. Karen, if you can, tell everyone that I love them and this illness isn’t me. Tell them to pick up Jessie after swim practice since Earl is coming home early.
| |
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | Extra stuff!!!!
Finals were only scheduled during the morning now; it made it fair on the students as that was typically when people would wake up after a long night of sleep. Before the discovery, people would spend all-nighters studying- little did they know it was only killing their chances on the tests. Scientists said lack of sleep turned your brain to mush so you couldn’t focus, but in actually their luck had just run out.
A common side effect for depression was over or under sleeping- luck seemed to balance this out by helping out those who over slept. They had the best opportunities in life. They would find themselves in remarkable situations. Remember that singer who had severe depression? She was discovered one night singing at an open mic by none other than the owner of Warner Brother’s. He chalked it up to the nap he had that afternoon, but the singer knew.
Susan was an insomniac, but she didn’t let that stop her from drinking a bottle of Zquil every night. They called it the ‘non habit forming sleep aid’. It was a habit for her all right. For a heart surgeon, you had to sleep. She was practically paid to sleep. Since the discovery, doctors had been treated with so much more respect. Sleep 14 hours, work 8 hours. A perfect balance. Most of them were addicted to Tylonel PM or Zquil of course, who could sleep that much? The pay was good, the success rate even better. Nurses didn’t have 12 hour shifts anymore either- they couldn’t after the discovery. The shifts were broken up with power naps scattered throughout.
If someone found out about your bad sleeping habits, odds are they would shun you fro their friend group. No one needed a person with bad luck hanging about, ruining their chances at a good, lucky life.
Police officers would patrol the streets for the homeless, waking them up from their slumber to make sure there was still a sense of order. Didn’t need a homeless man sleeping for 16 hours straight only to wake up, be given a hundred dollars, and get a job within the next few hours. When the discovery had first happened, the unemployment rate was non-existent. Good as it sounded, it meant a lot of unqualified people were getting jobs they never should have gotten.
People had to be wary- you never knew If your luck was manipulating you or not. Forget to sleep and you might lose your wallet, over sleep and you might find someone else’s on the street. How do you control a population of over sleepers? How did you police when chances are the person that had just done that bank heist had forced themselves into a 3 day coma to gather the luck to just get away in the end?
After the discovery the world had changed. Businesses sold “Lucky Charms”- sleeper slaves who could be rented out by the hour to follow you around and increase your luck. Needed a loan from your mom? Hire a lucky charm and take them with you when you asked and your chances of a yes would increase.
Maria had been sold to a Sleeper business when she was only either years old. They didn’t teach her to read, to write, they just taught her body to sleep. Putting her into a coma to be waken up and rented out for an hour or two before going back. These Sleepers were outlawed soon after they gained popularity, but they still were pretty cheap off the black market. How do you think Donald Trump won the presidency? Hire enough Lucky Charms and even an idiot could rule the world.
| Am I awake? Have I gone truly mad? I've given up trying to answer these questions.
I haven't slept in five months. Maybe six, it's difficult to keep track when the days never end.
It started with the dreams - nightmares really. I was on my way to work one morning when the subway walls started closing in, crushing the train like a tin can. I screamed, trying to warn the other passengers, but was drowned out by the screech of metal bending and tearing. I didn't make it to work that day.
It wasn't long before even my own family treated me like a stranger. Men dressed in dark suits lurked on street corners as I wandered the city late at night, watching, waiting. Their faces were muddled and shifting, like a reflection in water disturbed by the ripples of a stone. Eventually I couldn't find my way home, couldn't even remember my own daughter's face. I left the city, taking refuge in the solitude of the wilderness.
“Hello old friend. Have you come to take me home?” I ask the darkness. It doesn't respond, resolute in it's silence.
The hallucinations have stopped since I left the city, but my reality remains fragile. Still, I am certain of one thing. Out here, the monsters are real.
I have grown quite adept at fighting them, and with each shadow I vanquish I reclaim part of my humanity. The memories returned slowly at first – The smell of roast chicken, the drip drip of our leaky faucet.
Now I am the hunter. Driven by insomnia, I am determined to escape this waking nightmare and return to the faded red door of my home, and to my daughter waiting behind it. |
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | "Brother." I spoke. He cradled what was left of his fiance as the first light of morning sun shifted through the leaves of the surrounding forest.
I didn't feel much, at first. Last night our town celebrated a successful harvest. Eldra was quite alive and happy. Now she was dried skin clinging to an old skeleton. This is how we all expected to be found, eventually.
"When does the world sleep, after we do?" My brother spoke to me.
"I don't think it does." I paced slightly away, "I think each night goes on. Forever. The mountains and trees and life are different every morning. The only thing that seems to remain the same are humans and everything within the lifestone walls."
"Then how do we wake up each morning?" A tear fell from his cheek to a hollowed eye socket beneath him. As he bent over to cry he heard a faint rustling beneath him. A browned paper lay beneath Eldra. He shuffled it open and read;
"Jonathan! By the time you find me I will likely be gone. I'm sorry it had to end this way. I received a panicked call from my mother and foolishly thought I could make it to her town by motorcycle before the lifestone walls went up. Obviously I was wrong. It has been the equivalent of 3 months since I have seen daylight. I think of you all the time. I would have tried to sleep but I fought a shadow walker who stole that from me. I have been searching since then for a way to sleep but I am becoming convinced that death is the only way. I now carry this letter in anticipation of this fate. The world is much more than I had expected. We rise with the sun. Wolves rise with the moon. When the moon sets, werewolves and the dead rise with the blood moon. A blue moon wakes the shadows, and a blue sun gives them form. When stars turn to souls the trees begin to walk and fight. When the souls in the sky fade, the ancients and giants begin to breathe. I see a torn world that is barren and lifeless. I have seen the sea destroyed as the mountains have woken and killed one another. But I know you will wake to greens and songs of birds in the trees. What beauty walks before we wake? I was not able to find a way to sleep. But I discovered a way to wake up. It is a tear from one of the mountains. I will hold it close to me as I die. It will look no different than any other rock but it will remain cold even when heated by fire. I could not bring you life. But at least I was able to bring you a gift in death. Live, without me." Jon began to cry at her chest. A small pebble was embedded on what little cloth was left. I lifted it and discovered it was cold as ice. I handed it to my brother, "This is for you."
----
Light began to fade from the sky. Funeral services had been held for 3 people who had ventured too far the night before. My brother and I had not conversed about the stone. He wanted time to himself without interruption and I respected his space. He came to me now.
"Do we do it?"
He didn't need to clarify to me. It was an absurd concept, that there might be morning walkers. It was always assumed that nothing happened before the mornings, that the sun was one of a kind. But it makes sense that the moon is just another sun, and that there are many after.
"Yes, we must know how the mountains are made."
And we slept under the stone.
---- | Am I awake? Have I gone truly mad? I've given up trying to answer these questions.
I haven't slept in five months. Maybe six, it's difficult to keep track when the days never end.
It started with the dreams - nightmares really. I was on my way to work one morning when the subway walls started closing in, crushing the train like a tin can. I screamed, trying to warn the other passengers, but was drowned out by the screech of metal bending and tearing. I didn't make it to work that day.
It wasn't long before even my own family treated me like a stranger. Men dressed in dark suits lurked on street corners as I wandered the city late at night, watching, waiting. Their faces were muddled and shifting, like a reflection in water disturbed by the ripples of a stone. Eventually I couldn't find my way home, couldn't even remember my own daughter's face. I left the city, taking refuge in the solitude of the wilderness.
“Hello old friend. Have you come to take me home?” I ask the darkness. It doesn't respond, resolute in it's silence.
The hallucinations have stopped since I left the city, but my reality remains fragile. Still, I am certain of one thing. Out here, the monsters are real.
I have grown quite adept at fighting them, and with each shadow I vanquish I reclaim part of my humanity. The memories returned slowly at first – The smell of roast chicken, the drip drip of our leaky faucet.
Now I am the hunter. Driven by insomnia, I am determined to escape this waking nightmare and return to the faded red door of my home, and to my daughter waiting behind it. |
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | Extra stuff!!!!
Finals were only scheduled during the morning now; it made it fair on the students as that was typically when people would wake up after a long night of sleep. Before the discovery, people would spend all-nighters studying- little did they know it was only killing their chances on the tests. Scientists said lack of sleep turned your brain to mush so you couldn’t focus, but in actually their luck had just run out.
A common side effect for depression was over or under sleeping- luck seemed to balance this out by helping out those who over slept. They had the best opportunities in life. They would find themselves in remarkable situations. Remember that singer who had severe depression? She was discovered one night singing at an open mic by none other than the owner of Warner Brother’s. He chalked it up to the nap he had that afternoon, but the singer knew.
Susan was an insomniac, but she didn’t let that stop her from drinking a bottle of Zquil every night. They called it the ‘non habit forming sleep aid’. It was a habit for her all right. For a heart surgeon, you had to sleep. She was practically paid to sleep. Since the discovery, doctors had been treated with so much more respect. Sleep 14 hours, work 8 hours. A perfect balance. Most of them were addicted to Tylonel PM or Zquil of course, who could sleep that much? The pay was good, the success rate even better. Nurses didn’t have 12 hour shifts anymore either- they couldn’t after the discovery. The shifts were broken up with power naps scattered throughout.
If someone found out about your bad sleeping habits, odds are they would shun you fro their friend group. No one needed a person with bad luck hanging about, ruining their chances at a good, lucky life.
Police officers would patrol the streets for the homeless, waking them up from their slumber to make sure there was still a sense of order. Didn’t need a homeless man sleeping for 16 hours straight only to wake up, be given a hundred dollars, and get a job within the next few hours. When the discovery had first happened, the unemployment rate was non-existent. Good as it sounded, it meant a lot of unqualified people were getting jobs they never should have gotten.
People had to be wary- you never knew If your luck was manipulating you or not. Forget to sleep and you might lose your wallet, over sleep and you might find someone else’s on the street. How do you control a population of over sleepers? How did you police when chances are the person that had just done that bank heist had forced themselves into a 3 day coma to gather the luck to just get away in the end?
After the discovery the world had changed. Businesses sold “Lucky Charms”- sleeper slaves who could be rented out by the hour to follow you around and increase your luck. Needed a loan from your mom? Hire a lucky charm and take them with you when you asked and your chances of a yes would increase.
Maria had been sold to a Sleeper business when she was only either years old. They didn’t teach her to read, to write, they just taught her body to sleep. Putting her into a coma to be waken up and rented out for an hour or two before going back. These Sleepers were outlawed soon after they gained popularity, but they still were pretty cheap off the black market. How do you think Donald Trump won the presidency? Hire enough Lucky Charms and even an idiot could rule the world.
| The longer you stayed awake, the less ‘luck’ you had. It worked the other way too, if you planned a short day, you’d be surprised how lucky you could be. Generally, people would sleep the normal 8-10 hours, then wake up with a refreshing lucky morning, going to bed around 12-14 hours later right as the bad luck would kick in.
After Jim’s wife died, he would only stay awake for short bursts of time. Just enough time to run down to the nearest strip club and get one of them to fall in love with him again. Sex and sleep. Sex and sleep. Drowning his sorrows in pussy and booze.
He hadn’t been fired yet, despite the fact that he only went in about twelve hours a week; four bursts of three hours each. The law firm was getting the best cases since he had started doing that. His pay was cut a little bit, seeing as he was barely coming in, but they would never fire him now that they had a ‘lucky charm’.
“Jimmy baby!” A girl whose name was supposedly ‘Sugar’ came and sat down across his lap. He had been awake for about fifteen minutes, just enough time to run down and get into his car for the quick eight-minute drive down the road. Sugar wrapped her arms around his neck as he sat back in his chair. “Free lap dance baby?” She winked and started dancing. Jim sighed and looked up at the ceiling, feeling her thighs press against his lap.
Mary had been diagnosed with cancer just eight years after they had married. It was such a fluke. No one knew about the ‘luck’ until almost a decade ago now. Her whole teenage life, Mary had been an insomniac. Sleeping didn’t come naturally to her. This wouldn’t have even mattered if not for ‘luck”- if you only sleep only three to five hours for long enough, ‘luck’ became permanent. Slowly she became more and more unlucky.
How did they even meet anyway? Jim tried hard to think while Sugar mounted him, hands gliding through his short brown hair.
College. ‘Luck’ had not yet been discovered, and all-nighters were famous during finals week. Jim had been awake for around twenty-seven hours, when Mary had sat right across from him. Her eyes were so bright and blue, a stark contrast from the deep brown bags underneath them. They realized they had been in Ecology together and decided to study together. By the end of the night, their books had started to tear at the corners and the lights would flicker a bit, but that was normal for finals week. The power had always gone out once or twice throughout the last week of the quarter, before ‘luck’ had been found they just assumed it was due to the over use of electricity. As if you could over use it- or run out of it.
That year had gone by in a blur, Jim and Mary were taking classes together, Jim even changed his major to hers. They would stay up late, fail classes together, one time they even broke up and Jim had been so depressed that he over slept every day. He got straight As that quarter. In the end though, like most college sweethearts, Jim proposed to Mary in the rose garden on campus two weeks before their graduation. She lost the ring multiple times, and it wasn’t until after they had been married for a while that luck had been discovered.
“Jimmy! Are you listening?” Sugar stood up and put her hands on her hips, pretending to be grumpy. “I miss you baby, when we gonna hang out again?” She made her voice high and whiny, in an attempt to be cute maybe?
“Sorry Sugar, it’s been bad at work lately.” He lied, he always lied to these girls, his luck was always good enough to gain sympathy. Sympathy sex wasn’t as good as normal sex, but it was something- and it was free. Jim had never paid for sex in his life and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Don’t worry about it baby- you know I love you. I don’t charge lovers!” She smiled and touched his nose with her finger. He faked a smile back, heart tight in his chest. It was still there, despite how much he tried to drown it.
Jim glanced at his watch- it had been an hour now. He usually stayed up between 2-4 hours before going back to sleep. It didn’t look like Sugar would put out in that window today. He stood up and placed his hand gently on her shoulder, kissing her cheek before walking back out into the sun.
Since luck had been discovered, the world had changed. There were no homeless people anymore. If you slept well enough in childhood and your teen years, you could potentially be set for life. Like that Bill Gates guy- he had been diagnosed with depression early on in his childhood. He slept through college classes and eventually got kicked out. It looked like he wouldn’t amount to anything, but all that sleep had placed him in the best opportune moments and he took those chances that others would have failed on. Now he was a millionaire.
Then there was Jim. Found his sweetheart in college- his unlucky sweetheart. Married for twenty years, twelve of those riddled with cancer. Nine of those trying their hardest to sleep the cancer away. It had been too late for her.
Perhaps it was too late for him too.. |
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | Tenem the night owl stifled a yawn. Beneath the harsh fluorescent glare of the lights, he shuffled around the store, picking up bags of chips and re-arranging the candy bars.
Behind the cheap beers, he found the corpse of a rat in the fridge. It was a huge rat, definitely not from the daytime. Dusk, maybe, or late evening, Tenem thought. Most likely, it was those kids who brought it in, and hid it in his fridge.
Tenem got a plastic bag, and put it on one of his hands like a glove. He reached into the fridge, almost smudging the glass with his face, and pulled on the rat's tail. The animal twitched, and a rancid smell seeped out of the fridge. Tenem wrapped the animal up quickly, and rushed out of the back door.
When he came back from the dumpster, there was a man standing in the back of the store. He wore a thick pair of jeans, and some kind of rough-hewn leather jacket, almost as if he'd made it himself.
*Shit,* Tenem thought to himself. It was already three minutes past ten, and the doors were supposed to be locked.
"Sir?" Tenem said, speaking to the man's back, "Sir, we're closed."
He had his head in the fridge, and vapor puffed against the glass when he spoke, "Think you might got a problem in here. Awful smell."
"No, I know," Tenem said, "It's just some kids, playing pranks. They think it's funny to vandalize my store."
The man lifted his head out of the fridge, his hand hooked into a case of energy drinks. A twelve-pack.
"That ain't right," he tilted his head toward Tenem, and winked, "Can't they see a man's trying to make a living?"
Tenem sucked in his breath. The man's face was a battlefield. Scars laced over scars, some like bright, shiny stitches, others like deep, sun-cracked valleys.
The man pushed past Tenem, grabbed a case of yellow-and-orange energy shots, and headed to checkout.
"Sir," Tenem jogged to keep up with the man's towering strides, "Sir, actually, we're closed."
The man's only response was a smile that only reached the left half of his face. Tenem sighed, and grabbed the man's purchases, swiping them under blood-red line of the checker.
"And get me a pack of them caffeine pills."
Before Tanem could argue, before Tanem could say it was illegal to sell caffeine pills so late, the man spoke again.
"Do it."
Tenem looked up. With one arm, the man was propped up against the side of the counter, scanning the night through the store's windows. An image flashed through Tanem's head - a documentary he'd once seen about crocodiles in some muddy river. They had looked like logs, harmlessly bobbing in the current, until they decided to attack.
Pulling the key from the lanyard around his neck, he slipped it into locked glass doors behind the counter. His hand hovered over the smallest package they had.
"No, sir. Extra Strength, if you please."
Tanem's hand was almost shaking. He'd never even touched the extra strength pills before, let alone sold them at eight minutes past ten.
Tanem had to run the checker over the package four times before it rang up.
"That'll be thirty-nine dollars and twenty seven cents."
The man *slapped* his hand on the counter, and when he lifted it up, Tanem saw a "100" on the corner.
"Keep the change," the man scooped up his supplies, and backpedaled toward the door.
"Wait!" Tanem shouted, just as the automatic bell went off, "What are you going to do with all that?"
The man's grin spread to both sides of his face, almost touching his eyes, "Going hunting."
The door swung shut behind him (the bell announced his exit with a sluggish *bing bong*). This time Tenem made sure to lock glass doors. He flicked off the lights, leaving only the dim glow of the emergency exit sign, and made his way to the back door, blinking through another yawn.
He pushed against the door, but it wouldn't open. He tried again, nudging his whole body into the handle. It shuddered in place, but refused to open even a crack.
He took a step back, angled himself toward the handle, and slammed his shoulder against the door with a heavy grunt. Metal screeched, the door flung open, and Tenem tumbled out into the night.
And a hand caught him by the collar.
There was a mechanical *click* behind his left ear. A voice growled in his other, "So, you want to tell me how long you've been awake?"
"N-not long-" Tenem stuttered.
"How long?" The kiss of cold metal was urgent against Tenem's head, "Hours or days?"
"Hours," Tenem said, "I swear, I've only been up since six."
A moment of concentrated silence, before the metal was pulled away from his skin. A shiver ran down Tenem's spine as he turned, slowly, to look at his assailant. Silvery scars criss-crossed the man's face, and that same half-grin was still there. There was a board of splintered wood under the man's steel-toed boot - he'd probably used it to bar the door shut.
The man carried a pistol in one hand, gleaming in the fizzling back-lights of the alley. As Tenem's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he also noted a black strap, and the nozzle of a rifle jutting out over his left shoulder.
The man opened one of the energy drinks with a crisp *crack* and a wet sizzling.
He asked Tenem, "How long can you stay awake?" just before tilting his head back, and slugging down the entire can.
"City ordinance says I've got about one more hour-"
With a soured face, and sudsy liquid dripping from both corners of his mouth, he shook his head, "No, that's not-"
He thumped his chest with the hand that was still holding the pistol, and belched so loud, it echoed.
"That's not what I mean. How long *can* you stay awake? I've got a job for you."
***
[Read part 2 here >](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4acx0w/wp_each_person_experiences_their_own_length_of/d0zy460) | "Dinner's ready George."
"Thanks Dad," he yawned. Oversleeping through dinner again would have been a problem. Getting woken up by having his shoulder slung from side to side was no fun way to wake up.
"How long was your day son?"
"Four hours. Today's another four hour one for a few lectures, then I'll be passing out at Tom's before the social."
His dad peered over a fork full of lasagna. "You're breaking your days up pretty small."
The boy shrugged. "Better safe than sorry." He dug in, taking as much as he could before the commute.
On longer days, the teenager would have napped at Tom's place instead of commuting back home. The Herman's put in some extra cash into their sleep room, their place was closer to campus, and Tom liked having him over. Most importantly, it meant a safer place to rest.
"When shall I expect you back?"
"Hopefully ten hours from now, but I'll let you know."
The man only nodded, understanding the loose deadline. George was still getting over his last long day from a month ago.
---------------------------
"Hey, kid! Go the fuck to sleep!"
*Not yet, I'm almost home! Just --- OH SHIT!*
That pot nearly slammed George's head to the cement. The next thing he knew, George was waking up in a stranger's car, driving somewhere. His head ached. Next to him was another boy his age.
"Sorry," he grinned, showing off a bruised range of knuckles. "Pa showed me how to put someone to sleep."
The woman driving spoke up in a grave tone. "How late were you up kid?"
In his haze, George was able to give her a number.
She spun on him from her seat. "Never do that again you *dumbass!*"
"That's my mom," the boy said shyly. "And I'm Tom, nice to meetcha!"
---------------------------------
As chance encounters go, it was a blessing. George made good friends with the Hermans and was allowed to guest nap at their place between classes. It was fortunate Tom was also attending the local community college. They were able to split group projects between sleeping shifts to keep things simple. Safe.
"You're massaging your head again son."
George had been staring at the salt shaker for the past three minutes. Wolfing down the rest of the cold lasagna, he made a rush for his sleep room. "I gotta go!" George called down the stairs.
"Need a lift?" His dad called back.
"It's fine," the student said between steps back down to the lower level. "I left enough time to commute."
"Alright, just remember --- "
"To rest, got it!" George slammed the door and made his way for the bus. It wouldn't be for another forty minutes until he cursed his forgetfulness.
George forgot to ask his dad how he slept.
*If* he slept. It had been ten hours since he last asked.
The teenager gasped.
Cursing, he punched numbers into his cell phone to call home. Each dial was an eternity. His lungs grew tighter with each passing moment. What were the odds something would happen after he ---
"What's up son?"
"Dad, when was the last time you slept?"
"Hmm. 12 hours I think."
Oh no.
"Go the fuck to sleep."
His dad tutted. "Is that how you speak to your old man?"
"Dad," George pleaded. "Please, I'm begging you to take a nap!"
"Relax kiddo, I'm in the nap room now. Good to see a son cares, but watch your language."
George blushed over the phone, embarrassed by the impression Mrs. Herman had on him a month ago. Still, better than a random domestic disaster to blow up the house. Or worse. Whatever one's worst fears were, the length of the day made it more likely to happen. Manifest paranoia. From sudden concussions to...
"Sleep well dad," he said quietly.
"Thanks George. Good luck in classes today."
After the phone clicked, George smiled with relief. Napping frequently enough, the teenager hoped to keep his dad safe.
It was going to be a good day after all. As long as he kept it short.
--------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | We are the hunters.
Or, that's what we were called once. Titles and names didn't make much of a difference any more.
We'd been fighting for...as long as I could remember. May as well have been an eternity. Each morning, we wake in what we've come to call the Square. Hundreds of us, armed to the teeth from our past fights. And we'd fight. Not one another, no. The monsters. True monsters; not some trite boogeyman that your son thinks is under his bed.
Many would fall. All of us, in fact. Every night. One by one, we were overwhelmed. And those brave enough to venture out of the Square, simply woke with us in the morning.
Some were happy with this lot. Valhalla, a few compared it to. But in this place, no feasting awaited the victorious. Only an endless night that grew ever-darker.
On this day, I decided to change all of this.
Something, I decided, must have put us here. Or some curse held us fast. Or perhaps it was simply a dream. Whatever the cause, the answer was not in the Square, and so I left.
Time had all but lost its meaning. The night was long, and all but my torch had failed me. If it wouldn't mean the end of all my work to this point, I would have gone to sleep. So tired.
I should've been thankful. Though the monsters grew in strength and ferocity farther from the Square, I had managed to survive to this point. Perhaps I was treading new ground.
I heard a rustling behind me, and instinctively drew my weapon. There wasn't any error to be made; I was the last hunter alive tonight, and if I hesitated, I wouldn't be for long. I ducked and spun to meet the new foe, and heard a huge mass fly over my shoulder, nearly taking me to the ground.
Great. Now it was behind me, again. I plunged the pointed end of my torch into the soft soil and drew a gun, spinning once more. It dashed to swipe at my legs, and was met with a face-full of silver and gunpowder. I managed to follow-up with a few chops of my weapon before it could maneuver into the darkness.
I heard a wispy cackling from where I'd seen it last, and let a shot loose in that direction. The laughter only returned for a moment, before I heard something scampering away. I cursed under my breath and went to retrieve the torch. Best case, it had left and would try to track me down later. Worst case, it would return with help.
I sighed and continued. I wouldn't wait around for them to find me.
I fought nothing more than sleep for the next few minutes as I trudged through the brush, until I finally crested a ridge. I surveyed the latest area, and felt a smile creep across my face. In the middle of a wide plain, a tower sat, only visible by a blue light from inside. The tower, if it wasn't what I was looking for, would lead me there. I was sure of it. | "Dinner's ready George."
"Thanks Dad," he yawned. Oversleeping through dinner again would have been a problem. Getting woken up by having his shoulder slung from side to side was no fun way to wake up.
"How long was your day son?"
"Four hours. Today's another four hour one for a few lectures, then I'll be passing out at Tom's before the social."
His dad peered over a fork full of lasagna. "You're breaking your days up pretty small."
The boy shrugged. "Better safe than sorry." He dug in, taking as much as he could before the commute.
On longer days, the teenager would have napped at Tom's place instead of commuting back home. The Herman's put in some extra cash into their sleep room, their place was closer to campus, and Tom liked having him over. Most importantly, it meant a safer place to rest.
"When shall I expect you back?"
"Hopefully ten hours from now, but I'll let you know."
The man only nodded, understanding the loose deadline. George was still getting over his last long day from a month ago.
---------------------------
"Hey, kid! Go the fuck to sleep!"
*Not yet, I'm almost home! Just --- OH SHIT!*
That pot nearly slammed George's head to the cement. The next thing he knew, George was waking up in a stranger's car, driving somewhere. His head ached. Next to him was another boy his age.
"Sorry," he grinned, showing off a bruised range of knuckles. "Pa showed me how to put someone to sleep."
The woman driving spoke up in a grave tone. "How late were you up kid?"
In his haze, George was able to give her a number.
She spun on him from her seat. "Never do that again you *dumbass!*"
"That's my mom," the boy said shyly. "And I'm Tom, nice to meetcha!"
---------------------------------
As chance encounters go, it was a blessing. George made good friends with the Hermans and was allowed to guest nap at their place between classes. It was fortunate Tom was also attending the local community college. They were able to split group projects between sleeping shifts to keep things simple. Safe.
"You're massaging your head again son."
George had been staring at the salt shaker for the past three minutes. Wolfing down the rest of the cold lasagna, he made a rush for his sleep room. "I gotta go!" George called down the stairs.
"Need a lift?" His dad called back.
"It's fine," the student said between steps back down to the lower level. "I left enough time to commute."
"Alright, just remember --- "
"To rest, got it!" George slammed the door and made his way for the bus. It wouldn't be for another forty minutes until he cursed his forgetfulness.
George forgot to ask his dad how he slept.
*If* he slept. It had been ten hours since he last asked.
The teenager gasped.
Cursing, he punched numbers into his cell phone to call home. Each dial was an eternity. His lungs grew tighter with each passing moment. What were the odds something would happen after he ---
"What's up son?"
"Dad, when was the last time you slept?"
"Hmm. 12 hours I think."
Oh no.
"Go the fuck to sleep."
His dad tutted. "Is that how you speak to your old man?"
"Dad," George pleaded. "Please, I'm begging you to take a nap!"
"Relax kiddo, I'm in the nap room now. Good to see a son cares, but watch your language."
George blushed over the phone, embarrassed by the impression Mrs. Herman had on him a month ago. Still, better than a random domestic disaster to blow up the house. Or worse. Whatever one's worst fears were, the length of the day made it more likely to happen. Manifest paranoia. From sudden concussions to...
"Sleep well dad," he said quietly.
"Thanks George. Good luck in classes today."
After the phone clicked, George smiled with relief. Napping frequently enough, the teenager hoped to keep his dad safe.
It was going to be a good day after all. As long as he kept it short.
--------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
|
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | Tenem the night owl stifled a yawn. Beneath the harsh fluorescent glare of the lights, he shuffled around the store, picking up bags of chips and re-arranging the candy bars.
Behind the cheap beers, he found the corpse of a rat in the fridge. It was a huge rat, definitely not from the daytime. Dusk, maybe, or late evening, Tenem thought. Most likely, it was those kids who brought it in, and hid it in his fridge.
Tenem got a plastic bag, and put it on one of his hands like a glove. He reached into the fridge, almost smudging the glass with his face, and pulled on the rat's tail. The animal twitched, and a rancid smell seeped out of the fridge. Tenem wrapped the animal up quickly, and rushed out of the back door.
When he came back from the dumpster, there was a man standing in the back of the store. He wore a thick pair of jeans, and some kind of rough-hewn leather jacket, almost as if he'd made it himself.
*Shit,* Tenem thought to himself. It was already three minutes past ten, and the doors were supposed to be locked.
"Sir?" Tenem said, speaking to the man's back, "Sir, we're closed."
He had his head in the fridge, and vapor puffed against the glass when he spoke, "Think you might got a problem in here. Awful smell."
"No, I know," Tenem said, "It's just some kids, playing pranks. They think it's funny to vandalize my store."
The man lifted his head out of the fridge, his hand hooked into a case of energy drinks. A twelve-pack.
"That ain't right," he tilted his head toward Tenem, and winked, "Can't they see a man's trying to make a living?"
Tenem sucked in his breath. The man's face was a battlefield. Scars laced over scars, some like bright, shiny stitches, others like deep, sun-cracked valleys.
The man pushed past Tenem, grabbed a case of yellow-and-orange energy shots, and headed to checkout.
"Sir," Tenem jogged to keep up with the man's towering strides, "Sir, actually, we're closed."
The man's only response was a smile that only reached the left half of his face. Tenem sighed, and grabbed the man's purchases, swiping them under blood-red line of the checker.
"And get me a pack of them caffeine pills."
Before Tanem could argue, before Tanem could say it was illegal to sell caffeine pills so late, the man spoke again.
"Do it."
Tenem looked up. With one arm, the man was propped up against the side of the counter, scanning the night through the store's windows. An image flashed through Tanem's head - a documentary he'd once seen about crocodiles in some muddy river. They had looked like logs, harmlessly bobbing in the current, until they decided to attack.
Pulling the key from the lanyard around his neck, he slipped it into locked glass doors behind the counter. His hand hovered over the smallest package they had.
"No, sir. Extra Strength, if you please."
Tanem's hand was almost shaking. He'd never even touched the extra strength pills before, let alone sold them at eight minutes past ten.
Tanem had to run the checker over the package four times before it rang up.
"That'll be thirty-nine dollars and twenty seven cents."
The man *slapped* his hand on the counter, and when he lifted it up, Tanem saw a "100" on the corner.
"Keep the change," the man scooped up his supplies, and backpedaled toward the door.
"Wait!" Tanem shouted, just as the automatic bell went off, "What are you going to do with all that?"
The man's grin spread to both sides of his face, almost touching his eyes, "Going hunting."
The door swung shut behind him (the bell announced his exit with a sluggish *bing bong*). This time Tenem made sure to lock glass doors. He flicked off the lights, leaving only the dim glow of the emergency exit sign, and made his way to the back door, blinking through another yawn.
He pushed against the door, but it wouldn't open. He tried again, nudging his whole body into the handle. It shuddered in place, but refused to open even a crack.
He took a step back, angled himself toward the handle, and slammed his shoulder against the door with a heavy grunt. Metal screeched, the door flung open, and Tenem tumbled out into the night.
And a hand caught him by the collar.
There was a mechanical *click* behind his left ear. A voice growled in his other, "So, you want to tell me how long you've been awake?"
"N-not long-" Tenem stuttered.
"How long?" The kiss of cold metal was urgent against Tenem's head, "Hours or days?"
"Hours," Tenem said, "I swear, I've only been up since six."
A moment of concentrated silence, before the metal was pulled away from his skin. A shiver ran down Tenem's spine as he turned, slowly, to look at his assailant. Silvery scars criss-crossed the man's face, and that same half-grin was still there. There was a board of splintered wood under the man's steel-toed boot - he'd probably used it to bar the door shut.
The man carried a pistol in one hand, gleaming in the fizzling back-lights of the alley. As Tenem's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he also noted a black strap, and the nozzle of a rifle jutting out over his left shoulder.
The man opened one of the energy drinks with a crisp *crack* and a wet sizzling.
He asked Tenem, "How long can you stay awake?" just before tilting his head back, and slugging down the entire can.
"City ordinance says I've got about one more hour-"
With a soured face, and sudsy liquid dripping from both corners of his mouth, he shook his head, "No, that's not-"
He thumped his chest with the hand that was still holding the pistol, and belched so loud, it echoed.
"That's not what I mean. How long *can* you stay awake? I've got a job for you."
***
[Read part 2 here >](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4acx0w/wp_each_person_experiences_their_own_length_of/d0zy460) | "Be in bed by seven."
That's what my mum always says to me, every night.
"But can't I read another chapter? Please, mum?" I always ask.
Tonight I am reading H.P. Lovecraft.
She takes the book away from me, closes it firmly, and kisses me goodnight.
"What happens if I stay up?" I ask.
"There are monsters," she says. "Monsters under the bed. Monsters in the cupboard. Monsters who like to eat little eight year olds."
She turns off the light and closes the door.
My eyes adjust slowly to the blackness. Tonight, Rupert and I are going to stay up and see what happens.
It is hard to stay awake in the silence. My grip on Rupert slowly relaxes as I start to fall asleep.
There is a rustle from the wardrobe, and I am suddenly wide awake. All thoughts of sleep are forgotten.
In the silence, all I can hear is my breathing, and my racing heart. The wardrobe is as quiet as a ghost.
Then it rattles again.
"Stay here," I whisper to Rupert. The teddy bears nods at me understandingly. I pull my dressing gown on a little tighter, and swing my legs out of the bed.
The carpet is reassuringly soft.
Then something reaches out from beneath the bed and brushes my ankle.
---
*Read more of my stories at r/jd_rallage.* |
Leaving this one more open ended. Perhaps sleeping people are immune to whatever happens to those who decide to stay awake later. Perhaps people only age one day per "day", giving vastly longer lifespans to those who can afford to stay awake longer. What if you have a condition which [prevents you from falling asleep](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fatal_familial_insomnia)? Maybe it all just depends on your point of view. | [WP] Each person experiences their own length of day. Although everyone wakes at the same time, your day only ends when you fall asleep. The longer you stay awake however, the more dangerous the world seems to get... | We are the hunters.
Or, that's what we were called once. Titles and names didn't make much of a difference any more.
We'd been fighting for...as long as I could remember. May as well have been an eternity. Each morning, we wake in what we've come to call the Square. Hundreds of us, armed to the teeth from our past fights. And we'd fight. Not one another, no. The monsters. True monsters; not some trite boogeyman that your son thinks is under his bed.
Many would fall. All of us, in fact. Every night. One by one, we were overwhelmed. And those brave enough to venture out of the Square, simply woke with us in the morning.
Some were happy with this lot. Valhalla, a few compared it to. But in this place, no feasting awaited the victorious. Only an endless night that grew ever-darker.
On this day, I decided to change all of this.
Something, I decided, must have put us here. Or some curse held us fast. Or perhaps it was simply a dream. Whatever the cause, the answer was not in the Square, and so I left.
Time had all but lost its meaning. The night was long, and all but my torch had failed me. If it wouldn't mean the end of all my work to this point, I would have gone to sleep. So tired.
I should've been thankful. Though the monsters grew in strength and ferocity farther from the Square, I had managed to survive to this point. Perhaps I was treading new ground.
I heard a rustling behind me, and instinctively drew my weapon. There wasn't any error to be made; I was the last hunter alive tonight, and if I hesitated, I wouldn't be for long. I ducked and spun to meet the new foe, and heard a huge mass fly over my shoulder, nearly taking me to the ground.
Great. Now it was behind me, again. I plunged the pointed end of my torch into the soft soil and drew a gun, spinning once more. It dashed to swipe at my legs, and was met with a face-full of silver and gunpowder. I managed to follow-up with a few chops of my weapon before it could maneuver into the darkness.
I heard a wispy cackling from where I'd seen it last, and let a shot loose in that direction. The laughter only returned for a moment, before I heard something scampering away. I cursed under my breath and went to retrieve the torch. Best case, it had left and would try to track me down later. Worst case, it would return with help.
I sighed and continued. I wouldn't wait around for them to find me.
I fought nothing more than sleep for the next few minutes as I trudged through the brush, until I finally crested a ridge. I surveyed the latest area, and felt a smile creep across my face. In the middle of a wide plain, a tower sat, only visible by a blue light from inside. The tower, if it wasn't what I was looking for, would lead me there. I was sure of it. | "Be in bed by seven."
That's what my mum always says to me, every night.
"But can't I read another chapter? Please, mum?" I always ask.
Tonight I am reading H.P. Lovecraft.
She takes the book away from me, closes it firmly, and kisses me goodnight.
"What happens if I stay up?" I ask.
"There are monsters," she says. "Monsters under the bed. Monsters in the cupboard. Monsters who like to eat little eight year olds."
She turns off the light and closes the door.
My eyes adjust slowly to the blackness. Tonight, Rupert and I are going to stay up and see what happens.
It is hard to stay awake in the silence. My grip on Rupert slowly relaxes as I start to fall asleep.
There is a rustle from the wardrobe, and I am suddenly wide awake. All thoughts of sleep are forgotten.
In the silence, all I can hear is my breathing, and my racing heart. The wardrobe is as quiet as a ghost.
Then it rattles again.
"Stay here," I whisper to Rupert. The teddy bears nods at me understandingly. I pull my dressing gown on a little tighter, and swing my legs out of the bed.
The carpet is reassuringly soft.
Then something reaches out from beneath the bed and brushes my ankle.
---
*Read more of my stories at r/jd_rallage.* |
[WP] A child is playing in the woods and stumbles upon a piece of 'Old Earth' technology, managing accidentally to turn it back on... | A loud thunderous noise roared through the air. Leaves and moss flying out of the way of the pulse engine streams as if to flee. Their past neighbor, who had walked on them in the past have returned. Thud. The metallic ramp on the side of the vessel hissed and slowly started to tur towards the green and wet ground. Another Thud and hiss as the airlock slowly opens, revealing the travelers sheltering behind it.
"So... This is what the true natural ecosystem smells like. Much better recycled air any day, I must say." The voice of a small, squint eyed woman said. That voice wasn't heard in this place in centuries. If the planet could talk, it would say that voice wasn't welcomed.
"Hurry, kids! Come on see your new home!" She said excitedly stepping aside and leaning on the airlock door and squinted her eyes into even narrower shape as she looked into the light filtered through the fresh and moist leaves of trees.
"Hurry up, slowpoke" A high pitched voice of a boy said, the soundwaves heading back to dimmed red lighted cockpit of the vessel
"Hold on! My limbs are still numb from the hibernation". It was the boy's sister. She was as beautiful as she was designed to be. Pale skin, blue eyes. A perfect body of an adolescent little girl.
"Look! There's a pond over here. Come on now, before others wake up!" The boy was running across the layer of moss and leaves with all the speed his short legs could give.
The woman, their mother was alarmed by the boy
"Stop right there! Remember the protocol?" "That water could be dangerous!"
"Yes, mom" The boy had stopped, panting a bit but with an apologetic tone in his voice.
"Let me get in there" The woman said and opened a niche near the door. A small and flat device lit up and curvy and angular symbols that remind of eastern buildings appeared on it.
"Input the material" A robotic buzzing voice said
The mom walked to a pond
"I am thirsty mom! The water must be clean" Said the boy with impatience
"Soon we will know" and gave her son a stern stare as to tell him to sit down and wait
"Analyzing... Analysis complete. Salinity level: Very low. Safe level. Heavy metal concentration: Very low. Safe level. Life forms: No registered harmful life forms detected. The water is class: Fresh water."
"All right then, drink up. It is important to keep yourself hydrated"
"Mom, what is that white plant there? On the water" Asked the girl
"A pond lily. Safe to touch and pick up" replied the device. The device had a vast, extensive and fast working registry, including on the life forms of the past
"I want one!"
"Hey look! Theres something submerged in the water!" Hollered the boy. The mom's attention shifted from the beautiful pond lily to the spot where the boy was pointing.
"It's just a plastic bag. They never decomposed." Sighed the mom
The boy picked up the bag nonetheless. The water was shallow in the point where the bag had drifted.
"There's something in here" Exclaimed the boy as he gasped in excitement. The boy poured out the object inside to a wet grass in front of him
"A box?" as the boy raised his eyebrows
"There might be something. It might be an artifact of the past. Fetch me the plasma cutter"
Not a moment too soon, a man was standing next to the now complete family. It was the father of the children. Standing tall and bamboozled as he gaped in awe of the beautiful nature around him. His eyes stared into a small yellow butterfly flying near small orchards of flowers.
"Welcome to the new world, my husband" Said the woman and snagged the plasma cutter from the man's hand.
"What secrets are you holding?"
Bzzzrt. The feeble lock was ripped in half and the woman lifted the lid. All the heads of the family peered into the box in one big cluster.
"Pfft, junk!" snorted the man. "Junk from our dirty past. Throw them away"
"Ideas like that is what ultimately led to this planet becoming uninhabitable. We thought everything was disposable... Even our own kind" Protested the woman. She had a saying in the matters in this micro sized community and the man knew that
"They are no use to us. We should..."
"Theres a device in here! It's seemingly intact" blurted out the boy
"Hmm, buttons." Thought the man in his mind as he pressed one
"Of course. It's not turning on. It's inoperable. What a waste of time"
"I'll plug it in the PAD and see if I can download some data from it" (Personal assistant device). The woman opened a small compartment in the PAD where a small universal data adapter was. Nothing but a cable with a head made of smart, adaptable material (SAM). Plop as the head was plugged in. The adapter head shifted shape and took the form of a flat strip.
"File format unsupported" Read on the screen. The faces of the children were clearly disappointed
"So much for that. Now, load up the personal protocol instructions and let's get to work" Ordered the man with a firm and determinant voice.
...
During the evening, the boy examined the camera in his tiny cabin, rolling it in his hands and changing the SAM for the last time to its original shape. "Still unresponsive after all the cable types and data formats". The boy sighed. Then, the whole room suddenly shifted and tilted. Was the planet quaking? "Tectonic movements" thought the boy as he jumped out of his now dormant stasis chamber acting as a bed. But the quake didn't continue. The room was still tilted, though, which made moving to doorway difficult and burdensome as the plastic floor wasn't designed to act as stairs too. "I hope nothing is broken inside the compartments" thought the boy as he had made his way to the doorway and then looked behind as he heard a distant low volume voice behind him. It was the device. "It operates!".
The boy carefully slid along the tilted floor to his bunk where the camera had dropped. "The algae cells... The energy! Of course! It needed external energy". A bunch of green pills were sticking out the device's own compartment with 2 slots in it. "The algae cells are powering it up" The quake had spilled the cells tabs from their jar on top of the device. The boy watched and listened to the faint video,tuning himself in.
"... Soon, the nukes will hit here. I pray to God that my bunker will last and that I will be able to make my way back into outdoors someday"
"With all the radiation these doomsday weapons will leave behind, a small part of me hopes that I instantly vaporize... And get to meet my family"
"I am leaving this message behind for anyone who might have survived this apocalypse or for the future generations and explorers to come. Know, that we humans are very destructive and that everything we touch will eventually crumble in our hands"
"I will be leaving this message in a specially crafted box that I ordered just for this day. The winds of time will erode everything but I hope one of us or them will get their hands on this message before that happens. This is 12th video out of 12. End of recording. "
The PAD ended it's translation and voice miming." Translation from the language: English is complete" it said with its usual machine voice
"Son, we need you outside! Everyone has to come! We have an emergency!" said the father who had suddenly appeared onto his doorway still panting from the exhaustion
The son sprinted to doorway, almost slipping due to newly found angle of the floor.
"Take my hand and let's go" said the father in a hurried tone
"What's going on?" Asked the son as they were sprinting (more like climbing) the tilted hallways on the surface that used to be a wall.
"One side of the ship has sunken into a marsh. The captain miscalculated our landing stage coordinates. We shall have quite a rough night lifting the ship back up" replied the father
"Hazards of a planet. By the way, I got the device which we found earlier to work. It contained a message"
"The history Intendant might be interested in it but right now, we have more pressing issues. First and foremost, we need to survive on this wretched planet"
EDIT: Submitted this by accident. Writing still progress
EDIT2: It is finished
| Lilly borrowed her father's metal detector, which up until then lay rusting in the garden shed after her father failed to find Roman coins from his 28 minutes on the beach. Lilly took the detector far and wide, going beyond her usual play area and into thicker undergrowth. It sounded a beep near the foot of an oak, and Lilly, no more than 4 foot tall, had dug diligently using her plastic spade.
Lilly had been working her way through the dirt for some weeks now, and she finally hit metal after her strenuous efforts. It took another day to properly excavate what turned out to be a metal box, caked in dirt, for which she stole the egg-wash brush from the kitchen to dust off.
When the box finally saw daylight, its gold face and rounded platinum edges sparkled slightly in the lazy sun. It was incredibly ornate, and brought a sense of drama and achievement to Lilly's endeavours. Since it was about the size of a Rubik's cube, Lilly picked up the box and gave the extravagant child's toy a small twist. The box gave way, but not wholeheartedly, and after a few more careful tests to see if it would break, Lilly put her strength and twisted the box down the middle, and the two sides rotated to make the box match perfectly once again.
A slow, but steady, rumble began to roll from the sky, but no black clouds nor rain appeared. As Lilly looked for thunder and lightning, the noise grew to a noticeable dissonance, but sounded too far away for her to care much about.
After no sign of rain, Lilly turned her attention back to the trinket box, carefully spinning it around, when she saw one word written in Roman letters emblazoned on one of the sides: *Laputa* | |
[WP] A child is playing in the woods and stumbles upon a piece of 'Old Earth' technology, managing accidentally to turn it back on... | I stomped out of camp. I was quite the little wagger when I was a kid, and being forced to go camping wasn't going to change that. My mother called after me but I was too angry. I heard my father tell her to leave me to cool off and sneered to myself.
I started out just following the path but as I came around a bend I saw something glinting in the sunlight between the trees. It was impossible to tell what it was from the trail and, being a city kid I was more afraid of getting dived than any animal, so I went to take a look.
It took me a while to find what I had seen the light reflecting off of, a piece of metal, part of an old solar cell rig. For a moment I forgot my anger as I started wondering how it had ended up out there. Who would put a sloar panel under a tree? How long had it been there? I wiped away the debris and looked at it closer.
I almost bit my tongue off when I fell through the roof. I was actually knocked out for a moment. When I came to, I looked around and found myself in another time. There were DVDs on the shelves, and a TV on the wall. There was a computer, an actual desktop box, sitting on the desk. I poked at it but it was dead.
Then I saw something I never thought I'd see, an honest to fuck robot. I was just looking around and I accidentally hit something. I jumped when I heard it and whipped around to see this little disk scurrying around on the floor. I almost drained myself.
Everybody knows the basics of the war. Blah, blah, Elon Musk. Blah, blah, Alternative Intellect Systems Company. But my great grandfather told me about his own experiences. What he went through? It remains the fuel for my nightmares to this day.
So, I grabbed the first thing I saw that I could use as a weapon, some sort of weird stick, thick and heavy on one end with a grip on the other. I grabbed this stick and I just started swinging. I forgot everything else. I knew I had to destroy it before it could replicate. Pff, it was already trying. The thing was sucking up bits of stuff off the floor, probably trying to collect silica.
So, I started swinging and didn't stop until it was destroyed. I crushed it again and again until it was just a useless pile of junk.
No, I'm not dropping you. I really did. I met the Presider and everything. He thanked me for saving humanity. I'd still have the medal if my younger brother hadn't lost it, but you can look it up. I saved us all from the second coming. I'm a fracking hero. | Lilly borrowed her father's metal detector, which up until then lay rusting in the garden shed after her father failed to find Roman coins from his 28 minutes on the beach. Lilly took the detector far and wide, going beyond her usual play area and into thicker undergrowth. It sounded a beep near the foot of an oak, and Lilly, no more than 4 foot tall, had dug diligently using her plastic spade.
Lilly had been working her way through the dirt for some weeks now, and she finally hit metal after her strenuous efforts. It took another day to properly excavate what turned out to be a metal box, caked in dirt, for which she stole the egg-wash brush from the kitchen to dust off.
When the box finally saw daylight, its gold face and rounded platinum edges sparkled slightly in the lazy sun. It was incredibly ornate, and brought a sense of drama and achievement to Lilly's endeavours. Since it was about the size of a Rubik's cube, Lilly picked up the box and gave the extravagant child's toy a small twist. The box gave way, but not wholeheartedly, and after a few more careful tests to see if it would break, Lilly put her strength and twisted the box down the middle, and the two sides rotated to make the box match perfectly once again.
A slow, but steady, rumble began to roll from the sky, but no black clouds nor rain appeared. As Lilly looked for thunder and lightning, the noise grew to a noticeable dissonance, but sounded too far away for her to care much about.
After no sign of rain, Lilly turned her attention back to the trinket box, carefully spinning it around, when she saw one word written in Roman letters emblazoned on one of the sides: *Laputa* | |
[WP] A child is playing in the woods and stumbles upon a piece of 'Old Earth' technology, managing accidentally to turn it back on... | The black ball was lying in the opening of an ancient tree trunk. I reached in and pulled it out, juggling the weighty object in my hand.
*What the heck is this?* I wondered. My first guess was aliens, but then I remembered. . . The people of the old earth made some pretty cool stuff. I'd seen other people find tape recorders and skateboards. They got to go on the news and share their findings. Would I be that lucky?
The ball had two white loops on the back, and a heavy triangle at its center. It wobbled in my hands nearly falling out, and something moved inside.
I shook the ball again, trying to get the creature to show its face. It came up with a sign, 'Don't count on it.' I giggled. So it's a talking ball, that's pretty damn smart. We don't even have those yet.
"Should I go home?" I asked the ball.
'Signs point to yes.' It showed.
I nodded, beginning my trek back through the brush. "Were you born before my time?" I shook it.
The ball answered, 'Without a doubt.' Hmm, so it is an intelligent being born before my time. I kept walking, I could smell salt in the air. That's odd I thought, I hadn't smelled that earlier.
I came out of the forest and onto a cliff edge. The ocean loomed far below me, I could see small white waves smashing onto pointy rocks. Butterflies flitted in my stomach, I never even knew the sea was this close to home.
"Sorry ball, but we have to turn back."
The sign flipped, 'No.'
I paused mid-turn, "What. . .? You can't be serious, you want me to go forward?"
I shook the ball, 'Ask again later.' I sighed, "It is later. Are you saying I should step over the edge?"
I shook once more, 'Without a doubt.'
I looked down at the steep drop. This ball was much older and wiser then me. . . What did I know. This might be the magical entrance to a land like Narnia, like in the movies.
I shook it one more time. "Are you ready?"
'Yes, definitely.'
I gulped and then stepped forward over the cliff and into the abyss. The magical ball rotated one more time as the world blurred around me.
'Outlook not so good.'
| Lilly borrowed her father's metal detector, which up until then lay rusting in the garden shed after her father failed to find Roman coins from his 28 minutes on the beach. Lilly took the detector far and wide, going beyond her usual play area and into thicker undergrowth. It sounded a beep near the foot of an oak, and Lilly, no more than 4 foot tall, had dug diligently using her plastic spade.
Lilly had been working her way through the dirt for some weeks now, and she finally hit metal after her strenuous efforts. It took another day to properly excavate what turned out to be a metal box, caked in dirt, for which she stole the egg-wash brush from the kitchen to dust off.
When the box finally saw daylight, its gold face and rounded platinum edges sparkled slightly in the lazy sun. It was incredibly ornate, and brought a sense of drama and achievement to Lilly's endeavours. Since it was about the size of a Rubik's cube, Lilly picked up the box and gave the extravagant child's toy a small twist. The box gave way, but not wholeheartedly, and after a few more careful tests to see if it would break, Lilly put her strength and twisted the box down the middle, and the two sides rotated to make the box match perfectly once again.
A slow, but steady, rumble began to roll from the sky, but no black clouds nor rain appeared. As Lilly looked for thunder and lightning, the noise grew to a noticeable dissonance, but sounded too far away for her to care much about.
After no sign of rain, Lilly turned her attention back to the trinket box, carefully spinning it around, when she saw one word written in Roman letters emblazoned on one of the sides: *Laputa* | |
[WP] A child is playing in the woods and stumbles upon a piece of 'Old Earth' technology, managing accidentally to turn it back on... | The black ball was lying in the opening of an ancient tree trunk. I reached in and pulled it out, juggling the weighty object in my hand.
*What the heck is this?* I wondered. My first guess was aliens, but then I remembered. . . The people of the old earth made some pretty cool stuff. I'd seen other people find tape recorders and skateboards. They got to go on the news and share their findings. Would I be that lucky?
The ball had two white loops on the back, and a heavy triangle at its center. It wobbled in my hands nearly falling out, and something moved inside.
I shook the ball again, trying to get the creature to show its face. It came up with a sign, 'Don't count on it.' I giggled. So it's a talking ball, that's pretty damn smart. We don't even have those yet.
"Should I go home?" I asked the ball.
'Signs point to yes.' It showed.
I nodded, beginning my trek back through the brush. "Were you born before my time?" I shook it.
The ball answered, 'Without a doubt.' Hmm, so it is an intelligent being born before my time. I kept walking, I could smell salt in the air. That's odd I thought, I hadn't smelled that earlier.
I came out of the forest and onto a cliff edge. The ocean loomed far below me, I could see small white waves smashing onto pointy rocks. Butterflies flitted in my stomach, I never even knew the sea was this close to home.
"Sorry ball, but we have to turn back."
The sign flipped, 'No.'
I paused mid-turn, "What. . .? You can't be serious, you want me to go forward?"
I shook the ball, 'Ask again later.' I sighed, "It is later. Are you saying I should step over the edge?"
I shook once more, 'Without a doubt.'
I looked down at the steep drop. This ball was much older and wiser then me. . . What did I know. This might be the magical entrance to a land like Narnia, like in the movies.
I shook it one more time. "Are you ready?"
'Yes, definitely.'
I gulped and then stepped forward over the cliff and into the abyss. The magical ball rotated one more time as the world blurred around me.
'Outlook not so good.'
| I stomped out of camp. I was quite the little wagger when I was a kid, and being forced to go camping wasn't going to change that. My mother called after me but I was too angry. I heard my father tell her to leave me to cool off and sneered to myself.
I started out just following the path but as I came around a bend I saw something glinting in the sunlight between the trees. It was impossible to tell what it was from the trail and, being a city kid I was more afraid of getting dived than any animal, so I went to take a look.
It took me a while to find what I had seen the light reflecting off of, a piece of metal, part of an old solar cell rig. For a moment I forgot my anger as I started wondering how it had ended up out there. Who would put a sloar panel under a tree? How long had it been there? I wiped away the debris and looked at it closer.
I almost bit my tongue off when I fell through the roof. I was actually knocked out for a moment. When I came to, I looked around and found myself in another time. There were DVDs on the shelves, and a TV on the wall. There was a computer, an actual desktop box, sitting on the desk. I poked at it but it was dead.
Then I saw something I never thought I'd see, an honest to fuck robot. I was just looking around and I accidentally hit something. I jumped when I heard it and whipped around to see this little disk scurrying around on the floor. I almost drained myself.
Everybody knows the basics of the war. Blah, blah, Elon Musk. Blah, blah, Alternative Intellect Systems Company. But my great grandfather told me about his own experiences. What he went through? It remains the fuel for my nightmares to this day.
So, I grabbed the first thing I saw that I could use as a weapon, some sort of weird stick, thick and heavy on one end with a grip on the other. I grabbed this stick and I just started swinging. I forgot everything else. I knew I had to destroy it before it could replicate. Pff, it was already trying. The thing was sucking up bits of stuff off the floor, probably trying to collect silica.
So, I started swinging and didn't stop until it was destroyed. I crushed it again and again until it was just a useless pile of junk.
No, I'm not dropping you. I really did. I met the Presider and everything. He thanked me for saving humanity. I'd still have the medal if my younger brother hadn't lost it, but you can look it up. I saved us all from the second coming. I'm a fracking hero. | |
[WP] You're immortal, but not in the traditional sense. Each time you die, you're sent back, to the moment that triggered the chain of events leading to your death, in order to try and stop it. | A car crash killed me the first time. I was 17 and drag racing with a buddy. My 1975 Camero would have won that race easily. Accelerating down the road at 90 miles per hour I was taking the lead but an oncoming truck forced my hand. I knew my buddy wouldn't brake and let me complete the pass so I opted for the far left, gravel shoulder. The truck blasted his air horn and flew past. I veered my car back onto the tarmac but lost control of the back end. I spun across the road, all four tires screeching. I tried to recover but my car smashed into a telephone pole.
The very next moment I was standing next to the dusty, black Camero. I was back at the farm where I had bought it 8 months prior. The farmer was standing next to me admiring the car in his overalls and straw hat. He said, "so we have a deal", and put out his hand for a shake. It was like deja vu, but very real. I walked away from Camero and bought a comfortable four door sedan instead. The next eight months of my life were a replay except I didn't have a cool car.
My girlfriend and I took a beach vacation for her 28th birthday. Beautiful resort, great food and perfect weather. On our fourth day I woke up early and went for a morning swim. The beach was empty. I swam out past the breakers and before I knew it I was at least 300 yards out. The current was strong. I fought against it trying to get back to the beach before I remembered I needed to swim parallel to the beach to get out of the rip. I spent all my energy and fought to stay afloat. I gave up. The next instant I was staring at my computer screen, the mouse hovering over the "book tickets" button. I was pissed. Why did I have to give up the whole vacation? I should have just blinked to the beach or the hotel room. I bought my girlfriend a necklace, but I would have preferred the beach vacation. Other than the drowning part.
From then on my life was pretty average until I hit the lotto. I was 31, single and a multi-millionaire. I upped my lifestyle enough to be very comfortable, but not so much as to blow through my millions. I was determined not to be one of those that won the lottery and ended up broke. To keep busy and make more money I bought several profitable business including a very busy Donuts franchise. The General Manager I hired was just a bit off. Randy was one of those guys that would be screaming at you one minute and hugging you the next. Other than the wild mood swings he was a good manager and didn't steal.
Randy had demanded a 10% raise. I told him I would consider a raise after his performance review in June. He snapped and started screaming. He knocked over a cart of donuts startling some customers so I told him to go home and cool off. I worked the rest of his shift. The next morning Randy was calm and asked me to come back to the office. I obliged expecting an apology, but instead was shot in the chest with a .38
I would have hoped to have been blinked back to the time Randy first demanded a raise. I could have given him the raise, or fired him. Either of those would have prevented my murder. Instead here I am, in line at the convenience store. I have the lottery slip in my hand along with five bucks.
| A flash, and then my mind focuses. Just like that, I was back, and I knew what I had to do. Approaching the intersection of 4th and Main, I put on my turn signal and turned left, rather than straight, as I had always done crossing that same intersection, which I did every day this week getting to work. Lo and behold, one block up, a 92 Chevy Impala blew the red light and slammed into another car clocking over 55 miles an hour in a commercial zone. Three dead, including the driver - just like the previous three times it had happened. Had *I* been anyone else, it would have been four dead. Just like those other times, I pull my car to the side.
Fourth time this month? Something was up. Or was it? By now, there was an odd sense of continuity to my life that few mortals could truly appreciate. I had no true way to end my life. Instead, I merely reset myself back to the choice that determined my death. The first time this had happened, during a poor decision to play tag near the cliffs as a kid, it was traumatizing. I had only wished that other kids - *someone* - could understand my experience. My parents thought I was crazy, got me psych treatment when I was 9. During that time, I tried to run away one night, until I got hit by a car in the darkness. My next thought was waking back up in my bed, safe and snug. Wouldn't try that again.
I've gotten a lot further since then. Gotten jobs. Lost jobs. Married some psycho who tried, successfully, to kill me. Didn't marry that same psycho. The only thing missing is someone who understands.
The worst part was the sense of merely *being* that it generated. There was no beginning, no end. My earliest memory was of the Iran-Contra hearings on television as a 5-year-old, but my latest memories stretch anywhere from now until the mid 2010's. Wait a minute, what time is *now*? Think, think. Bill Clinton is president. He just got re-elected. Oh god, will it really be another 20 years before I can see how that election with Bill Clinton's wife and Donald Trump turned out? How many times have I lived those years? A dozen? Two dozen?
I got a chill and a sense of vertigo from the thoughts swimming around in my head. I see the shouting up ahead as people rush out to assess the fatal accident that had just taken place. I know just what would help: Medical supplies in my glove compartment. I scramble and dig through, and then pull out... oh, it's my gun.
It really can end now. Let's put a period on this sentence, rather than a re-write. I can finally experience what every one of the other 6 billion goddamn people on this planet will experience. I don't even hesitate. Load chamber, safety off, pull trigger. Blackness.
I stand there with the gun in front of me, pointed at my mouth. The first aid kit's fallen out, sitting on the passenger's seat. I blink, understanding what my brain convinced me to attempt. It wasn't the first time, or the second, or the third. When would I learn my lesson? I suppose never, but I had no choice.
I grabbed the first aid kit, and for the fourth time this month, rushed towards the scene. | |
[WP] Every morning, you wake up with all the memories drunk people lose. | The former Reverend Brighton sat in his room at the Lovecraft Mental Health Facility, a perpetual smile on his face, a smile that always seemed to be the middle ground between drunk and hung over, though he had never drunk alcohol before or during his stay. The caregivers loved him; he took care of himself, required little to no watching, and never caused trouble. In fact, the only reason he was there was because he had been caught breaking in to multiple houses, and he had claimed each was his home. After examining him and finding his memory full of things that never happened to him (like a "rager somewhere downtown" when he was waiting on bail in the station, he was declared insane, his case was dismissed, and he was sent to Lovecraft for treatment.
The only thing that neither the prosecution nor the defense could ever adequately explain was the fact that he had used keys hidden by the actual residents to break into the houses. | Lucid dreams of nauseous scenes plague my morning memories:
lost keys, mocking parodies, and obscenities.
Just take me home please.
So many women and so many men, I never want to have sex again,
or drink any more cheap gin.
I fell asleep when?
Right foot first, or was it left? Groggily towards the toilet I step,
a night plagued with theft, regret, and lost bets.
Wishfully thinking that my thoughtless drinking and pleasure seeking
won't lead to vomiting all over this porcelain goddess.
What a mess.
| |
[WP] Every morning, you wake up with all the memories drunk people lose. | "Sir, your two o'clock is here early. He seems very nervous, should I send him in?" she asked.
I looked up at from my desk and saw my young secretary peering her head from behind the door. "They're always nervous," I sighed. "Yeah ok, Sally, just get him in here. What is his name?"
As she went back to the waiting room she threw back, "John."
He walked into the room with his hands in his pockets, walking with unsteady steps as if he were still hungover. His ruffled hair and the black circles under his eyes only made him look more ghastly.
He took the seat across from me and hesitantly muttered the words, "Hello Mr. Retriever."
"Welcome John. This is your first time here, isn't it?" I ask as cordially as I could.
He shook his head in agreement as I began explaining the procedure, " The rules are simple. You tell me what was the time of your last memory, and if I have your memory I will let you know. The standard charge is five hundred dollars and you get to ask me five questions. If you have more questions it will be one hundred dollars extra for each. Do you understand the rules John?"
His eyes maintained their blank stare as he confirmed, "I do." I was just about to proceed but he jumped to beat me and said, "Nine fifteen. I was face down on the pavement and for a second I remember glimpsing up to see '88 Infinity', the clothes shop. That is it, just that."
It did not take me a lot to remember John's memory.I actually recalled it within seconds, it was one that stood out to me when I woke up in the morning. I usually see their memories as dreams, and I could not tell if this one was a nightmare or a fantasy.
His eyes were filled with anticipation, a look I have become accustomed to after three months in this business. I knew he was desperate so I started telling him what I could, "You were not passed out. You had just slipped and hit your head, but you got up a few minutes later. You were really hammered, even waddling into traffic as cars honked at you. Eventually you sat down near a dumpster, took out your phone and started texting."
"Oh God!" he startled me by saying out loud. "5th street, there is an 88 Infinity on 5th street. Oh God! I texted Emma didn't I?"
I was about to tell him that so I decided to excuse his interruption and not count the question."Yes, it was Emma, and she was happy to hear from you. She texted you back for an hour before you practically invited yourself over to her place. She did not stop you."
John's expression changed to intrigue and I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He sat at the edge of his seat and listened impatiently. "You took a cab and you kept singing to the driver about how much you loved Emma. But when you got there is when the memories become more vivid, it almost feels like I was actually there. That tends to happen when you drink even more, and you two drank a lot."
Again John displayed his knowledge of his drunken self as he predicted, "I bet I sat there with her talking about the good old times."
"For an hour," I added, "But then things got really interesting. For two people with alcohol instead of blood running in their veins you sure went at it hot and heavy for long. Well, it was not you as much as it was her effort. That Emma, she does it all and does it hard."
A mixture of joy and anxiousness appeared on John's face, "Was that it?"
I sat back in my chair and shared the rest, "No. After you two were done you sat and talked for a while before you said you had to go. It ends when you leave her building late at night. That is when you passed out on the pavement. Now if you want you can ask me five questions or you can choose to leave."
The confused young man sat there for a while silent. He seemed to dwell on his thought for far too long, but as long as my three o'clock appointment was still not there I just let him stay. Then, he hit me with two questions, "Is she still as hot as I remember her? And how was it? Was it good?"
"Yes, Emma was absolutely stunning and fully of life. Your time together was very hot and steamy, almost mind-blowing," I recalled for him from his memory.
The distraught young man took more time to ponder his thoughts. "Wait!" he suddenly said, "You said she was drunk too. Do you have her memory of last night?"
"It is against my policy to discuss anything but a client's own memories with them. Whether I have her memories or not, I would not be at liberty to say anything about it," I explained.
However, John was desperate and hounded me to know more, "Oh come on man! Just tell me! What did she feel about it?"
I firmly stood my ground, "I am sorry John but I am not at liberty to say. You have one more question."
John now carried the look of defeat on his face. He held his head in his hands for a while before he turned to me once more and asked, "What did she say to me in the end before I left?"
With a heavy sigh I revealed the most difficult thing I had to say that day, "She told you: They said it could happen any time this week; I hope I get to see you in the next life, love." | Lucid dreams of nauseous scenes plague my morning memories:
lost keys, mocking parodies, and obscenities.
Just take me home please.
So many women and so many men, I never want to have sex again,
or drink any more cheap gin.
I fell asleep when?
Right foot first, or was it left? Groggily towards the toilet I step,
a night plagued with theft, regret, and lost bets.
Wishfully thinking that my thoughtless drinking and pleasure seeking
won't lead to vomiting all over this porcelain goddess.
What a mess.
| |
[WP] Every morning, you wake up with all the memories drunk people lose. | The former Reverend Brighton sat in his room at the Lovecraft Mental Health Facility, a perpetual smile on his face, a smile that always seemed to be the middle ground between drunk and hung over, though he had never drunk alcohol before or during his stay. The caregivers loved him; he took care of himself, required little to no watching, and never caused trouble. In fact, the only reason he was there was because he had been caught breaking in to multiple houses, and he had claimed each was his home. After examining him and finding his memory full of things that never happened to him (like a "rager somewhere downtown" when he was waiting on bail in the station, he was declared insane, his case was dismissed, and he was sent to Lovecraft for treatment.
The only thing that neither the prosecution nor the defense could ever adequately explain was the fact that he had used keys hidden by the actual residents to break into the houses. | The city skyline is lit like it was shining through a glass bottle. "I'm going to love you forever!" I feel a rush of cold air and a hand outstretched to break my fall.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" a woman's voice breaks through the darkness. It was just a dream.
"Mom, I'm gonna puke watch out." I lean over and it all comes out. My puke doesn't smell like booze at least. I thought it would smell like booze.
"Oh my god, you vomited all over the carpet. Couldn't you have made it to the trashcan at least."
"Mom, I had such a bad dream that I puked. How would I have made it to the trashcan?" I feel much better. It must have been my stomache pains giving me bad dreams, but I'm tired like I haven't slept.
"I'm sorry that you don't feel good, sweety. Go rest on the couch. I'll put the stuff on it, but you need to keep resting if you're that sick."
I get up still half asleep. Man, it feels like I'm still half drunk. I stop at the top of the steps. I am so tired, the couch is going to be so nice. One second laying down, and I fall right asleep.
All these cokebottle lense dreams. I turn down the computer brightness. This girl is up at 3am, and she is cute too. Oh wow, she's really cute. "Hey whatsu0."
"Hi"
I've got to send her the funniest pic I have in my reaction folder. She'll think it's funny, and then she'll talk to me. Oh, this one's funny. I haven't seen Arrested Development in a long time. I should watch that. I take a big gulp of whisky. It went down like nothing. I close one eye to see better. I shouldn't have done that, let me lay down.
| |
[WP] Every morning, you wake up with all the memories drunk people lose. | "Sir, your two o'clock is here early. He seems very nervous, should I send him in?" she asked.
I looked up at from my desk and saw my young secretary peering her head from behind the door. "They're always nervous," I sighed. "Yeah ok, Sally, just get him in here. What is his name?"
As she went back to the waiting room she threw back, "John."
He walked into the room with his hands in his pockets, walking with unsteady steps as if he were still hungover. His ruffled hair and the black circles under his eyes only made him look more ghastly.
He took the seat across from me and hesitantly muttered the words, "Hello Mr. Retriever."
"Welcome John. This is your first time here, isn't it?" I ask as cordially as I could.
He shook his head in agreement as I began explaining the procedure, " The rules are simple. You tell me what was the time of your last memory, and if I have your memory I will let you know. The standard charge is five hundred dollars and you get to ask me five questions. If you have more questions it will be one hundred dollars extra for each. Do you understand the rules John?"
His eyes maintained their blank stare as he confirmed, "I do." I was just about to proceed but he jumped to beat me and said, "Nine fifteen. I was face down on the pavement and for a second I remember glimpsing up to see '88 Infinity', the clothes shop. That is it, just that."
It did not take me a lot to remember John's memory.I actually recalled it within seconds, it was one that stood out to me when I woke up in the morning. I usually see their memories as dreams, and I could not tell if this one was a nightmare or a fantasy.
His eyes were filled with anticipation, a look I have become accustomed to after three months in this business. I knew he was desperate so I started telling him what I could, "You were not passed out. You had just slipped and hit your head, but you got up a few minutes later. You were really hammered, even waddling into traffic as cars honked at you. Eventually you sat down near a dumpster, took out your phone and started texting."
"Oh God!" he startled me by saying out loud. "5th street, there is an 88 Infinity on 5th street. Oh God! I texted Emma didn't I?"
I was about to tell him that so I decided to excuse his interruption and not count the question."Yes, it was Emma, and she was happy to hear from you. She texted you back for an hour before you practically invited yourself over to her place. She did not stop you."
John's expression changed to intrigue and I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He sat at the edge of his seat and listened impatiently. "You took a cab and you kept singing to the driver about how much you loved Emma. But when you got there is when the memories become more vivid, it almost feels like I was actually there. That tends to happen when you drink even more, and you two drank a lot."
Again John displayed his knowledge of his drunken self as he predicted, "I bet I sat there with her talking about the good old times."
"For an hour," I added, "But then things got really interesting. For two people with alcohol instead of blood running in their veins you sure went at it hot and heavy for long. Well, it was not you as much as it was her effort. That Emma, she does it all and does it hard."
A mixture of joy and anxiousness appeared on John's face, "Was that it?"
I sat back in my chair and shared the rest, "No. After you two were done you sat and talked for a while before you said you had to go. It ends when you leave her building late at night. That is when you passed out on the pavement. Now if you want you can ask me five questions or you can choose to leave."
The confused young man sat there for a while silent. He seemed to dwell on his thought for far too long, but as long as my three o'clock appointment was still not there I just let him stay. Then, he hit me with two questions, "Is she still as hot as I remember her? And how was it? Was it good?"
"Yes, Emma was absolutely stunning and fully of life. Your time together was very hot and steamy, almost mind-blowing," I recalled for him from his memory.
The distraught young man took more time to ponder his thoughts. "Wait!" he suddenly said, "You said she was drunk too. Do you have her memory of last night?"
"It is against my policy to discuss anything but a client's own memories with them. Whether I have her memories or not, I would not be at liberty to say anything about it," I explained.
However, John was desperate and hounded me to know more, "Oh come on man! Just tell me! What did she feel about it?"
I firmly stood my ground, "I am sorry John but I am not at liberty to say. You have one more question."
John now carried the look of defeat on his face. He held his head in his hands for a while before he turned to me once more and asked, "What did she say to me in the end before I left?"
With a heavy sigh I revealed the most difficult thing I had to say that day, "She told you: They said it could happen any time this week; I hope I get to see you in the next life, love." | The city skyline is lit like it was shining through a glass bottle. "I'm going to love you forever!" I feel a rush of cold air and a hand outstretched to break my fall.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" a woman's voice breaks through the darkness. It was just a dream.
"Mom, I'm gonna puke watch out." I lean over and it all comes out. My puke doesn't smell like booze at least. I thought it would smell like booze.
"Oh my god, you vomited all over the carpet. Couldn't you have made it to the trashcan at least."
"Mom, I had such a bad dream that I puked. How would I have made it to the trashcan?" I feel much better. It must have been my stomache pains giving me bad dreams, but I'm tired like I haven't slept.
"I'm sorry that you don't feel good, sweety. Go rest on the couch. I'll put the stuff on it, but you need to keep resting if you're that sick."
I get up still half asleep. Man, it feels like I'm still half drunk. I stop at the top of the steps. I am so tired, the couch is going to be so nice. One second laying down, and I fall right asleep.
All these cokebottle lense dreams. I turn down the computer brightness. This girl is up at 3am, and she is cute too. Oh wow, she's really cute. "Hey whatsu0."
"Hi"
I've got to send her the funniest pic I have in my reaction folder. She'll think it's funny, and then she'll talk to me. Oh, this one's funny. I haven't seen Arrested Development in a long time. I should watch that. I take a big gulp of whisky. It went down like nothing. I close one eye to see better. I shouldn't have done that, let me lay down.
| |
[WP] Every morning, you wake up with all the memories drunk people lose. | Jane had her favourites.
There was the blonde girl who always ended up getting piggybacks from strangers at 3am as the clubs emptied. The chubby guy who got into deep philosophical discussions with anyone who'd listen while riding the night bus home. And of course the small Asian girl who was virtually silent through the day, but came alive at night and passionately sung every word of every song that the DJ played.
Waking up with their inebriated memories always offered a rich source of entertainment. She'd experienced their drunken behaviour so many times now that Jane felt close to each and every one of them. They were like old friends that she didn't get time to see that often, but whenever they did get a chance to meet it was guaranteed to be a momentous night.
She slid the bread into the toaster and waited.
Jane couldn't remember when she'd first started waking up with the memories of a million different people inside her mind. At first it felt like her head was going to erupt whenever she woke up, allowing all those snapshots of drunken antics to escape in a billowing cloud of debauchery. But the more it happened, the more used to it she became. Every day was a little bit easier.
She cut off a wedge of butter and spread it over the crispy toast.
In fact, as time passed and Jane accepted that it was one of those things that she had to put up with, she came to enjoy the fact that she had a unique glimpse into so many different lives. She knew things about people that nobody else had a clue about. She even had a unique insight to human behaviour at its most carefree. She saw people at both their very best and their very worst, and she loved the fact that no one else would ever know.
*If only they knew what I'd seen.*
She grinned and took a bite out of the warm slice, but her smile quickly vanished.
There was a strange feeling inside her, as it suddenly dawned upon Jane that maybe she wasn't the only one that experienced this. What if someone out there, someone she didn't know, had seen her at her very worst too?
*What if they've seen the things I've done?*
Her appetite soon disappeared.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________
I hope you liked reading my take on /u/Exileman's prompt.
If you did, why not check out my novel, [The promise she made](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CC31H9A/ref=cm_sw_su_dp). Thanks :)
Or if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it.
/r/NeedlessTautology | The city skyline is lit like it was shining through a glass bottle. "I'm going to love you forever!" I feel a rush of cold air and a hand outstretched to break my fall.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" a woman's voice breaks through the darkness. It was just a dream.
"Mom, I'm gonna puke watch out." I lean over and it all comes out. My puke doesn't smell like booze at least. I thought it would smell like booze.
"Oh my god, you vomited all over the carpet. Couldn't you have made it to the trashcan at least."
"Mom, I had such a bad dream that I puked. How would I have made it to the trashcan?" I feel much better. It must have been my stomache pains giving me bad dreams, but I'm tired like I haven't slept.
"I'm sorry that you don't feel good, sweety. Go rest on the couch. I'll put the stuff on it, but you need to keep resting if you're that sick."
I get up still half asleep. Man, it feels like I'm still half drunk. I stop at the top of the steps. I am so tired, the couch is going to be so nice. One second laying down, and I fall right asleep.
All these cokebottle lense dreams. I turn down the computer brightness. This girl is up at 3am, and she is cute too. Oh wow, she's really cute. "Hey whatsu0."
"Hi"
I've got to send her the funniest pic I have in my reaction folder. She'll think it's funny, and then she'll talk to me. Oh, this one's funny. I haven't seen Arrested Development in a long time. I should watch that. I take a big gulp of whisky. It went down like nothing. I close one eye to see better. I shouldn't have done that, let me lay down.
| |
[WP] God has decided to chose a successor. Any human past or present is a potential candidate. You are one of the 10 finalists. | "Next!" The receptionist called and I looked up. George Washington had just exited the golden door at the end of the hall and taken his seat between Gandhi and some Roman I didn't recognize.
"Next!" She called again, her halo flaring with what I perceived as impatience. Why did an angel have a desk job anyway? Didn't they have demons to battle or something. I had asked as much when I arrived but only got a cold look from swirling silver eyes.
Sighing I finished upgrading my Clash of Clan troops and put my phone away before standing. It was hard to miss the smirk from Alexander the Great as I walked past him. Cocky bastard that one is. To be fair though I was easily the least qualified here. Playing semi-professional CoD and writing as a hobby had hardly prepared me for being selected as a candidate for the new God.
I made sure my eyes stayed focused on the golden door as I walked. We weren't actually in the office of a skyscraper, it just looked like one. So staring at the carpet for too long and realizing there were only clouds there was a bit unnerving. It would be a shame to meet God with sweaty palms.
Before I could reach for the doorknob the door opened without a sound, shrugging I stepped into the room. Standing behind a round desk with his back to me was a man of average height in a suit. As he turned I noted the long gray hair that touched his collar and the warm amber eyes.
"Welcome, Thomas Nelson." He said and I was somewhat disappointed that his voice wasn't amphitheater loud or coming from every direction at once. Maybe that wasn't actually a thing.
"**I can speak that way if you wish.**" Ah, there we go.
"No thanks." I said. "That was pretty painful."
"Normal volume it is then." God said. "Now then, tell me why you should become the new God."
"You're not even going to offer me a seat first?" I asked, the idea of sitting in a cloud chair was wildly appealing.
I blinked and we were both now sitting at the desk. Shifting I felt the softest material I had ever felt enveloping me. "You should sell this stuff." I commented.
"Where do you think feathers come from?"
"Birds." I smiled, leaning back.
The warm gaze was still there but God didn't smile. *Stupid, stupid, stupid, save the dumb jokes for the Internet.* A few seconds passed while neither of us said anything.
"I don't want to be God." I said finally. "I barely take care of myself from day to day as it is. You know, I haven't even showered since-"
"Last Thursday." He interrupted. "I'm all-knowing Thomas. I knew before I created the universe that we would be sitting in this faux office one day."
I frowned, church had been a while back for me. That was a pretty big detail to forget. "Then you already know who the next God will be. So what's the point of all this?"
"Because, Thomas, you need to know why you were chosen."
My eyes widened, not for the first time I wished my emotions weren't missing in action.
"Why me then? You have freaking Julius Ceaser out there." I said, remembering his name.
"You don't care."
"Of course I don't care about being God." I scoffed. "I don't like the job I have now."
"No." He said. "You don't care about anything at all, not your job, not your life, not other people."
I blinked and the location changed again. We were on the moon, looking down on the Earth. I wasn't breathing but there was surprisingly little discomfort in the feeling.
"That little planet there is my shining accomplishment, Thomas." God said, his voice proud. "And the majority of them deny my existence or hate me outright. I had to learn to accept that."
"Why not just command them to..." I trailed off. "Free will."
God nodded.
"What a bitch."
He nodded again. "In an effort to make beings that could be in individuals I limited my own power over them. The things I could do and affect became smaller in scale. 'God works in mysterious ways' is very true. Because I can do no more. And there are other matters that require my attention."
"Like what?" I asked. "Aliens? Satan?"
Suddenly, God looked weary. "Worse, Thomas, much worse. It is not your concern yet though. Not unless I fail."
"That's not terrifying at all." I said.
The warm smile was back. "As of this moment. You, Thomas Nelson are God of this universe. Maintain it, watch over the people but always keep your influence minimal. I chose you because you will not feel compelled to hold humanity's hand throughout the ages as I once did. Trust me Gods can and do go crazy."
"What if I don't want to bother? Maybe I go right back to video games and ignore the world."
"Then it would be as God wills it." He said and disappeared. Leaving me alone on the moon. The instant he was gone I felt it. The knowledge of the universe hit me like a freight train. Power surged through my body and mind and I knew I could plunge the galaxy into darkness with a snap. Instead I pulled my phone out of my pocket and went back to Clash of Clans, vaguely annoyed that someone had stolen my loot. | "I am tired, grown old," He spoke with unsmiling eyes, "And I am to merge with one of you as well. My memories, the blueprints for all the multiverse, you are to have this knowledge."
The Universe wavered and grew brighter around us as we felt its consciousness begin to envelope our minds; a warm, buzzing feeling that emanated into our minds and down into our toes.
"This is complete understanding, the feeling you have inside you now. It will serve you well when chaos and tranquility seem likely to crash against each other and die into nothingness. The eons will show you time and time again. Remember, that you cannot use one without the other or the beings under your charge will be without meaning."
We saw wars, birth, the holding of hands, the touching of chests, pain and happiness, rapidly pass through our minds, and most not as images, but as a common sense unifying us all at once.
"You can visit everything at once, and still retain your sense of self. You can't do it for long because you can lose yourself to their collective consciousness. There is the very real danger of becoming lost forever."
One by one, we began to leave, some weeping and melding back into the planets, others content floating aimlessly into space. We were afraid, each in our own way. They all left until I stood before Master, unsure if I would continue to carry the responsibility He had so painstakingly pieced together to give us all a purpose.
"Master," I said, "Why do we do this? Not once have you actually intervened in their squabbles and victories. They don't know we truly exist. They are on their own."
It was then the brightness in the Universe began to subside and I woke up... or more specifically, I blinked and I was human. I have a heart, I am scared, full of fluids and my legs threatened to give out under me. But I continue to push the baggage cart at the airport. "Allah, Akbar..." I muttered under my breath, "I am only one, to show many, the way to peace."
*I am scared beyond belief. "Oh fuck, what am I doing?"*
There was a loud roaring, heat, the word, *Brussels,* and then nothing.
I shook violently, despite being dead again, and stood again before the Master, unable to comprehend why He did this over and over again with every person that came and went into the world.
"Whh.. why," I managed to whisper out, "Why do you do this? Why not let them be?
"Behold," he bellowed out.
And the Earth came into view, and more love than hate filled it, the good and bad, all felt at once. It was the same Earth I had left months ago but seconds, really, in my own consciousness. I curled up into a ball, sobbing with ecstasy but also with the most soul-wrenching melancholy I've every felt.
"When you were alive, you felt it all, even though you were limited to a body. Your empathy for this world, the way you gaze at the stars, the will to understand and question everything, wanting to know that you were not alone, you knew then that you would quest to find the meaning in this existence." He smiled, his eyes grew soft and the wrinkles around it creased with joy as he looked at me.
"Hh..How do I deal with all of this," I muttered, "without losing myself again?"
The Earth dimmed, and the stars came back, with all of the galaxies swirling and playfully dancing around each other.
"You accept this responsibility. You accept reality as it is. You accept all of the thinking beings in the multiverse, especially the ones you came from."
He faded into the dark space and took on the form of constellations and spoke: "You accept this fear and joy, and ride it gently along with all the light the stars have to give. Be a part of it, but be a whole of it as well. Remember who you are, and where you will go. Always concentrate on the present moment."
"What happens to you, Master?" I said with a certain sadness.
"I will become nothing," his voiced rasped like quiet wind blowing through a window, "but food for the life you have in your hands. Do not forget. I have- "
He was alone now with the memories, knowledge, the calm.
"I know, Master. I have us." I reached below to my chest full of stars and up to my head full of planets, knowing everything. I turned back around as the first human spaceship entered the Orion Belt system. I could feel the fear and joy together, one not existing without the other as the people inside the cold metal box watched three alien suns fill up their eyes.
*So this is love.*
Edit: Grammar.
| |
[WP] God has decided to chose a successor. Any human past or present is a potential candidate. You are one of the 10 finalists. | Peter stood before the finalists and just behind him sat the Almighty, his face obscured in a heavenly haze. He was reading aloud from a scroll, detailing each of the finalists accomplishments and acts of altruism. Behind the finalists stood all the angels of heaven, quietly talking among themselves and every now and then would point towards one of them.
This truly was an impressive group of potential successors to the Throne of Heaven. Joan of Arc stood heroically, wearing a dress of pure light and holding a sword and shield gifted to her by God himself.
"Joan..." Peter spoke. "You were a selfless devotee to his Holiness, and for that you will be considered."
Bill Gates stood next to Joan, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts. "William," Peter turned his attention to him. "You have demonstrated your devotion to the poor and the sick, and for that you will be considered."
Siddhārtha Gautama stood next to Bill, his face obscured by a heavenly light which surrounded him. "The true Buddha, already a God among the mortals, your absolute resolve and true humility towards the suffering is why you will be considered."
Albert Einstein wore a tweed suit, slightly slumped over. "The greatest mind among humans you were once, and a God you may become as you are being considered.
Genghis Khan wore full battle regalia and held the bow he used in every battle, worn and battered it once was but now fully restored to a glorious sheen.
"The king of all humans you were once, the tolerance you gave your servants was well known through all your kingdoms, your absolute magnanimous persona is why you will be considered."
This went on through King Solomon , Xerxes I, Qin Shi Huang ,and Pope John Paul II. All great people in their own right, all considered to ascent to the Throne of Heaven. Then Peter reached the last on the list. Bob Martin, an accountant from Wisconsin.
"Mr. Martin." Peter spoke. All eyes focused on Bob. A short squat man with beady eyes and a receding hairline. He wore a wrinkly grey suit and his shirt collar and tie were undone. He appeared quite tired and very out of place. The other 9 candidates seemed puzzled as to his presence there. Bob himself was unsure as to why he was there. "14 years ago you found a puppy in a garbage can and saved him and raised him. What you may not have realized was this puppy was stolen from heaven by the devil, the puppy belonged to God but it was too late to bring him back. For caring for God's dog as your own, you will be considered."
A bark was heard from somewhere in God's vicinity. Bob looked over and there was his companion of 14 years , Grover. His eyes welled up and at that moment Grover ran over to Bob and could barely contain his excitement at being with his old master. Bob broke down crying, holding the golden retriever and didn't want to let go.
God Stood from his Throne and walked over to Bob. His face still obscured in a heavenly light he spoke with a great echo. "My child, Bob, I will give you a choice. The Throne of Heaven, or a lifetime with the dog you call Grover."
Bob woke up to Grover's barking who jumped up on the bed to lick his master.
"Good boy." said Bob, knowing full well he made the right choice.
| "I am tired, grown old," He spoke with unsmiling eyes, "And I am to merge with one of you as well. My memories, the blueprints for all the multiverse, you are to have this knowledge."
The Universe wavered and grew brighter around us as we felt its consciousness begin to envelope our minds; a warm, buzzing feeling that emanated into our minds and down into our toes.
"This is complete understanding, the feeling you have inside you now. It will serve you well when chaos and tranquility seem likely to crash against each other and die into nothingness. The eons will show you time and time again. Remember, that you cannot use one without the other or the beings under your charge will be without meaning."
We saw wars, birth, the holding of hands, the touching of chests, pain and happiness, rapidly pass through our minds, and most not as images, but as a common sense unifying us all at once.
"You can visit everything at once, and still retain your sense of self. You can't do it for long because you can lose yourself to their collective consciousness. There is the very real danger of becoming lost forever."
One by one, we began to leave, some weeping and melding back into the planets, others content floating aimlessly into space. We were afraid, each in our own way. They all left until I stood before Master, unsure if I would continue to carry the responsibility He had so painstakingly pieced together to give us all a purpose.
"Master," I said, "Why do we do this? Not once have you actually intervened in their squabbles and victories. They don't know we truly exist. They are on their own."
It was then the brightness in the Universe began to subside and I woke up... or more specifically, I blinked and I was human. I have a heart, I am scared, full of fluids and my legs threatened to give out under me. But I continue to push the baggage cart at the airport. "Allah, Akbar..." I muttered under my breath, "I am only one, to show many, the way to peace."
*I am scared beyond belief. "Oh fuck, what am I doing?"*
There was a loud roaring, heat, the word, *Brussels,* and then nothing.
I shook violently, despite being dead again, and stood again before the Master, unable to comprehend why He did this over and over again with every person that came and went into the world.
"Whh.. why," I managed to whisper out, "Why do you do this? Why not let them be?
"Behold," he bellowed out.
And the Earth came into view, and more love than hate filled it, the good and bad, all felt at once. It was the same Earth I had left months ago but seconds, really, in my own consciousness. I curled up into a ball, sobbing with ecstasy but also with the most soul-wrenching melancholy I've every felt.
"When you were alive, you felt it all, even though you were limited to a body. Your empathy for this world, the way you gaze at the stars, the will to understand and question everything, wanting to know that you were not alone, you knew then that you would quest to find the meaning in this existence." He smiled, his eyes grew soft and the wrinkles around it creased with joy as he looked at me.
"Hh..How do I deal with all of this," I muttered, "without losing myself again?"
The Earth dimmed, and the stars came back, with all of the galaxies swirling and playfully dancing around each other.
"You accept this responsibility. You accept reality as it is. You accept all of the thinking beings in the multiverse, especially the ones you came from."
He faded into the dark space and took on the form of constellations and spoke: "You accept this fear and joy, and ride it gently along with all the light the stars have to give. Be a part of it, but be a whole of it as well. Remember who you are, and where you will go. Always concentrate on the present moment."
"What happens to you, Master?" I said with a certain sadness.
"I will become nothing," his voiced rasped like quiet wind blowing through a window, "but food for the life you have in your hands. Do not forget. I have- "
He was alone now with the memories, knowledge, the calm.
"I know, Master. I have us." I reached below to my chest full of stars and up to my head full of planets, knowing everything. I turned back around as the first human spaceship entered the Orion Belt system. I could feel the fear and joy together, one not existing without the other as the people inside the cold metal box watched three alien suns fill up their eyes.
*So this is love.*
Edit: Grammar.
| |
[WP] You come across an Old God sealed away millennia ago. Turns out It was imprisoned for a crime it didn't commit. Because of Omnipotence Racism. | “Now, my brothers, the time has come! This world has rotted to the core, and now we will purge it of decadence. Those who worship the false gods of light will soon know only despair! It is time to unleash our Dread Lord!”
The Grand Master opened the Nameless Tome and began the incantation. Despite the years of meditation and preparation, the Black Tongue still made Brother William’s skin crawl. He glanced down at the limp captive beneath him. The man’s eyes had rolled back, the pale whites making stark contrast with the blood now dripping to the floor from his ears and nose. William shifted his feet to avoid staining his new boots. Nice boots were hard to come by, especially if the world was about to plunge into an era of darkness and chaos.
Distracted by his musings, William nearly missed the moment he was supposed to slit the sacrifice’s throat. Luckily, none of the other cultists around him seemed to notice the slight error in timing. Blood flowed down the troughs in the gently sloped floor of the temple, filling out the carefully carved summoning circle. As one, the cultists fell to their knees and joined in the final line of the summoning. William winced as he hit the stone, his back still sore from spending so much time hunched over, carving out the circle. Would it be too petty to ask the Dark One to soothe his pain? Slightly higher-pitched than normal, he joined the exultation of his Brothers.
“Come forth, Y'Jarax, the Unyielding Maw, Devourer of Hope!”
Instantly, the torches ringing the room went out, plunging the temple into utter darkness. William’s heart began to pound wildly, and he broke into a cold sweat. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened. Suddenly, the pressure in the room changed, and his ears popped. The circle of blood began to glow softly. William began to feel it. A presence had begun to permeate the temple.
***FOR TEN THOUSAND YEARS I LAY DORMANT. WHO HAS BROUGHT ME INTO THE WORLD ONCE MORE?***
William almost missed the words. It wasn’t exactly a sound – it was more like something had reached into his mind and deposited something inside. It made him a bit queasy. The Grand Master called out in reply.
“Oh Great One, it is us, your humble servants, the Brotherhood of Despair, who have freed you!”
***THANKS.***
“…you’re welcome?”
The Grand Master hesitated for a moment before proceeding with his carefully rehearsed speech.
“Oh Great One, for millennia we have struggled to bring you back to the world! We have worked to undermine the power of the followers of the false gods who imprisoned you. We have gathered the thirteen Relics of Darkness. We have defiled the Great Seals that held fast your prison. Now, we have returned you to this mortal plane. Now, it is time to purge the world of the corruption called Light, and bring forth the age of pure Darkness!”
***WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?***
The glowing blood circle was bright enough now that William could make out the faces of the Brothers closest to him. The rapturous joy had given way to confusion.
“…but Lord – are you not the Devourer of Hope? The One whose very name casts a shadow in the heart of greatest of champions? He who would have consumed the world, if not for the betrayal of the so-called gods of light?
***OH, IS THAT WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT ME? TYPICAL. JUST BECAUSE I’M DARK I HAVE TO BE PURE EVIL. I’M PRETTY SURE THEY DID THIS WHOLE IMPRISONMENT THING JUST BECAUSE I HIT ON SOLARIS’S SISTER AT A FEAST.***
William could relate. He had joined the Brotherhood after being run out of his home village after being caught with the Mayor’s daughter behind the beer tent at the Harvest Festival. She was even the one who propositioned him!
***HEY, IS THAT A CIRCLE OF BLOOD? ALL YOU NEEDED WAS SALTWATER, GUYS. THAT’S JUST UNHYGENIC. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DISEASES YOU COULD GET FROM THAT?***
William thought better of mentioning that the Nameless Tome was written on parchment made from human skin.
***LISTEN, GUYS, I’M GRATEFUL FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR ME, REALLY. BUT I’M REALLY NOT FEELING THIS ‘DARK CULT’OR ‘PURGING’ VIBE. WHAT I COULD REALLY GO FOR RIGHT NOW IS A PARTY. IS TOBA, GOD OF WINE, STILL AROUND THESE DAYS?***
William spoke up.
“Yeah, actually. I think there’s a festival honoring him going on in the River Kingdom next week.”
***ALL RIGHT! LISTEN, IF ANY OF YOU FIND YOURSELVES THERE, COME FIND ME. I CAN TOTALLY HOOK YOU UP.***
The presence in the room vanished, and the torches burst back into flame. A general outcry of despair began to fill the temple. The Grand Master and a few of the more zealous Brothers slit their own throats. William shrugged, then pulled off his black robe and headed for the doors. If he caught the ferry before sundown he could get to the River Kingdom before the festival was over.
| I see you.
Find me.
Use me.
Unleash me.
I do not care anymore.
-----------
The Fluttering Flicker flew. She was one with the rhythm, and like it, she was drawn to the Tomb of Emptiness.
The emptiness grew. It gnaws at her. It drags her down into oblivion.
Through the emptiness, she knew what she had to do.
She had to move the rod through the hole.
Why?
The rod is in the wrong place, and carries the wrong signature.
It simply felt wrong, as if it was a clot, blocking the flow of blood.
As she moved the rod away, through the twisted carved labyrinth it had for a path, the door opened.
Through the door she found her antithesis.
Like light and shadow, one cannot exist without the other.
The darkness clung to her.
Like light and shadow, as one grows stronger, the other will too.
The darkness served as an anchor to her fleeting nature.
She served as her gravity.
--------
They went forward, chaos and emptiness.
The darkness requires the light to haul it forward.
The light requires the darkness to lend it weight.
Together, they are one.
They will recreate this fading world.
They will destroy it.
The world has gone corrupt.
Therefore, it needs to be reset.
------
It was a long time ago.
There was a glitch in the code.
They were a mistake.
They were not supposed to be corporal.
They were supposed to be ethereal.
Thus, the lesser creatures were able to imprison one.
Thus weakening the other.
One was imprisoned because of its destructive nature.
Or so the lesser creatures thought.
In truth, it was the other, whom the one lends weight.
The sun has stagnated.
It needs to thrive once more.
------
The light blooms.
Darkness grows ever stronger.
The sun blooms.
Its gravity strengthens.
Eventually, it was unable to strengthen any further.
Thus, it collapsed.
Thus, the universe was no more.
| |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | My mother always wanted a daughter. It was her greatest misfortune that despite her best efforts she birthed four sons. After the final go, she bade a wistful farewell to pink dresses and tea parties. But now it seems in some small way, her maternal dreams came true.
Somehow after 40 long years living the life of a bad to the bone, black leather biker, - whether as repercussion for wrongs committed in past lives, or supernatural intervention by an unknown fairy godmother - I became a princess. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.
I still recall that first morning, gruffly belting *Brown Sugar* in the shower, when dozens of roaches began scuttling through cracks in the plaster, dogs started to howl outside, and a pigeon suddenly struck my bathroom window. Poor little bugger broke its neck. Looking back on this incident, I suppose it is in some way comparable to that picturesque scene in the Disney version of Snow White, where she sings to the forest creatures.
Only once my 1970's tan/orange tiled bathroom was consumed in a thin haze of RAID did I shirk my bathrobe, donning my leather jacket and well worn 501s. I hurriedly ran outside and started my Harley, straddling it all the way down the long stretch of highway between my shack and the bar. I was going to meet Al and the gang that day, marking the start of our road trip to Vegas we'd been planning for years.
But when I entered the bar I was met with blank stares, and then fits of laughter. It didn't feel quite real, looking down to see my beer gut, barely contained by the form-fitting bodice of a white ball gown.
"Jesus H. Christ Joe! What kind of joke is this?" Al roared, setting off another onslaught of thigh-slapping guffaws.
Mortified, I ran to the gent's, and hid in the grimy stall, until at last I heard the harmonic growl of their bikes tearing up the tarmac.
Shamefully, I emerged, slinking up to the bar, where I requested a stiff drink.
"Those flowers in your beard, really bring out your eyes, you know." A tall, handsome man in chain mail approached me. His hair was blond and immaculately cut, his eyes a dazzling emerald green, and his smile white enough to blind a man.
"Uh... Thanks?" I blushed. I couldn't help but feel self conscious in the presence of this seemingly perfect being.
"My name's Charming. What's yours?"
"Uh. I'm, uh. I'm Joe." I stuttered. Gosh were his eyes captivating.
One thing led to another, and it turned out to be a perfect evening. Charming did indeed live up to his name. He was a stunning conversationalist, and a gifted waltzer. At the end of the evening, he brought me to the parking lot out front to show me his bike, a red and chrome vintage number with a sidecar.
Together we rode off into the sunset, and while perhaps this isn't quite the direction I imagined my life would take, it's one I am learning to appreciate. Funny how such a curse could turn into my happily ever after. | Whenever I remember myself I have always loved to sing. I used to sing everywhere: shower, outside in my farm surrounded by my cows or in the middle of the forest wistfully staring at trees.
You can't miss me at the street. I'm a tall and muscular bloke. 10 massive crows would find room on my shoulders; that's how broad they are. You would need 4 infants to hug my single leg and my arms could be used instead of crane.
Because of these my traits my brother decided, that singing is not cool for a man like me, and I should be a grizzled biker instead. At first I hated it so much. Years have gone pass and I started accepted my present situation. Driving my tremendous bike in a days, drinking colossal steins of beer in the evenings with my pals bikers. It was fun. I got used to that until one day. One day that changed all my life. One day that showed to me that you can't run from your destiny.
As I mentioned before, I grew up in a farm. It was in a small village and everybody knew everyone. In the 7th house on our one and only side street lived a extremely old lady that was known by her spells and witchcrafts. 10 years after I left my village to become a biker, she died. Before death she casted a spell on me. This spell is the reason why I became the person I am now.
The spell said that whenever I sing, all the forest creatures gather near me and anything I wear at the moment turns into a magically charming dress and tremendously handsome princes are drawn to me. Basically, she gave me a possibility to become a fairy tale princess when I sing.
I wasn't aware that these things would happen to me when I started singing one night in a bar full of tough bikers walking around with their beer bellies sticked out. I started to sing and suddenly there little and cute birds appeared accompanied with fluffy rabbits and long- legged deers. My leather biker jacket turned into pageant pink dress covered with glitters and the most stunning guys started gathering in the bar. When I noticed all these things, I did the either biggest mistake or the best thing I could do in my life.
I didn't stop sing.
I carried on and everyone was amazed, surprised and stunned. They couldn't believe that everything is happening for real and it's not a dream. After some moments I started hear whispers and scornful laugh. I didn't care how I look or what people think about me. The only thing I cared about back then was the song I was singing. I felt on the top of the world. I felt fabulous. I could imagine myself feeling the same way all my life. It was an ecstatic experience.
After that short but amazing flash of my inner being I decided stop going the path my brother and society wanted me to go. I quitted my biker career, cause I knew I won't be able to bear all the mocking and bullying I'll get toward me because of what happens to me when I start to sing. So I got back to my farm, merged with the nature and just sang.
My brother is embarrassed of me but I believe that you can't be afraid to face your destiny and do things you adore to, because it's your life and no-one but you has to live it.
| |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | My mother always wanted a daughter. It was her greatest misfortune that despite her best efforts she birthed four sons. After the final go, she bade a wistful farewell to pink dresses and tea parties. But now it seems in some small way, her maternal dreams came true.
Somehow after 40 long years living the life of a bad to the bone, black leather biker, - whether as repercussion for wrongs committed in past lives, or supernatural intervention by an unknown fairy godmother - I became a princess. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.
I still recall that first morning, gruffly belting *Brown Sugar* in the shower, when dozens of roaches began scuttling through cracks in the plaster, dogs started to howl outside, and a pigeon suddenly struck my bathroom window. Poor little bugger broke its neck. Looking back on this incident, I suppose it is in some way comparable to that picturesque scene in the Disney version of Snow White, where she sings to the forest creatures.
Only once my 1970's tan/orange tiled bathroom was consumed in a thin haze of RAID did I shirk my bathrobe, donning my leather jacket and well worn 501s. I hurriedly ran outside and started my Harley, straddling it all the way down the long stretch of highway between my shack and the bar. I was going to meet Al and the gang that day, marking the start of our road trip to Vegas we'd been planning for years.
But when I entered the bar I was met with blank stares, and then fits of laughter. It didn't feel quite real, looking down to see my beer gut, barely contained by the form-fitting bodice of a white ball gown.
"Jesus H. Christ Joe! What kind of joke is this?" Al roared, setting off another onslaught of thigh-slapping guffaws.
Mortified, I ran to the gent's, and hid in the grimy stall, until at last I heard the harmonic growl of their bikes tearing up the tarmac.
Shamefully, I emerged, slinking up to the bar, where I requested a stiff drink.
"Those flowers in your beard, really bring out your eyes, you know." A tall, handsome man in chain mail approached me. His hair was blond and immaculately cut, his eyes a dazzling emerald green, and his smile white enough to blind a man.
"Uh... Thanks?" I blushed. I couldn't help but feel self conscious in the presence of this seemingly perfect being.
"My name's Charming. What's yours?"
"Uh. I'm, uh. I'm Joe." I stuttered. Gosh were his eyes captivating.
One thing led to another, and it turned out to be a perfect evening. Charming did indeed live up to his name. He was a stunning conversationalist, and a gifted waltzer. At the end of the evening, he brought me to the parking lot out front to show me his bike, a red and chrome vintage number with a sidecar.
Together we rode off into the sunset, and while perhaps this isn't quite the direction I imagined my life would take, it's one I am learning to appreciate. Funny how such a curse could turn into my happily ever after. | She was inside. I knew it. I'd had to leave a trail of broken bones and trashed bars in my wake, but finally I'd tracked her down. It was little more than a shack, a worn-down old cabin out in the woods, but this was where the trail led.
I adjusted the leather bodice of my fitted gown, stepped off my bike, and made my way to the flimsy door just off its hinges. My comrades were at my back, but I stopped them with a raised hand. "No," I said quietly. "I have to do this by myself."
"But-" began my second in command began. I didn't let him finish.
"But nothing, Wills!" I rounded on him. "This is personal. Look at what she did to me!" He opened his mouth to protest, but he saw I was determined. Finally he nodded his agreement. To his brother I quietly said, "Look after him, Harry. Kate'll kill me if I don't bring him back in one piece." My men backed off, and with a push to the rotting door, I walked in.
She was sitting at an old table in the corner, looking just as broken down as the shack around her. Her blue dress was faded and torn, her eyes sunken in and her cheeks gaunt despite her ageless appearance. One of her wings was bent at an odd angle. I looked down at the floor, and picked up the tiny crown that had fallen from her head at some point. She looked up from the bottle of whisky in front of her with a sour look. "Who... whozat?"
"Hello, Godmother," I replied, cold as ice.
She looked at me, confused. "What... *hic* what do ya want?"
"WHAT DO I WANT?" I roared, spittle falling into my beard. "Look at me! This was supposed to be for cousin Aurora! I want you to lift this curse! I want to go back to normal!" My face was flushed, I could feel it. I was trembling in rage.
She waved her hand dismissively. "No takebacksh," she slurred. "Kids these days, ungr- *hic* ungrateful little hellspawn, all of ya. Oh, if your great, great, great, great, er, great grandparents could see what your family has become."
"I never wanted that life," I replied. "I never wanted that legacy."
She chuckled. "Well, too bad. Like I said, no *hic* no backsies."
I nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, in that case, Godmother, I'll tell you what I want." I slung my guitar off my back and sat down on a rickety old trunk. "I want to sing you a song." She looked confused as I started to play.
"Oh you can run on for long time,
Run on for a long time,
Run on for a long time,
Sooner or later God'll cut you down,
Sooner of later God'll cut you down,"
A wolf's howl sounded just outside the shack. Godmother's pupils narrowed to points as fear dawned on her face. "Now, Godmother," I said as I continued to strum, "Why don't we talk about your 'no backsies' policy?" | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | When the fairy (literal fairy) told him that he could wish for anything he wanted, he thought she was shitting him. The old lady had gotten wasted at the Chain Drive and picked a fight with the wrong guy. Who knew that magical fairy godmothers smoked and drank in leather bars? Apparently, this one did. So after Joe stepped in to throw the asshole out for trying to break the jaw of a grandma, she had hiccupped and slurred her way through some crazy explanation of "debts owed."
Joe told me he wasn't sure why he was so honest. Maybe it was being in the leather bar for the first time in a while, or the whiskey, or maybe cause he thought she was full of shit. All he knows now is that he's never felt so good after (who fucking knew?!) it came true. It a took a bit of time for his crew to adjust. Him screaming along to metal on his bike with birds tweeting and fluttering along behind him was quite a sight. And, damn, did he ever get laid by the prettiest rich twinks this side of the Mississippi. No one knew how he managed to not get all the frills of those petticoats caught in his hog while he raced down the highway, but by some magic he just sparkled on by and never wrecked. Thing was, his gang learned to never question, and I'll tell you how.
One night after a long day on the road, his crew stopped at the Red Boar saloon. Big Joe stomped over to the bar as usual, chomping on his cigar, and downed a shot. Some hillbilly idiot on the the next stool, obviously not the classy sort, looked up and down at Joe's shiny gold dress.
"The fuck you wearing, faggot?" He says.
Now Joe just downed another shot, put out his cigar on the bar, and took a deep breath.
Damn motherfucker didn't even see it coming. Big Joe just pulled him off that stool, slammed him on the ground, and knocked his teeth out. Over and over again, we all saw him beat the living shit out of that poor sap.
"I!"
Another punch.
"AM!"
Another punch.
"A PRINCESS!"
Damn right. After that, no one ever doubted that Big Joe of the road was the prettiest princess of the land. | "Maybe this is actually Metal?" Again my PBR turned into pink lemonade as soon as I placed the old chipped glass mug to my lips.
"I mean, I can't use the chopper anymore, the glass slippers get caught in the chucks, the updraft brings the dress over my head, which is shit because my tierra helmet doesn't give any protection anymore. But... a sports bike could work. " I slowly nodded my head, lips pursed, placing the mug back down on the sticky wooden bar.
"Ha! Guys, Princess Joe here can't handle his chopper anymore!"
"Shut the fuck up Brett or I'll shiv you!" I threw my glass accros the bar, right at Brett's stainned handlebar moustache, but he dodged it and it exploaded on the wood panneled wall. Needless to say, I had thrown like a girl, hand reaching too far back and with too much elbow bend.
Half a dozen squirrels came out of the shadows and corners but they had a pan and duster, making short work of the glass shards. Blue birds suddenly appeared their tiny yellow beaks clasping the corners of a dirtied rag and soaked up the mess. Meanwhile three grey bunnies came out the door adnorned with all many of vanity metal signs of the utility closet behind Mike, a tall, large meatwall of a barkeep, pushing a metal pail of water with their furry heads. The birds excitedly dunked the rag into the pail three times as the whole menagerie cleaned up yet another mess.
Nobody was phased anymore.
Mike leaned forward, arms coming out of his sweaty armless leather vest, placed his mits on the bar "We can't have you in here anymore Joe." The light hanging above him gave his face the features of a beige moon.
"Oh come on! This will blow over! You never kicked out Shane even after he broke a pool cue over that Hell's colours the third time!"
"It's not you Joe, it's the animals. Every time you come here we got deer in the parking lot, polishing everyone's chrome with their tongues. I got the EPA on my ass, with no way to explain... THOSE" he pointed at the racoons mending my torn white stockings "Do you have their rabbies tags? Because I sure as hell don't! I am not one to say that this bar is the cleanest, but I can't have a god damn petting zoo in here!"
"It ain't soo bad! They're basically like little buttlers!"
Mike raised his sausage-fingers "And I wouldn't mind that soo much if it wasn't for THEM." Mike pointed along the back wall, the entire gang turned around and doubled over in hollers as soon as realization dawned on them, plumber cracks spilling out of their jeans.
A dozen well shaven men were standing along the back wall. Each of their pearly blue eyes locked on me, their chiseled jaws cocked to the side with a sly smile on their lips, their satin tunics glistening in the dim orange bar lights. No one noticed when they got in. "They take up space and don't drink! Apparently they've all taken a vow of chastity to show their purity or some other shit. We are grandfathered into the smoking law, but no one is able to light up with them around anymore! They all saw it's 'uncoothed' and pinch the cigs out, which is fair game but no one will pick a fight with a Ken doll who holds a god damn rapier!" Mike knew his knives. "I'm sorry Joe, you gotta go."
I turned around in my bar stool, slowly looking at the gang. Plumbers, electricians, truckers, one dentist, a hard life for all of them, their age showing on their faces. I knew I did not belong anymore the moment my skin complexing went from being pimple scarred to smoother than a tween's. This was good news for shaving, but not much else. "Guys, Brenda, Hotlips, I'll be back, one day." I stood up "But for now, my carriage awaits." I let go a whistle and half the princes rushed to open the door, the others laid out a purple and gold embroidered velvet carpet at my feet.
I could get used to this. | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | The Harley Davidson convention was in full swing as Joe’s dust-riddled biker boot shit-kickers trudged his substantially muscled form down aisle after aisle of –man- transportation. No pussies allowed.
Making his way past a particularly testosterone-riddled row of bikes, he was suddenly accosted by the sight of an even more substantially muscled man glowering down at a fair-haired maiden.
‘Now, what is this?’ thought our balding but still oddly imposing Harley-loving friend. ‘No man of such size should ever appear threatening toward a lady. Even if this is no place for a fancy looker like herself.’ And so, he trudged ever-so-slightly faster toward the pair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said he to the behemoth who still glowered with great menace toward the crinkle-nosed beauty. Nose-crinkling is almost always a sign of anger, and so our friend assumed that she was disgruntled with her treatment.
“This nice lady has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. I suggest you leave before this becomes a situation. We don’t want a situation, now do we,” he stated bluntly to the larger man, wearing his own equally grimace-y expression, that had been perfected in his years as a squirrel exterminator.
The lady maltreater paused, appearing to contemplate argument for a moment, but his eyes glanced down to the beltline of his shorter opponent, where there was a sheathed revolver, the size of which may have suggested the man was compensating for something. Rethinking what would have been a fabulously bawdy comeback, he turned and left without another word.
Relief passed over the fair maiden’s face, and she turned to her savior to say, “I would like to thank you for your kindness on this day, the 26th day of March in the year 2016. For your valiance, I will grant you one wish.”
Now, our friend, thinking he had rescued a nice, normal, albeit pretty lady, promptly went from gentlemanly to pissed in a nano-moment. Thinking that she was mocking him, he responded, “I wish I was a fucking fairy-tale princess,” and he turned and trudged away so quickly it could be described as stalking off.
Later that evening, Joe, our unassuming pal, was getting ready for bed and shed his clothing until only a pair of Sponge Bob boxers were left. He then did the only manly thing one can when getting into bed and he cannon-balled onto his red and black lumberjack flannel comforter.
The next morning, when Joe awoke, it was due to a rather uncomfortable lump under his back. Cracking his eyelids, nearly sealed shut with crusties, he glanced down, only to sit up abruptly in what could have been either anger or alarm. Joe is rarely alarmed, so we will assume anger.
He was now wearing a rather conspicuous (due to him not being a 5-year-old girl) yellow and blue tutu. This was paired with the unfortunate fact that his now unhoused penis was able to sway to and fro from beneath the ruffled fabric. Which it did as he launched himself from bed to stand in front of the mirror.
Had Joe been the type to laugh at himself. Ever. He would have released a great and voluminous chuckle. But Joe is not –that sort- of man.
And so, he punched the mirror.
Hand now bloodied, he had no choice but to remove his new fairy-garment and stumble into the shower, where he proceeded to sing Enter Sandman by Metallica, his number five favorite shower song of all time.
About two minutes into singing, there was suddenly a swarm of small brightly-plumaged birds whirling and twirling enchantingly above his head. Needless to say, Joe was not enchanted. He immediately Karate Kid snatched a bird out of the air from above the head and asked, not altogether unrhetorically, “What the hell are you doing in here, you little shits?”
Ignorant of the meaning of the word rhetorical, the bird responded in a quiveringly shrilly bird voice, “I – I – I’m sorry, Sir. My name is Sandman. I thought you told me to enter… and the sound of your voice was just so majestic that we could not stay away. I hope we did not offend you, Sir.”
It was at this inopportune moment that one of his bird friends decided to take a crap right on Joe’s left ear, which protruded conspicuously from the side of his head.
“Okay, that’s enough! I don’t know what in blazes is going on, but get the ever-living fuck out of my house!”
And so, they did.
It wasn’t until later, as he was leaving his house clad in a very lovely red and black flannel princess-neckline dress that Joe began to realize that something was truly off.
That, and there was a line of fairy princes a mile long waiting at his front door…
Fin
My third ever post to WritingPrompts; feedback appreciated! | I ain't never thot this'd be how I en'd up in jail. Sometin about "punchin' royalty", even tho' they couldn't find where the 'ell he was "royal" from. Ain't like there's much place, what with that godfersaken wind thing. I swear, w's like they just *show'd up* from outta da blue! Wind musta blew the crazies in and giv'n erryone else the crazy too! Weird shit, man. Weird shit.
_______________________________
Just weeks earlier, Joe had been, well, an average Joe. Mostly, at least. Sure, he was a biker, and sure he looked tough, but he wasn't that bad, nor that strong. Mainly just liked the community. Not a bunch of thugs, though people didn't often believe that. Just a group of people that enjoyed feeling the wind in their hair, and didn't feel like walking out to the abyss.
" 'Ey Joe! Em'ly just called, wants ya' home!" Sash yelled across the bar.
" Ugh. S'rry guys, gotta go 'elp my babe," Joe sighed, placing the pool stick down. Grabbing his jacket from it's normal hook, he hopped onto the sleek bike and rode home.
The light was visible a few miles off, reds and oranges danced across the sky. Sunset was so pretty. "'Cept the sun's set.. dafaq is that light??" Joe sped up, no longer leisurely biking home. Blues, whites, and reds started entering the mix, and the sound of a siren was growing louder. Joe, still a few blocks off, could see the source: a house fire. Someone's house was on fire. No, not just someones: his. *Emy*
He saw here. She was on a stretcher, one of the paramedics was knealing over her, doing... something. *Compressions* he thought when he was close enough. He jumped off his bike and ran towards the ambulance.
"EMY!" He yelled as he approached the police cars.
"Sir, please, stay away," an officer said as he caught Joe, almost being plowed over by the strength of a man in pain.
"Tha's my wife! THA'S MY WIFE!" Joe yelled, barely coherent.
"Sir, I can't let you any closer, but I can get one of my deputies to drive you to the hospital behind the ambulance."
Joe collapsed to his knees, nodding while holding back sobs. He was silent in the ride, and out the doors before the car had even stopped. "WHERE'S MY EMY!?" he yelled. The officer had called ahead informing the ER of the situation and he was brought to a viewing room. He could see Emily, but he couldn't get close.
Several hours past before a doctor finally joined him in the room. Sure, several nurses had come in saying "we're doing all we can blah blah blah" but no one was telling Joe what he wanted - no, what he needed - to hear. The doctor didn't either.
"She's unstable. We're doing all we can, but the burns cover almost 80% of her body, and might even have affected the lungs. We are *not* giving up, but it is going to be a long, uphill battle."
Joe turned to the glass. "Get out," he whispered, his hand lightly pointing to the door.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"^I Said GET **OUT**!!!" Joe's finger was pointing firmly at the door, still refusing to look at the doctor.
The door clicked shut once again and Joe collapsed. "Please. Please. Don't die. Don't die on me, Emy. I'll do anything."
And everything vanished.
___________________________________
Joe opened his eyes to see complete and total darkness. "Wha-"
*Ah, mortal. Let me explain.*
"WHO SAID THAT!?"
*I am not a 'who', but a 'what'. I am as old as time, older even than this peculiarity you live on.*
"What do you want with me? I just want to get back to Emily. Please. Let me get back to Emily."
*Emily will die from these wounds-*
Joe broke down crying. He couldn't even make the words come to his mind, let alone his mouth.
*Mortal, I have not yet finished. I can save he- AH! AH! No talking. Only listen. \ahem\ As I was saying, I can save her, but you must complete a challenge for me.*
"Anything."
*Don't be hasty now. You will have to-*
"*Anything*"
*Very well then, you may go.*
And then everything went white.
_____________________________________________
Joe woke up. He was in the observation room again. There was a beeping and the sounds of the machines keeping Emily alive. He tried to stand up, but something tripped him. "What the 'ell? What's dis?" he said at the long dress around him. "W'ere da 'ell are muh clothes!?" He looked around the room and could find no trace of his clothes. Was this some prank pulled on him by the doctors, some cruel punishment? If it was though, why would they use a leather dress? Those had to be expensive.
Joe shrugged it off. There was a pocket thing in them and all his stuff was still there. A doctor walked into the room. "Joe, she's stabilized. We still can't say for certain if she will recover, but she's getting better."
"Thank you. Thank you."
"Joe, you should get some real rest. We have your numbers if her situation changes. Go get some real sleep. Tell your friends and family. There's a motel across the street, we already booked you a room."
And so Joe walked to the motel in his long leather dress.
_______________________________________________
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Joe yelled as he walked into his room to find a... man in their underpants with a rose in their mouth.
"I'm the prince of *brlahrfasrs*." Joe couldn't make out what the man had said.
"Know what, I don't care, I just want you out. GET!"
"But m'lady--!"
"GET! OUT!"
The prince ran out the door, underwear, rose, and all. Joe closed and locked the door before collapsing on the bed, barely even finding a blanket before he was out like a light.
A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of his cellphone. Joe rushed to pick it up. Was something wrong with Emily? No, it was just his mother-in-law. The situation was explained as best he could, followed by a lot of listening to her yell. Finally it was over. A handful of stuff recovered from his house was lying in a box by the door. It happened to include his toothbrush and a roll of tooth paste. What an odd thing to survive a fire.
Getting showered and washed felt glorious. His skin had been sticking to that dress and it was mildly painful to remove. He still had no idea where it came from, but for some reason he really didn't care.
After getting dressed, he walked back outside. His bike was there, as well as a note. "Hope all goes well. We're here if you need us. -Sash". He smiled, perhaps the first real smile since he saw the fire, and went to stick the paper in his pocket. Except there was no pocket.
#To Be Continued...
_______________________________________________
(props if you get the reference without checking my post history :P)
________________________________________________
I'm actually really tired as it's almost 2 AM. I'll write more of this tomorrow. Enjoy the suspense ~~ | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | When the fairy (literal fairy) told him that he could wish for anything he wanted, he thought she was shitting him. The old lady had gotten wasted at the Chain Drive and picked a fight with the wrong guy. Who knew that magical fairy godmothers smoked and drank in leather bars? Apparently, this one did. So after Joe stepped in to throw the asshole out for trying to break the jaw of a grandma, she had hiccupped and slurred her way through some crazy explanation of "debts owed."
Joe told me he wasn't sure why he was so honest. Maybe it was being in the leather bar for the first time in a while, or the whiskey, or maybe cause he thought she was full of shit. All he knows now is that he's never felt so good after (who fucking knew?!) it came true. It a took a bit of time for his crew to adjust. Him screaming along to metal on his bike with birds tweeting and fluttering along behind him was quite a sight. And, damn, did he ever get laid by the prettiest rich twinks this side of the Mississippi. No one knew how he managed to not get all the frills of those petticoats caught in his hog while he raced down the highway, but by some magic he just sparkled on by and never wrecked. Thing was, his gang learned to never question, and I'll tell you how.
One night after a long day on the road, his crew stopped at the Red Boar saloon. Big Joe stomped over to the bar as usual, chomping on his cigar, and downed a shot. Some hillbilly idiot on the the next stool, obviously not the classy sort, looked up and down at Joe's shiny gold dress.
"The fuck you wearing, faggot?" He says.
Now Joe just downed another shot, put out his cigar on the bar, and took a deep breath.
Damn motherfucker didn't even see it coming. Big Joe just pulled him off that stool, slammed him on the ground, and knocked his teeth out. Over and over again, we all saw him beat the living shit out of that poor sap.
"I!"
Another punch.
"AM!"
Another punch.
"A PRINCESS!"
Damn right. After that, no one ever doubted that Big Joe of the road was the prettiest princess of the land. | I ain't never thot this'd be how I en'd up in jail. Sometin about "punchin' royalty", even tho' they couldn't find where the 'ell he was "royal" from. Ain't like there's much place, what with that godfersaken wind thing. I swear, w's like they just *show'd up* from outta da blue! Wind musta blew the crazies in and giv'n erryone else the crazy too! Weird shit, man. Weird shit.
_______________________________
Just weeks earlier, Joe had been, well, an average Joe. Mostly, at least. Sure, he was a biker, and sure he looked tough, but he wasn't that bad, nor that strong. Mainly just liked the community. Not a bunch of thugs, though people didn't often believe that. Just a group of people that enjoyed feeling the wind in their hair, and didn't feel like walking out to the abyss.
" 'Ey Joe! Em'ly just called, wants ya' home!" Sash yelled across the bar.
" Ugh. S'rry guys, gotta go 'elp my babe," Joe sighed, placing the pool stick down. Grabbing his jacket from it's normal hook, he hopped onto the sleek bike and rode home.
The light was visible a few miles off, reds and oranges danced across the sky. Sunset was so pretty. "'Cept the sun's set.. dafaq is that light??" Joe sped up, no longer leisurely biking home. Blues, whites, and reds started entering the mix, and the sound of a siren was growing louder. Joe, still a few blocks off, could see the source: a house fire. Someone's house was on fire. No, not just someones: his. *Emy*
He saw here. She was on a stretcher, one of the paramedics was knealing over her, doing... something. *Compressions* he thought when he was close enough. He jumped off his bike and ran towards the ambulance.
"EMY!" He yelled as he approached the police cars.
"Sir, please, stay away," an officer said as he caught Joe, almost being plowed over by the strength of a man in pain.
"Tha's my wife! THA'S MY WIFE!" Joe yelled, barely coherent.
"Sir, I can't let you any closer, but I can get one of my deputies to drive you to the hospital behind the ambulance."
Joe collapsed to his knees, nodding while holding back sobs. He was silent in the ride, and out the doors before the car had even stopped. "WHERE'S MY EMY!?" he yelled. The officer had called ahead informing the ER of the situation and he was brought to a viewing room. He could see Emily, but he couldn't get close.
Several hours past before a doctor finally joined him in the room. Sure, several nurses had come in saying "we're doing all we can blah blah blah" but no one was telling Joe what he wanted - no, what he needed - to hear. The doctor didn't either.
"She's unstable. We're doing all we can, but the burns cover almost 80% of her body, and might even have affected the lungs. We are *not* giving up, but it is going to be a long, uphill battle."
Joe turned to the glass. "Get out," he whispered, his hand lightly pointing to the door.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"^I Said GET **OUT**!!!" Joe's finger was pointing firmly at the door, still refusing to look at the doctor.
The door clicked shut once again and Joe collapsed. "Please. Please. Don't die. Don't die on me, Emy. I'll do anything."
And everything vanished.
___________________________________
Joe opened his eyes to see complete and total darkness. "Wha-"
*Ah, mortal. Let me explain.*
"WHO SAID THAT!?"
*I am not a 'who', but a 'what'. I am as old as time, older even than this peculiarity you live on.*
"What do you want with me? I just want to get back to Emily. Please. Let me get back to Emily."
*Emily will die from these wounds-*
Joe broke down crying. He couldn't even make the words come to his mind, let alone his mouth.
*Mortal, I have not yet finished. I can save he- AH! AH! No talking. Only listen. \ahem\ As I was saying, I can save her, but you must complete a challenge for me.*
"Anything."
*Don't be hasty now. You will have to-*
"*Anything*"
*Very well then, you may go.*
And then everything went white.
_____________________________________________
Joe woke up. He was in the observation room again. There was a beeping and the sounds of the machines keeping Emily alive. He tried to stand up, but something tripped him. "What the 'ell? What's dis?" he said at the long dress around him. "W'ere da 'ell are muh clothes!?" He looked around the room and could find no trace of his clothes. Was this some prank pulled on him by the doctors, some cruel punishment? If it was though, why would they use a leather dress? Those had to be expensive.
Joe shrugged it off. There was a pocket thing in them and all his stuff was still there. A doctor walked into the room. "Joe, she's stabilized. We still can't say for certain if she will recover, but she's getting better."
"Thank you. Thank you."
"Joe, you should get some real rest. We have your numbers if her situation changes. Go get some real sleep. Tell your friends and family. There's a motel across the street, we already booked you a room."
And so Joe walked to the motel in his long leather dress.
_______________________________________________
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Joe yelled as he walked into his room to find a... man in their underpants with a rose in their mouth.
"I'm the prince of *brlahrfasrs*." Joe couldn't make out what the man had said.
"Know what, I don't care, I just want you out. GET!"
"But m'lady--!"
"GET! OUT!"
The prince ran out the door, underwear, rose, and all. Joe closed and locked the door before collapsing on the bed, barely even finding a blanket before he was out like a light.
A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of his cellphone. Joe rushed to pick it up. Was something wrong with Emily? No, it was just his mother-in-law. The situation was explained as best he could, followed by a lot of listening to her yell. Finally it was over. A handful of stuff recovered from his house was lying in a box by the door. It happened to include his toothbrush and a roll of tooth paste. What an odd thing to survive a fire.
Getting showered and washed felt glorious. His skin had been sticking to that dress and it was mildly painful to remove. He still had no idea where it came from, but for some reason he really didn't care.
After getting dressed, he walked back outside. His bike was there, as well as a note. "Hope all goes well. We're here if you need us. -Sash". He smiled, perhaps the first real smile since he saw the fire, and went to stick the paper in his pocket. Except there was no pocket.
#To Be Continued...
_______________________________________________
(props if you get the reference without checking my post history :P)
________________________________________________
I'm actually really tired as it's almost 2 AM. I'll write more of this tomorrow. Enjoy the suspense ~~ | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | Jax opened the door and stared down the lean prince proffering a huge bouquet of roses. "For the last fucking time no!"
The prince flapped his gums, trying to find a sweet platitude, but Jax pushed past him into the dank garage. He stopped by a large tool box, picked up a wrench, thought for a second, the turned back to his suitor. "If y' going to stand around y' better make y'self useful."
This time the prince looked perplexed, not sure of what he was being asked. "Doth you mean me to aid you in some fair task?"
Jax nodded his head in the direction of the five Harleys lined up waiting to be fixed. A blob of greese fell from the wrench onto his powder blue dress, smearing the delicate fabric. "Yes dipshit, these bike won't fix themsleves".
The prince stammered. "I've never even..."
It was no use, as Jax cut him off with an ice stare. "It's help me with the repairs, or get the fuck out of here."
So it was that the forlorn prince cast down the flowers on top of the tool box, rolled up his ornate sleeves, and gingerly began to hand out tools.
Jax paused for a moment, and turned on the radio, tuning it in to a local rock station. So enough the prince was witness to a murder of crows, gang of rats, and a bruiser of a tom cat helping as Jax sung along to the classics.
Lunch came, and Jax grabbed them both something to eat from the 7/11. The prince ate with all the refined manners of his station, Jax observing him like a hawk. The prince stopped halfway through his second bagel and asked dejectedly, "Are you sure this is what the Fairy Godmother intended? I mean, not that I am protesting my destiny, but..."
For the first time that morning Jax could see the fear in the prince's eyes, uncertain. "I don't know, 'cept, well shit. This is kinda fucked up and we're trapped in this together."
Jax laughed, hollow and deep. Why the fuck had he wished upon that star? Yes he was drunk, and yes he was horny as fuck, but how did wanting to find true love turn into... this? He wiped crumbs from his beard, and gave the prince a once over, lean in a toned and athletic sort of way, handsome in a Men's Health photo, and his manners were impeccable. A feeling long buried welled up, forbidden, likely to get the shit beaten out of him, or worse.
"Y' know, I haven't even asked you your name."
The prince looked at him, and blushed. "Never thought to say. Alistair."
Jax felt his stomach leap, fucking fairy godmother. Butterflies took hold, and for all the greesey machismo of the dim workshop, he found himself tongue tied. "Nice name."
Alistair looked at the floor, contemplating, and when he looked back up there were tears in his eyes. "I was told to expect a fair maiden, large kingdom, and happily ever after. Not you. Yet, my heart flutters every time I look I to your eyes."
A heartbeat passed, the two. Jax reached out and cupped Alistair's cheek, hot and soft beneath his fingers. Now it was genuine desire, wrong on very level his stood for, yet there was no denying it. Fuck, he hated himself for it, but still he wanted more.
He held Alistair's gaze, fear, desire, longing passing between them. Jax yearned to turn away, running as far as his bike would carry him, pulp this faggot. No, his heart held him there, transfixed.
Then Alistair moved in, soft and gentle, and for the first time in his life Jax felt the power of true love's first kiss. | I ain't never thot this'd be how I en'd up in jail. Sometin about "punchin' royalty", even tho' they couldn't find where the 'ell he was "royal" from. Ain't like there's much place, what with that godfersaken wind thing. I swear, w's like they just *show'd up* from outta da blue! Wind musta blew the crazies in and giv'n erryone else the crazy too! Weird shit, man. Weird shit.
_______________________________
Just weeks earlier, Joe had been, well, an average Joe. Mostly, at least. Sure, he was a biker, and sure he looked tough, but he wasn't that bad, nor that strong. Mainly just liked the community. Not a bunch of thugs, though people didn't often believe that. Just a group of people that enjoyed feeling the wind in their hair, and didn't feel like walking out to the abyss.
" 'Ey Joe! Em'ly just called, wants ya' home!" Sash yelled across the bar.
" Ugh. S'rry guys, gotta go 'elp my babe," Joe sighed, placing the pool stick down. Grabbing his jacket from it's normal hook, he hopped onto the sleek bike and rode home.
The light was visible a few miles off, reds and oranges danced across the sky. Sunset was so pretty. "'Cept the sun's set.. dafaq is that light??" Joe sped up, no longer leisurely biking home. Blues, whites, and reds started entering the mix, and the sound of a siren was growing louder. Joe, still a few blocks off, could see the source: a house fire. Someone's house was on fire. No, not just someones: his. *Emy*
He saw here. She was on a stretcher, one of the paramedics was knealing over her, doing... something. *Compressions* he thought when he was close enough. He jumped off his bike and ran towards the ambulance.
"EMY!" He yelled as he approached the police cars.
"Sir, please, stay away," an officer said as he caught Joe, almost being plowed over by the strength of a man in pain.
"Tha's my wife! THA'S MY WIFE!" Joe yelled, barely coherent.
"Sir, I can't let you any closer, but I can get one of my deputies to drive you to the hospital behind the ambulance."
Joe collapsed to his knees, nodding while holding back sobs. He was silent in the ride, and out the doors before the car had even stopped. "WHERE'S MY EMY!?" he yelled. The officer had called ahead informing the ER of the situation and he was brought to a viewing room. He could see Emily, but he couldn't get close.
Several hours past before a doctor finally joined him in the room. Sure, several nurses had come in saying "we're doing all we can blah blah blah" but no one was telling Joe what he wanted - no, what he needed - to hear. The doctor didn't either.
"She's unstable. We're doing all we can, but the burns cover almost 80% of her body, and might even have affected the lungs. We are *not* giving up, but it is going to be a long, uphill battle."
Joe turned to the glass. "Get out," he whispered, his hand lightly pointing to the door.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"^I Said GET **OUT**!!!" Joe's finger was pointing firmly at the door, still refusing to look at the doctor.
The door clicked shut once again and Joe collapsed. "Please. Please. Don't die. Don't die on me, Emy. I'll do anything."
And everything vanished.
___________________________________
Joe opened his eyes to see complete and total darkness. "Wha-"
*Ah, mortal. Let me explain.*
"WHO SAID THAT!?"
*I am not a 'who', but a 'what'. I am as old as time, older even than this peculiarity you live on.*
"What do you want with me? I just want to get back to Emily. Please. Let me get back to Emily."
*Emily will die from these wounds-*
Joe broke down crying. He couldn't even make the words come to his mind, let alone his mouth.
*Mortal, I have not yet finished. I can save he- AH! AH! No talking. Only listen. \ahem\ As I was saying, I can save her, but you must complete a challenge for me.*
"Anything."
*Don't be hasty now. You will have to-*
"*Anything*"
*Very well then, you may go.*
And then everything went white.
_____________________________________________
Joe woke up. He was in the observation room again. There was a beeping and the sounds of the machines keeping Emily alive. He tried to stand up, but something tripped him. "What the 'ell? What's dis?" he said at the long dress around him. "W'ere da 'ell are muh clothes!?" He looked around the room and could find no trace of his clothes. Was this some prank pulled on him by the doctors, some cruel punishment? If it was though, why would they use a leather dress? Those had to be expensive.
Joe shrugged it off. There was a pocket thing in them and all his stuff was still there. A doctor walked into the room. "Joe, she's stabilized. We still can't say for certain if she will recover, but she's getting better."
"Thank you. Thank you."
"Joe, you should get some real rest. We have your numbers if her situation changes. Go get some real sleep. Tell your friends and family. There's a motel across the street, we already booked you a room."
And so Joe walked to the motel in his long leather dress.
_______________________________________________
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Joe yelled as he walked into his room to find a... man in their underpants with a rose in their mouth.
"I'm the prince of *brlahrfasrs*." Joe couldn't make out what the man had said.
"Know what, I don't care, I just want you out. GET!"
"But m'lady--!"
"GET! OUT!"
The prince ran out the door, underwear, rose, and all. Joe closed and locked the door before collapsing on the bed, barely even finding a blanket before he was out like a light.
A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of his cellphone. Joe rushed to pick it up. Was something wrong with Emily? No, it was just his mother-in-law. The situation was explained as best he could, followed by a lot of listening to her yell. Finally it was over. A handful of stuff recovered from his house was lying in a box by the door. It happened to include his toothbrush and a roll of tooth paste. What an odd thing to survive a fire.
Getting showered and washed felt glorious. His skin had been sticking to that dress and it was mildly painful to remove. He still had no idea where it came from, but for some reason he really didn't care.
After getting dressed, he walked back outside. His bike was there, as well as a note. "Hope all goes well. We're here if you need us. -Sash". He smiled, perhaps the first real smile since he saw the fire, and went to stick the paper in his pocket. Except there was no pocket.
#To Be Continued...
_______________________________________________
(props if you get the reference without checking my post history :P)
________________________________________________
I'm actually really tired as it's almost 2 AM. I'll write more of this tomorrow. Enjoy the suspense ~~ | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | The cottage in the middle of the woods was a fairly standard cottage, assuming your definition of standard included the magical kingdom of Netherearth. Of course, that meant that the house was guarded by a veritable army of birds, flying fairies, deer, magical wards, non-flying fairies and one short dwarf with a beard that dragged along the floor.
Inside, a group of young women were waiting patiently for the final member of their group to arrive. All of them were dressed in various forms of fine garb, from the elegant gowns of English origin to the glittering jewels of the middle-eastern royalty.
They were on their second round of tea when a bear almost crashed into the front porch.
'Sorry I'm late, ladies.' A low voice called out, before a man covered in tatoos and wearing a frilled pink dress walked into the room. 'Had to chase off a prince along the way.'
The group shuddered.
'That's quite alright, Joe.' Agatha said, patting her hand on the seat beside her. 'Come take a seat.'
'Thanks.' Collapsing into the white silk cushions, Joe poured himself a cup of tea, his finger barely able to fit into the teacup's handle before gulping it down in one mouthful.
'Well then, now that everyone is here, we can begin!' Agatha smiled. 'The person we're going to be focusing on today in the Fairytale Princess Support Group is Joe. I'm sure we're all very familiar with Joe, but for those newer to this group, would you mind giving us a small reminder of who you are?'
'Sure. Uh, I'm Joe. I'm turning fourty-two this year, and a fairy godmother got me about three years ago. She was senile, or blind, or was crazy or something. I used to hang out at a lot of biker clubs and I was a mechanic before this all happened.'
A small chorus of 'Hi Joe.' echoed through the room.
'I know you people all have your own stories, but I really feel like this change impacted me the most, you know?' Joe's face crinkled up and his eyes began to water. 'I had my life sorted out before all this, yeah? I had my friends, family, and a stable job and everything. Now everyone just looks at me like it's my fault that I'm wearing pink dresses, lacy stockings, and tall heels when a prince manages to hunt me down. I... I don't know what to do anymore...'
Agatha patted Joe softly on his back as he continued to sob softly.
'It'll be okay...' She turns towards the rest of the princesses in the room. 'As you can see, Joe is currently facing a lot of mental trauma. The fairy godmother in question was one of the oldest in the continent, and was suffering from many typical problems that come with old age, from Alzheimers to magical memory impediment. We attempted to track her down after Joe joined our support group, but she was confirmed dead by the time we could after only two months. As such, the magic performed upon Joe cannot be reversed.'
Agatha frowned. 'Now, the transition for some princesses is already hard, but considering that Joe is a complete polar opposite in all facets of what a fairytale princess is usually, this is possibly the most severe case of fairytale princess that we've ever had. To be frank, those of us close to Joe have already run out of ideas.'
A sniffling Joe managed to raise his voice. 'I... I've tried everything. If it was just the dresses, the heels, the animals, that would be okay. I can deal with that. But that combined with the princes... it's never going to end, is it.'
Agatha hesitated. 'Look, we're all here for you. The princes can't hurt you as long as we all stick together-'
The door burst open, and the dwarf on guard duty crashed through, riding on top of a stag. 'PRINCES! THE PRINCES HAVE FOUND US!'
The occupants of the room looked at each other in horror, before grabbing their weapons.
---
'WHY!'
Boom.
'WON'T.'
Boom.
'YOU PEOPLE.'
Boom.
'LEAVE ME ALONE!'
Boom.
The final prince, a lightly chubby man in full plate armour tried to raise his hand in one last gesture before Joe stabbed right through it with his shoe's heel and blasted his head off with his shotgun.
Joe dropped his gun, collapsed onto the ground, curled up into a ball as the other princesses began to clean their variety of blades and firearms. He barely noticed as Agatha tried to get his attention, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
'Joe, Joe! Are you alright?' She asked, biting her lip. She knew that look, but she could still hope...
'I... I'm done. I'm done. Done. Done.' He muttered, shaking back and forth. 'I... I'm going to the fairy godmother's consulate tomorrow. Gonna ask for a full wipe.'
Agatha shut her eyes. Deep in the back of her mind she knew it was probably inevitable, but she had hoped...
---
The cottage in the middle of the woods was a fairly standard cottage, assuming your definition of standard included the magical kingdom of Netherearth. Of course, that meant that the house was guarded by a veritable army of birds, flying fairies, deer, magical wards, non-flying fairies and one short dwarf with a beard that dragged along the floor.
Inside, a group of young women were waiting patiently for the final member of their group to arrive. All of them were dressed in various forms of fine garb, from the elegant gowns of English origin to the glittering jewels of the middle-eastern royalty.
They were on their second round of tea when a bear almost crashed into the front porch.
'Sorry I'm late, ladies.' A silky voice called out, before a woman covered in tatoos and wearing a frilled pink dress walked into the room. 'Had to chase off a prince along the way.'
The group shuddered.
'That's quite alright, Johanna.' Agatha said, her teeth grit into a smile. She pat her hand on the seat beside her. 'Come take a seat.'
| I ain't never thot this'd be how I en'd up in jail. Sometin about "punchin' royalty", even tho' they couldn't find where the 'ell he was "royal" from. Ain't like there's much place, what with that godfersaken wind thing. I swear, w's like they just *show'd up* from outta da blue! Wind musta blew the crazies in and giv'n erryone else the crazy too! Weird shit, man. Weird shit.
_______________________________
Just weeks earlier, Joe had been, well, an average Joe. Mostly, at least. Sure, he was a biker, and sure he looked tough, but he wasn't that bad, nor that strong. Mainly just liked the community. Not a bunch of thugs, though people didn't often believe that. Just a group of people that enjoyed feeling the wind in their hair, and didn't feel like walking out to the abyss.
" 'Ey Joe! Em'ly just called, wants ya' home!" Sash yelled across the bar.
" Ugh. S'rry guys, gotta go 'elp my babe," Joe sighed, placing the pool stick down. Grabbing his jacket from it's normal hook, he hopped onto the sleek bike and rode home.
The light was visible a few miles off, reds and oranges danced across the sky. Sunset was so pretty. "'Cept the sun's set.. dafaq is that light??" Joe sped up, no longer leisurely biking home. Blues, whites, and reds started entering the mix, and the sound of a siren was growing louder. Joe, still a few blocks off, could see the source: a house fire. Someone's house was on fire. No, not just someones: his. *Emy*
He saw here. She was on a stretcher, one of the paramedics was knealing over her, doing... something. *Compressions* he thought when he was close enough. He jumped off his bike and ran towards the ambulance.
"EMY!" He yelled as he approached the police cars.
"Sir, please, stay away," an officer said as he caught Joe, almost being plowed over by the strength of a man in pain.
"Tha's my wife! THA'S MY WIFE!" Joe yelled, barely coherent.
"Sir, I can't let you any closer, but I can get one of my deputies to drive you to the hospital behind the ambulance."
Joe collapsed to his knees, nodding while holding back sobs. He was silent in the ride, and out the doors before the car had even stopped. "WHERE'S MY EMY!?" he yelled. The officer had called ahead informing the ER of the situation and he was brought to a viewing room. He could see Emily, but he couldn't get close.
Several hours past before a doctor finally joined him in the room. Sure, several nurses had come in saying "we're doing all we can blah blah blah" but no one was telling Joe what he wanted - no, what he needed - to hear. The doctor didn't either.
"She's unstable. We're doing all we can, but the burns cover almost 80% of her body, and might even have affected the lungs. We are *not* giving up, but it is going to be a long, uphill battle."
Joe turned to the glass. "Get out," he whispered, his hand lightly pointing to the door.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"^I Said GET **OUT**!!!" Joe's finger was pointing firmly at the door, still refusing to look at the doctor.
The door clicked shut once again and Joe collapsed. "Please. Please. Don't die. Don't die on me, Emy. I'll do anything."
And everything vanished.
___________________________________
Joe opened his eyes to see complete and total darkness. "Wha-"
*Ah, mortal. Let me explain.*
"WHO SAID THAT!?"
*I am not a 'who', but a 'what'. I am as old as time, older even than this peculiarity you live on.*
"What do you want with me? I just want to get back to Emily. Please. Let me get back to Emily."
*Emily will die from these wounds-*
Joe broke down crying. He couldn't even make the words come to his mind, let alone his mouth.
*Mortal, I have not yet finished. I can save he- AH! AH! No talking. Only listen. \ahem\ As I was saying, I can save her, but you must complete a challenge for me.*
"Anything."
*Don't be hasty now. You will have to-*
"*Anything*"
*Very well then, you may go.*
And then everything went white.
_____________________________________________
Joe woke up. He was in the observation room again. There was a beeping and the sounds of the machines keeping Emily alive. He tried to stand up, but something tripped him. "What the 'ell? What's dis?" he said at the long dress around him. "W'ere da 'ell are muh clothes!?" He looked around the room and could find no trace of his clothes. Was this some prank pulled on him by the doctors, some cruel punishment? If it was though, why would they use a leather dress? Those had to be expensive.
Joe shrugged it off. There was a pocket thing in them and all his stuff was still there. A doctor walked into the room. "Joe, she's stabilized. We still can't say for certain if she will recover, but she's getting better."
"Thank you. Thank you."
"Joe, you should get some real rest. We have your numbers if her situation changes. Go get some real sleep. Tell your friends and family. There's a motel across the street, we already booked you a room."
And so Joe walked to the motel in his long leather dress.
_______________________________________________
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" Joe yelled as he walked into his room to find a... man in their underpants with a rose in their mouth.
"I'm the prince of *brlahrfasrs*." Joe couldn't make out what the man had said.
"Know what, I don't care, I just want you out. GET!"
"But m'lady--!"
"GET! OUT!"
The prince ran out the door, underwear, rose, and all. Joe closed and locked the door before collapsing on the bed, barely even finding a blanket before he was out like a light.
A few hours later, he woke up to the sound of his cellphone. Joe rushed to pick it up. Was something wrong with Emily? No, it was just his mother-in-law. The situation was explained as best he could, followed by a lot of listening to her yell. Finally it was over. A handful of stuff recovered from his house was lying in a box by the door. It happened to include his toothbrush and a roll of tooth paste. What an odd thing to survive a fire.
Getting showered and washed felt glorious. His skin had been sticking to that dress and it was mildly painful to remove. He still had no idea where it came from, but for some reason he really didn't care.
After getting dressed, he walked back outside. His bike was there, as well as a note. "Hope all goes well. We're here if you need us. -Sash". He smiled, perhaps the first real smile since he saw the fire, and went to stick the paper in his pocket. Except there was no pocket.
#To Be Continued...
_______________________________________________
(props if you get the reference without checking my post history :P)
________________________________________________
I'm actually really tired as it's almost 2 AM. I'll write more of this tomorrow. Enjoy the suspense ~~ | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | When the fairy (literal fairy) told him that he could wish for anything he wanted, he thought she was shitting him. The old lady had gotten wasted at the Chain Drive and picked a fight with the wrong guy. Who knew that magical fairy godmothers smoked and drank in leather bars? Apparently, this one did. So after Joe stepped in to throw the asshole out for trying to break the jaw of a grandma, she had hiccupped and slurred her way through some crazy explanation of "debts owed."
Joe told me he wasn't sure why he was so honest. Maybe it was being in the leather bar for the first time in a while, or the whiskey, or maybe cause he thought she was full of shit. All he knows now is that he's never felt so good after (who fucking knew?!) it came true. It a took a bit of time for his crew to adjust. Him screaming along to metal on his bike with birds tweeting and fluttering along behind him was quite a sight. And, damn, did he ever get laid by the prettiest rich twinks this side of the Mississippi. No one knew how he managed to not get all the frills of those petticoats caught in his hog while he raced down the highway, but by some magic he just sparkled on by and never wrecked. Thing was, his gang learned to never question, and I'll tell you how.
One night after a long day on the road, his crew stopped at the Red Boar saloon. Big Joe stomped over to the bar as usual, chomping on his cigar, and downed a shot. Some hillbilly idiot on the the next stool, obviously not the classy sort, looked up and down at Joe's shiny gold dress.
"The fuck you wearing, faggot?" He says.
Now Joe just downed another shot, put out his cigar on the bar, and took a deep breath.
Damn motherfucker didn't even see it coming. Big Joe just pulled him off that stool, slammed him on the ground, and knocked his teeth out. Over and over again, we all saw him beat the living shit out of that poor sap.
"I!"
Another punch.
"AM!"
Another punch.
"A PRINCESS!"
Damn right. After that, no one ever doubted that Big Joe of the road was the prettiest princess of the land. | The Harley Davidson convention was in full swing as Joe’s dust-riddled biker boot shit-kickers trudged his substantially muscled form down aisle after aisle of –man- transportation. No pussies allowed.
Making his way past a particularly testosterone-riddled row of bikes, he was suddenly accosted by the sight of an even more substantially muscled man glowering down at a fair-haired maiden.
‘Now, what is this?’ thought our balding but still oddly imposing Harley-loving friend. ‘No man of such size should ever appear threatening toward a lady. Even if this is no place for a fancy looker like herself.’ And so, he trudged ever-so-slightly faster toward the pair.
“What do you think you’re doing?” said he to the behemoth who still glowered with great menace toward the crinkle-nosed beauty. Nose-crinkling is almost always a sign of anger, and so our friend assumed that she was disgruntled with her treatment.
“This nice lady has done nothing to deserve this kind of treatment. I suggest you leave before this becomes a situation. We don’t want a situation, now do we,” he stated bluntly to the larger man, wearing his own equally grimace-y expression, that had been perfected in his years as a squirrel exterminator.
The lady maltreater paused, appearing to contemplate argument for a moment, but his eyes glanced down to the beltline of his shorter opponent, where there was a sheathed revolver, the size of which may have suggested the man was compensating for something. Rethinking what would have been a fabulously bawdy comeback, he turned and left without another word.
Relief passed over the fair maiden’s face, and she turned to her savior to say, “I would like to thank you for your kindness on this day, the 26th day of March in the year 2016. For your valiance, I will grant you one wish.”
Now, our friend, thinking he had rescued a nice, normal, albeit pretty lady, promptly went from gentlemanly to pissed in a nano-moment. Thinking that she was mocking him, he responded, “I wish I was a fucking fairy-tale princess,” and he turned and trudged away so quickly it could be described as stalking off.
Later that evening, Joe, our unassuming pal, was getting ready for bed and shed his clothing until only a pair of Sponge Bob boxers were left. He then did the only manly thing one can when getting into bed and he cannon-balled onto his red and black lumberjack flannel comforter.
The next morning, when Joe awoke, it was due to a rather uncomfortable lump under his back. Cracking his eyelids, nearly sealed shut with crusties, he glanced down, only to sit up abruptly in what could have been either anger or alarm. Joe is rarely alarmed, so we will assume anger.
He was now wearing a rather conspicuous (due to him not being a 5-year-old girl) yellow and blue tutu. This was paired with the unfortunate fact that his now unhoused penis was able to sway to and fro from beneath the ruffled fabric. Which it did as he launched himself from bed to stand in front of the mirror.
Had Joe been the type to laugh at himself. Ever. He would have released a great and voluminous chuckle. But Joe is not –that sort- of man.
And so, he punched the mirror.
Hand now bloodied, he had no choice but to remove his new fairy-garment and stumble into the shower, where he proceeded to sing Enter Sandman by Metallica, his number five favorite shower song of all time.
About two minutes into singing, there was suddenly a swarm of small brightly-plumaged birds whirling and twirling enchantingly above his head. Needless to say, Joe was not enchanted. He immediately Karate Kid snatched a bird out of the air from above the head and asked, not altogether unrhetorically, “What the hell are you doing in here, you little shits?”
Ignorant of the meaning of the word rhetorical, the bird responded in a quiveringly shrilly bird voice, “I – I – I’m sorry, Sir. My name is Sandman. I thought you told me to enter… and the sound of your voice was just so majestic that we could not stay away. I hope we did not offend you, Sir.”
It was at this inopportune moment that one of his bird friends decided to take a crap right on Joe’s left ear, which protruded conspicuously from the side of his head.
“Okay, that’s enough! I don’t know what in blazes is going on, but get the ever-living fuck out of my house!”
And so, they did.
It wasn’t until later, as he was leaving his house clad in a very lovely red and black flannel princess-neckline dress that Joe began to realize that something was truly off.
That, and there was a line of fairy princes a mile long waiting at his front door…
Fin
My third ever post to WritingPrompts; feedback appreciated! | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | A young man was taking a walk through a park. He didn't know why, he typically didn't like the outdoors. Normally on a fine morning like this, he would be in his house reading, or watching a classic film while the family butler made him a savory mushroom and swiss omelette with a mimosa. Today was different, he just had to walk, in this public park, past the bushes and wilted flowers. A bird flew straight in front of him and he fell into the pond on the side of the path. As he got up, three more birds, two rabbits, and a turtle all crossed his path. He decided to follow them, because he assumed they were running from something, or someone. As he followed he heard a voice singing, a tune which he had trouble recognizing at first.
"BORN TO BE WIIIIIII IIIIII ULD! BORN TO BE WIIIII IIII ULD!"
For some reason, the man was drawn to the singing, just like all the animals. As he got closer, he could see the singer. A 40 year old guy, wearing a doo rag, aviators, fingerless gloves, black leather boots, and a green formal dress with a long cape billowing in the wind. The young man felt compelled to ask him on a date, but what would his father think. After all, you can't have the prince of Zubrowka marrying a man, that would be unfashionable. | So my name is Joe and I have a, well a curse. You see, I have powers like a fairy tale princess but I mean ones bearable and kinda helpful I guess. The 3rd one is pretty weird and kinda not good. and finally there is the last one which is super inconvenient. Of course my powers or curses or whatever they are, are singing makes animals come to me, princes are attracted to me and whatever I wear becomes a very girly and nice looking dress.
Now you can probably guess which is which but the fact is that I am a biker. A very hairy and older biker actually. The first two curses don't often effect me it's really just the last one. The dress one.
The only reason I have normal clothes is because under the dresses are short pairs of under pants and a tank top which I make sure I wear a towel over my shirt. People ask about why I have a towel tied to me most of the time but I really just say I don't know.
One day I was a restaurant when I was approached by a really hot brunette woman in a fancy red dress which was pretty surprising because by restaurant I meant McDonald's. She gave me her business card and said "Meet me in front of your apartment door around noon at 6 pm. It is a matter about your curse."
Before I could say anything back the woman was gone and I was really confused. I looked at her blue business card, it read Catherine Bearving and under those words it read Curses and Gifts Explorer.
That night at Six I was in front of my door mainly because the words she stated and her card said intrigued me. "Curses" that was the same way I described what happened to me. I arrived in front of my door at 5:59 and she was already there.
"Well I see you showed up sir" she said to me in a British accent.
"Um hello... uh ... Carry was it?"
"Catherine" she chuckled "Well since you showed up I'm assuming you are wondering why I came to do talk to you, well If you let me in I can explain."
Normally I wouldn't let strangers into my home but she just felt like she knew something I didn't. I let her in and we both sat on my couch in my living room.
"Have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess" she asked me abruptly.
"Huh?"
"I said have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess that could have something to do with your curse."
There it was again the word "curse" she clearly knew something I didn't. I looked back on my childhood before this whole weird curse thing started. "When I was 7 I made fun of girl toys and girly princesses I think" I claimed
"Hmm that could be it, how much did you make fun of them for and did you talk to a girl about how stupid they were or did you just think this."
"Uh... I ... I think I made fun of them for about 3 weeks then I outgrew it and moved on. I think I made fun of a girl though... yeah I did she had these dum toys and these stupid pig tales. I always said those things would be so stupid in real life!"
"THAT MUST BE IT" she shouted " That girl might of put a curse on you if she grew enough of a grudge and became a witch later in life."
"A witch?"
"Yeah a witch."
I was confused on multiple things like why she still was helping me and how she knew all this stuff but that was beside the point. I needed to know how to stop this curse. "So is the curse reversible?"
"Yes" she started " according to your story this would mean to reverse these things you would need to for three weeks be dating a prince, befriend 10 animals and Wear 50 different dresses each for at least 12 hours each."
"WHAT" my mouth was wide I was confused but most importantly reluctant to the idea. But even then I had to if it meant getting out of this curse. The real question was though how I would get a prince to date me. My curse made them attracted to me but I'm pretty sure the rest of the country the prince was from wouldn't like me much.
"So how could I go about all this" I asked
"Glad you asked first we will need to give you a makeover of course since you don't just look like a weirdo guy just wearing girl clothes and trying to date a prince."
As bad as that all sounded I knew it had to be done if I wanted this curse to go away.
Over the next few weeks I trained with Catherine trying to seem like a normal girl so I could get a prince to date me for 3 weeks and I befriended a coupe animals on the way. I never really got to ask many questions to Catherine about why she was helping me or who she was for that matter.
After 3 months I finally had everything done so I broke up with the prince of Sealand and I finally came back home in a normal towel and woman's clothes. "So when will I be normal again" I asked.
Then Catherine's hair did itself up into 2 pigtails and she said "well that all depends. Did you enjoy being a princess yourself Joe?" | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | Jax opened the door and stared down the lean prince proffering a huge bouquet of roses. "For the last fucking time no!"
The prince flapped his gums, trying to find a sweet platitude, but Jax pushed past him into the dank garage. He stopped by a large tool box, picked up a wrench, thought for a second, the turned back to his suitor. "If y' going to stand around y' better make y'self useful."
This time the prince looked perplexed, not sure of what he was being asked. "Doth you mean me to aid you in some fair task?"
Jax nodded his head in the direction of the five Harleys lined up waiting to be fixed. A blob of greese fell from the wrench onto his powder blue dress, smearing the delicate fabric. "Yes dipshit, these bike won't fix themsleves".
The prince stammered. "I've never even..."
It was no use, as Jax cut him off with an ice stare. "It's help me with the repairs, or get the fuck out of here."
So it was that the forlorn prince cast down the flowers on top of the tool box, rolled up his ornate sleeves, and gingerly began to hand out tools.
Jax paused for a moment, and turned on the radio, tuning it in to a local rock station. So enough the prince was witness to a murder of crows, gang of rats, and a bruiser of a tom cat helping as Jax sung along to the classics.
Lunch came, and Jax grabbed them both something to eat from the 7/11. The prince ate with all the refined manners of his station, Jax observing him like a hawk. The prince stopped halfway through his second bagel and asked dejectedly, "Are you sure this is what the Fairy Godmother intended? I mean, not that I am protesting my destiny, but..."
For the first time that morning Jax could see the fear in the prince's eyes, uncertain. "I don't know, 'cept, well shit. This is kinda fucked up and we're trapped in this together."
Jax laughed, hollow and deep. Why the fuck had he wished upon that star? Yes he was drunk, and yes he was horny as fuck, but how did wanting to find true love turn into... this? He wiped crumbs from his beard, and gave the prince a once over, lean in a toned and athletic sort of way, handsome in a Men's Health photo, and his manners were impeccable. A feeling long buried welled up, forbidden, likely to get the shit beaten out of him, or worse.
"Y' know, I haven't even asked you your name."
The prince looked at him, and blushed. "Never thought to say. Alistair."
Jax felt his stomach leap, fucking fairy godmother. Butterflies took hold, and for all the greesey machismo of the dim workshop, he found himself tongue tied. "Nice name."
Alistair looked at the floor, contemplating, and when he looked back up there were tears in his eyes. "I was told to expect a fair maiden, large kingdom, and happily ever after. Not you. Yet, my heart flutters every time I look I to your eyes."
A heartbeat passed, the two. Jax reached out and cupped Alistair's cheek, hot and soft beneath his fingers. Now it was genuine desire, wrong on very level his stood for, yet there was no denying it. Fuck, he hated himself for it, but still he wanted more.
He held Alistair's gaze, fear, desire, longing passing between them. Jax yearned to turn away, running as far as his bike would carry him, pulp this faggot. No, his heart held him there, transfixed.
Then Alistair moved in, soft and gentle, and for the first time in his life Jax felt the power of true love's first kiss. | So my name is Joe and I have a, well a curse. You see, I have powers like a fairy tale princess but I mean ones bearable and kinda helpful I guess. The 3rd one is pretty weird and kinda not good. and finally there is the last one which is super inconvenient. Of course my powers or curses or whatever they are, are singing makes animals come to me, princes are attracted to me and whatever I wear becomes a very girly and nice looking dress.
Now you can probably guess which is which but the fact is that I am a biker. A very hairy and older biker actually. The first two curses don't often effect me it's really just the last one. The dress one.
The only reason I have normal clothes is because under the dresses are short pairs of under pants and a tank top which I make sure I wear a towel over my shirt. People ask about why I have a towel tied to me most of the time but I really just say I don't know.
One day I was a restaurant when I was approached by a really hot brunette woman in a fancy red dress which was pretty surprising because by restaurant I meant McDonald's. She gave me her business card and said "Meet me in front of your apartment door around noon at 6 pm. It is a matter about your curse."
Before I could say anything back the woman was gone and I was really confused. I looked at her blue business card, it read Catherine Bearving and under those words it read Curses and Gifts Explorer.
That night at Six I was in front of my door mainly because the words she stated and her card said intrigued me. "Curses" that was the same way I described what happened to me. I arrived in front of my door at 5:59 and she was already there.
"Well I see you showed up sir" she said to me in a British accent.
"Um hello... uh ... Carry was it?"
"Catherine" she chuckled "Well since you showed up I'm assuming you are wondering why I came to do talk to you, well If you let me in I can explain."
Normally I wouldn't let strangers into my home but she just felt like she knew something I didn't. I let her in and we both sat on my couch in my living room.
"Have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess" she asked me abruptly.
"Huh?"
"I said have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess that could have something to do with your curse."
There it was again the word "curse" she clearly knew something I didn't. I looked back on my childhood before this whole weird curse thing started. "When I was 7 I made fun of girl toys and girly princesses I think" I claimed
"Hmm that could be it, how much did you make fun of them for and did you talk to a girl about how stupid they were or did you just think this."
"Uh... I ... I think I made fun of them for about 3 weeks then I outgrew it and moved on. I think I made fun of a girl though... yeah I did she had these dum toys and these stupid pig tales. I always said those things would be so stupid in real life!"
"THAT MUST BE IT" she shouted " That girl might of put a curse on you if she grew enough of a grudge and became a witch later in life."
"A witch?"
"Yeah a witch."
I was confused on multiple things like why she still was helping me and how she knew all this stuff but that was beside the point. I needed to know how to stop this curse. "So is the curse reversible?"
"Yes" she started " according to your story this would mean to reverse these things you would need to for three weeks be dating a prince, befriend 10 animals and Wear 50 different dresses each for at least 12 hours each."
"WHAT" my mouth was wide I was confused but most importantly reluctant to the idea. But even then I had to if it meant getting out of this curse. The real question was though how I would get a prince to date me. My curse made them attracted to me but I'm pretty sure the rest of the country the prince was from wouldn't like me much.
"So how could I go about all this" I asked
"Glad you asked first we will need to give you a makeover of course since you don't just look like a weirdo guy just wearing girl clothes and trying to date a prince."
As bad as that all sounded I knew it had to be done if I wanted this curse to go away.
Over the next few weeks I trained with Catherine trying to seem like a normal girl so I could get a prince to date me for 3 weeks and I befriended a coupe animals on the way. I never really got to ask many questions to Catherine about why she was helping me or who she was for that matter.
After 3 months I finally had everything done so I broke up with the prince of Sealand and I finally came back home in a normal towel and woman's clothes. "So when will I be normal again" I asked.
Then Catherine's hair did itself up into 2 pigtails and she said "well that all depends. Did you enjoy being a princess yourself Joe?" | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | The cottage in the middle of the woods was a fairly standard cottage, assuming your definition of standard included the magical kingdom of Netherearth. Of course, that meant that the house was guarded by a veritable army of birds, flying fairies, deer, magical wards, non-flying fairies and one short dwarf with a beard that dragged along the floor.
Inside, a group of young women were waiting patiently for the final member of their group to arrive. All of them were dressed in various forms of fine garb, from the elegant gowns of English origin to the glittering jewels of the middle-eastern royalty.
They were on their second round of tea when a bear almost crashed into the front porch.
'Sorry I'm late, ladies.' A low voice called out, before a man covered in tatoos and wearing a frilled pink dress walked into the room. 'Had to chase off a prince along the way.'
The group shuddered.
'That's quite alright, Joe.' Agatha said, patting her hand on the seat beside her. 'Come take a seat.'
'Thanks.' Collapsing into the white silk cushions, Joe poured himself a cup of tea, his finger barely able to fit into the teacup's handle before gulping it down in one mouthful.
'Well then, now that everyone is here, we can begin!' Agatha smiled. 'The person we're going to be focusing on today in the Fairytale Princess Support Group is Joe. I'm sure we're all very familiar with Joe, but for those newer to this group, would you mind giving us a small reminder of who you are?'
'Sure. Uh, I'm Joe. I'm turning fourty-two this year, and a fairy godmother got me about three years ago. She was senile, or blind, or was crazy or something. I used to hang out at a lot of biker clubs and I was a mechanic before this all happened.'
A small chorus of 'Hi Joe.' echoed through the room.
'I know you people all have your own stories, but I really feel like this change impacted me the most, you know?' Joe's face crinkled up and his eyes began to water. 'I had my life sorted out before all this, yeah? I had my friends, family, and a stable job and everything. Now everyone just looks at me like it's my fault that I'm wearing pink dresses, lacy stockings, and tall heels when a prince manages to hunt me down. I... I don't know what to do anymore...'
Agatha patted Joe softly on his back as he continued to sob softly.
'It'll be okay...' She turns towards the rest of the princesses in the room. 'As you can see, Joe is currently facing a lot of mental trauma. The fairy godmother in question was one of the oldest in the continent, and was suffering from many typical problems that come with old age, from Alzheimers to magical memory impediment. We attempted to track her down after Joe joined our support group, but she was confirmed dead by the time we could after only two months. As such, the magic performed upon Joe cannot be reversed.'
Agatha frowned. 'Now, the transition for some princesses is already hard, but considering that Joe is a complete polar opposite in all facets of what a fairytale princess is usually, this is possibly the most severe case of fairytale princess that we've ever had. To be frank, those of us close to Joe have already run out of ideas.'
A sniffling Joe managed to raise his voice. 'I... I've tried everything. If it was just the dresses, the heels, the animals, that would be okay. I can deal with that. But that combined with the princes... it's never going to end, is it.'
Agatha hesitated. 'Look, we're all here for you. The princes can't hurt you as long as we all stick together-'
The door burst open, and the dwarf on guard duty crashed through, riding on top of a stag. 'PRINCES! THE PRINCES HAVE FOUND US!'
The occupants of the room looked at each other in horror, before grabbing their weapons.
---
'WHY!'
Boom.
'WON'T.'
Boom.
'YOU PEOPLE.'
Boom.
'LEAVE ME ALONE!'
Boom.
The final prince, a lightly chubby man in full plate armour tried to raise his hand in one last gesture before Joe stabbed right through it with his shoe's heel and blasted his head off with his shotgun.
Joe dropped his gun, collapsed onto the ground, curled up into a ball as the other princesses began to clean their variety of blades and firearms. He barely noticed as Agatha tried to get his attention, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
'Joe, Joe! Are you alright?' She asked, biting her lip. She knew that look, but she could still hope...
'I... I'm done. I'm done. Done. Done.' He muttered, shaking back and forth. 'I... I'm going to the fairy godmother's consulate tomorrow. Gonna ask for a full wipe.'
Agatha shut her eyes. Deep in the back of her mind she knew it was probably inevitable, but she had hoped...
---
The cottage in the middle of the woods was a fairly standard cottage, assuming your definition of standard included the magical kingdom of Netherearth. Of course, that meant that the house was guarded by a veritable army of birds, flying fairies, deer, magical wards, non-flying fairies and one short dwarf with a beard that dragged along the floor.
Inside, a group of young women were waiting patiently for the final member of their group to arrive. All of them were dressed in various forms of fine garb, from the elegant gowns of English origin to the glittering jewels of the middle-eastern royalty.
They were on their second round of tea when a bear almost crashed into the front porch.
'Sorry I'm late, ladies.' A silky voice called out, before a woman covered in tatoos and wearing a frilled pink dress walked into the room. 'Had to chase off a prince along the way.'
The group shuddered.
'That's quite alright, Johanna.' Agatha said, her teeth grit into a smile. She pat her hand on the seat beside her. 'Come take a seat.'
| So my name is Joe and I have a, well a curse. You see, I have powers like a fairy tale princess but I mean ones bearable and kinda helpful I guess. The 3rd one is pretty weird and kinda not good. and finally there is the last one which is super inconvenient. Of course my powers or curses or whatever they are, are singing makes animals come to me, princes are attracted to me and whatever I wear becomes a very girly and nice looking dress.
Now you can probably guess which is which but the fact is that I am a biker. A very hairy and older biker actually. The first two curses don't often effect me it's really just the last one. The dress one.
The only reason I have normal clothes is because under the dresses are short pairs of under pants and a tank top which I make sure I wear a towel over my shirt. People ask about why I have a towel tied to me most of the time but I really just say I don't know.
One day I was a restaurant when I was approached by a really hot brunette woman in a fancy red dress which was pretty surprising because by restaurant I meant McDonald's. She gave me her business card and said "Meet me in front of your apartment door around noon at 6 pm. It is a matter about your curse."
Before I could say anything back the woman was gone and I was really confused. I looked at her blue business card, it read Catherine Bearving and under those words it read Curses and Gifts Explorer.
That night at Six I was in front of my door mainly because the words she stated and her card said intrigued me. "Curses" that was the same way I described what happened to me. I arrived in front of my door at 5:59 and she was already there.
"Well I see you showed up sir" she said to me in a British accent.
"Um hello... uh ... Carry was it?"
"Catherine" she chuckled "Well since you showed up I'm assuming you are wondering why I came to do talk to you, well If you let me in I can explain."
Normally I wouldn't let strangers into my home but she just felt like she knew something I didn't. I let her in and we both sat on my couch in my living room.
"Have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess" she asked me abruptly.
"Huh?"
"I said have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess that could have something to do with your curse."
There it was again the word "curse" she clearly knew something I didn't. I looked back on my childhood before this whole weird curse thing started. "When I was 7 I made fun of girl toys and girly princesses I think" I claimed
"Hmm that could be it, how much did you make fun of them for and did you talk to a girl about how stupid they were or did you just think this."
"Uh... I ... I think I made fun of them for about 3 weeks then I outgrew it and moved on. I think I made fun of a girl though... yeah I did she had these dum toys and these stupid pig tales. I always said those things would be so stupid in real life!"
"THAT MUST BE IT" she shouted " That girl might of put a curse on you if she grew enough of a grudge and became a witch later in life."
"A witch?"
"Yeah a witch."
I was confused on multiple things like why she still was helping me and how she knew all this stuff but that was beside the point. I needed to know how to stop this curse. "So is the curse reversible?"
"Yes" she started " according to your story this would mean to reverse these things you would need to for three weeks be dating a prince, befriend 10 animals and Wear 50 different dresses each for at least 12 hours each."
"WHAT" my mouth was wide I was confused but most importantly reluctant to the idea. But even then I had to if it meant getting out of this curse. The real question was though how I would get a prince to date me. My curse made them attracted to me but I'm pretty sure the rest of the country the prince was from wouldn't like me much.
"So how could I go about all this" I asked
"Glad you asked first we will need to give you a makeover of course since you don't just look like a weirdo guy just wearing girl clothes and trying to date a prince."
As bad as that all sounded I knew it had to be done if I wanted this curse to go away.
Over the next few weeks I trained with Catherine trying to seem like a normal girl so I could get a prince to date me for 3 weeks and I befriended a coupe animals on the way. I never really got to ask many questions to Catherine about why she was helping me or who she was for that matter.
After 3 months I finally had everything done so I broke up with the prince of Sealand and I finally came back home in a normal towel and woman's clothes. "So when will I be normal again" I asked.
Then Catherine's hair did itself up into 2 pigtails and she said "well that all depends. Did you enjoy being a princess yourself Joe?" | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | **"Chuck, brother, I ain't gonna make it to the meeting tonight."**
"You better not be toss'n it with that Debra chick again, I swear Jimmy-"
"Naw, nothin' like that Chuck. Look, I'm not really sure how to explain this one, it's ... it's weird, man."
"What the *hell* did you do this time."
"Chuck, man, I don't know how to tell ya other'n to just tell ya. I had this dream last night - like nothing I ever had before. This fat lady-thing with these big ol' bug wings, like the kinds you see on them mosquita-eaters, she fell from the sky - and I *caught* her.
"Well, she was all happy she didn't splatter, and I guess she gave me a gift. That lady-thing bopped me on the head, and said 'you got a dozen months'."
"Dozen months of what?"
"Hell if I know. Here's the part you won't believe - I think it weren't no dream."
"Jimmy, you been drinking the Tequila again?"
"Listen to me, man, I'm tellin' ya something! I'm telling ya bout my morning! I woke up in the middle of the woods, *in a dress*."
"I knew it. You *have* been drinking the Tequila again."
"Chuck, brother, I mighta had a few drinks last night, but I know I didn't pass out in the middle of the forest in no dress. I ain't even done yet."
"S'More?"
"You know how I like to sing when I'm peein' don't you-?"
"Boy, *everyone* knows you sing when you pee."
"-Well, I was takin' a leak in the woods, you know, just hummin' to myself, and then I hears a rustlin' sound from the bushes. I thought it was a little critter or something, so I says 'who's there,' and these devil-sharp ears stick out over the bush. I knew it was a bobcat. I didn't even put my pecker away 'fore I ran out of there."
"Jesus Christ Jim man. Jesus. Christ."
"The thing I don't get is why he followed me for half a mile back to my bike, like some dang kitty-cat?"
"Jimmy, this Tequila problem is getting serious, man. A real problem. You got Martha worried, you got the whole gang uneasy, man. You gotta deal with your problems"
"Got *dang* it, Chuck. I ain't talkin' bout no Tequila dreams! This is- oh, hang on man - *Yes? Can I help you? What's that? You've been waiting for me? What do you mean you've been waiting for this moment for your entire life?' Who the hell are you calling 'pure and beautiful?' What the hell is wrong with you, pretty boy? Why are you staring into my eyes like that, what's - Hey. HEY! HE'S TRYING TO KISS ME! HELP!" | So my name is Joe and I have a, well a curse. You see, I have powers like a fairy tale princess but I mean ones bearable and kinda helpful I guess. The 3rd one is pretty weird and kinda not good. and finally there is the last one which is super inconvenient. Of course my powers or curses or whatever they are, are singing makes animals come to me, princes are attracted to me and whatever I wear becomes a very girly and nice looking dress.
Now you can probably guess which is which but the fact is that I am a biker. A very hairy and older biker actually. The first two curses don't often effect me it's really just the last one. The dress one.
The only reason I have normal clothes is because under the dresses are short pairs of under pants and a tank top which I make sure I wear a towel over my shirt. People ask about why I have a towel tied to me most of the time but I really just say I don't know.
One day I was a restaurant when I was approached by a really hot brunette woman in a fancy red dress which was pretty surprising because by restaurant I meant McDonald's. She gave me her business card and said "Meet me in front of your apartment door around noon at 6 pm. It is a matter about your curse."
Before I could say anything back the woman was gone and I was really confused. I looked at her blue business card, it read Catherine Bearving and under those words it read Curses and Gifts Explorer.
That night at Six I was in front of my door mainly because the words she stated and her card said intrigued me. "Curses" that was the same way I described what happened to me. I arrived in front of my door at 5:59 and she was already there.
"Well I see you showed up sir" she said to me in a British accent.
"Um hello... uh ... Carry was it?"
"Catherine" she chuckled "Well since you showed up I'm assuming you are wondering why I came to do talk to you, well If you let me in I can explain."
Normally I wouldn't let strangers into my home but she just felt like she knew something I didn't. I let her in and we both sat on my couch in my living room.
"Have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess" she asked me abruptly.
"Huh?"
"I said have you ever mocked a fairy tale princess that could have something to do with your curse."
There it was again the word "curse" she clearly knew something I didn't. I looked back on my childhood before this whole weird curse thing started. "When I was 7 I made fun of girl toys and girly princesses I think" I claimed
"Hmm that could be it, how much did you make fun of them for and did you talk to a girl about how stupid they were or did you just think this."
"Uh... I ... I think I made fun of them for about 3 weeks then I outgrew it and moved on. I think I made fun of a girl though... yeah I did she had these dum toys and these stupid pig tales. I always said those things would be so stupid in real life!"
"THAT MUST BE IT" she shouted " That girl might of put a curse on you if she grew enough of a grudge and became a witch later in life."
"A witch?"
"Yeah a witch."
I was confused on multiple things like why she still was helping me and how she knew all this stuff but that was beside the point. I needed to know how to stop this curse. "So is the curse reversible?"
"Yes" she started " according to your story this would mean to reverse these things you would need to for three weeks be dating a prince, befriend 10 animals and Wear 50 different dresses each for at least 12 hours each."
"WHAT" my mouth was wide I was confused but most importantly reluctant to the idea. But even then I had to if it meant getting out of this curse. The real question was though how I would get a prince to date me. My curse made them attracted to me but I'm pretty sure the rest of the country the prince was from wouldn't like me much.
"So how could I go about all this" I asked
"Glad you asked first we will need to give you a makeover of course since you don't just look like a weirdo guy just wearing girl clothes and trying to date a prince."
As bad as that all sounded I knew it had to be done if I wanted this curse to go away.
Over the next few weeks I trained with Catherine trying to seem like a normal girl so I could get a prince to date me for 3 weeks and I befriended a coupe animals on the way. I never really got to ask many questions to Catherine about why she was helping me or who she was for that matter.
After 3 months I finally had everything done so I broke up with the prince of Sealand and I finally came back home in a normal towel and woman's clothes. "So when will I be normal again" I asked.
Then Catherine's hair did itself up into 2 pigtails and she said "well that all depends. Did you enjoy being a princess yourself Joe?" | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | Jax opened the door and stared down the lean prince proffering a huge bouquet of roses. "For the last fucking time no!"
The prince flapped his gums, trying to find a sweet platitude, but Jax pushed past him into the dank garage. He stopped by a large tool box, picked up a wrench, thought for a second, the turned back to his suitor. "If y' going to stand around y' better make y'self useful."
This time the prince looked perplexed, not sure of what he was being asked. "Doth you mean me to aid you in some fair task?"
Jax nodded his head in the direction of the five Harleys lined up waiting to be fixed. A blob of greese fell from the wrench onto his powder blue dress, smearing the delicate fabric. "Yes dipshit, these bike won't fix themsleves".
The prince stammered. "I've never even..."
It was no use, as Jax cut him off with an ice stare. "It's help me with the repairs, or get the fuck out of here."
So it was that the forlorn prince cast down the flowers on top of the tool box, rolled up his ornate sleeves, and gingerly began to hand out tools.
Jax paused for a moment, and turned on the radio, tuning it in to a local rock station. So enough the prince was witness to a murder of crows, gang of rats, and a bruiser of a tom cat helping as Jax sung along to the classics.
Lunch came, and Jax grabbed them both something to eat from the 7/11. The prince ate with all the refined manners of his station, Jax observing him like a hawk. The prince stopped halfway through his second bagel and asked dejectedly, "Are you sure this is what the Fairy Godmother intended? I mean, not that I am protesting my destiny, but..."
For the first time that morning Jax could see the fear in the prince's eyes, uncertain. "I don't know, 'cept, well shit. This is kinda fucked up and we're trapped in this together."
Jax laughed, hollow and deep. Why the fuck had he wished upon that star? Yes he was drunk, and yes he was horny as fuck, but how did wanting to find true love turn into... this? He wiped crumbs from his beard, and gave the prince a once over, lean in a toned and athletic sort of way, handsome in a Men's Health photo, and his manners were impeccable. A feeling long buried welled up, forbidden, likely to get the shit beaten out of him, or worse.
"Y' know, I haven't even asked you your name."
The prince looked at him, and blushed. "Never thought to say. Alistair."
Jax felt his stomach leap, fucking fairy godmother. Butterflies took hold, and for all the greesey machismo of the dim workshop, he found himself tongue tied. "Nice name."
Alistair looked at the floor, contemplating, and when he looked back up there were tears in his eyes. "I was told to expect a fair maiden, large kingdom, and happily ever after. Not you. Yet, my heart flutters every time I look I to your eyes."
A heartbeat passed, the two. Jax reached out and cupped Alistair's cheek, hot and soft beneath his fingers. Now it was genuine desire, wrong on very level his stood for, yet there was no denying it. Fuck, he hated himself for it, but still he wanted more.
He held Alistair's gaze, fear, desire, longing passing between them. Jax yearned to turn away, running as far as his bike would carry him, pulp this faggot. No, his heart held him there, transfixed.
Then Alistair moved in, soft and gentle, and for the first time in his life Jax felt the power of true love's first kiss. | A young man was taking a walk through a park. He didn't know why, he typically didn't like the outdoors. Normally on a fine morning like this, he would be in his house reading, or watching a classic film while the family butler made him a savory mushroom and swiss omelette with a mimosa. Today was different, he just had to walk, in this public park, past the bushes and wilted flowers. A bird flew straight in front of him and he fell into the pond on the side of the path. As he got up, three more birds, two rabbits, and a turtle all crossed his path. He decided to follow them, because he assumed they were running from something, or someone. As he followed he heard a voice singing, a tune which he had trouble recognizing at first.
"BORN TO BE WIIIIIII IIIIII ULD! BORN TO BE WIIIII IIII ULD!"
For some reason, the man was drawn to the singing, just like all the animals. As he got closer, he could see the singer. A 40 year old guy, wearing a doo rag, aviators, fingerless gloves, black leather boots, and a green formal dress with a long cape billowing in the wind. The young man felt compelled to ask him on a date, but what would his father think. After all, you can't have the prince of Zubrowka marrying a man, that would be unfashionable. | |
[WP] You have been given magical gifts suitable for fairytale princesses. Whenever you sing, forest creatures gather near; anything you wear turns into a lovely tailored dress; and handsome princes are drawn to you. The problem is, your name is Joe, and you're a 40 year old grizzly biker. | The cottage in the middle of the woods was a fairly standard cottage, assuming your definition of standard included the magical kingdom of Netherearth. Of course, that meant that the house was guarded by a veritable army of birds, flying fairies, deer, magical wards, non-flying fairies and one short dwarf with a beard that dragged along the floor.
Inside, a group of young women were waiting patiently for the final member of their group to arrive. All of them were dressed in various forms of fine garb, from the elegant gowns of English origin to the glittering jewels of the middle-eastern royalty.
They were on their second round of tea when a bear almost crashed into the front porch.
'Sorry I'm late, ladies.' A low voice called out, before a man covered in tatoos and wearing a frilled pink dress walked into the room. 'Had to chase off a prince along the way.'
The group shuddered.
'That's quite alright, Joe.' Agatha said, patting her hand on the seat beside her. 'Come take a seat.'
'Thanks.' Collapsing into the white silk cushions, Joe poured himself a cup of tea, his finger barely able to fit into the teacup's handle before gulping it down in one mouthful.
'Well then, now that everyone is here, we can begin!' Agatha smiled. 'The person we're going to be focusing on today in the Fairytale Princess Support Group is Joe. I'm sure we're all very familiar with Joe, but for those newer to this group, would you mind giving us a small reminder of who you are?'
'Sure. Uh, I'm Joe. I'm turning fourty-two this year, and a fairy godmother got me about three years ago. She was senile, or blind, or was crazy or something. I used to hang out at a lot of biker clubs and I was a mechanic before this all happened.'
A small chorus of 'Hi Joe.' echoed through the room.
'I know you people all have your own stories, but I really feel like this change impacted me the most, you know?' Joe's face crinkled up and his eyes began to water. 'I had my life sorted out before all this, yeah? I had my friends, family, and a stable job and everything. Now everyone just looks at me like it's my fault that I'm wearing pink dresses, lacy stockings, and tall heels when a prince manages to hunt me down. I... I don't know what to do anymore...'
Agatha patted Joe softly on his back as he continued to sob softly.
'It'll be okay...' She turns towards the rest of the princesses in the room. 'As you can see, Joe is currently facing a lot of mental trauma. The fairy godmother in question was one of the oldest in the continent, and was suffering from many typical problems that come with old age, from Alzheimers to magical memory impediment. We attempted to track her down after Joe joined our support group, but she was confirmed dead by the time we could after only two months. As such, the magic performed upon Joe cannot be reversed.'
Agatha frowned. 'Now, the transition for some princesses is already hard, but considering that Joe is a complete polar opposite in all facets of what a fairytale princess is usually, this is possibly the most severe case of fairytale princess that we've ever had. To be frank, those of us close to Joe have already run out of ideas.'
A sniffling Joe managed to raise his voice. 'I... I've tried everything. If it was just the dresses, the heels, the animals, that would be okay. I can deal with that. But that combined with the princes... it's never going to end, is it.'
Agatha hesitated. 'Look, we're all here for you. The princes can't hurt you as long as we all stick together-'
The door burst open, and the dwarf on guard duty crashed through, riding on top of a stag. 'PRINCES! THE PRINCES HAVE FOUND US!'
The occupants of the room looked at each other in horror, before grabbing their weapons.
---
'WHY!'
Boom.
'WON'T.'
Boom.
'YOU PEOPLE.'
Boom.
'LEAVE ME ALONE!'
Boom.
The final prince, a lightly chubby man in full plate armour tried to raise his hand in one last gesture before Joe stabbed right through it with his shoe's heel and blasted his head off with his shotgun.
Joe dropped his gun, collapsed onto the ground, curled up into a ball as the other princesses began to clean their variety of blades and firearms. He barely noticed as Agatha tried to get his attention, snapping her fingers in front of his face.
'Joe, Joe! Are you alright?' She asked, biting her lip. She knew that look, but she could still hope...
'I... I'm done. I'm done. Done. Done.' He muttered, shaking back and forth. 'I... I'm going to the fairy godmother's consulate tomorrow. Gonna ask for a full wipe.'
Agatha shut her eyes. Deep in the back of her mind she knew it was probably inevitable, but she had hoped...
---
The cottage in the middle of the woods was a fairly standard cottage, assuming your definition of standard included the magical kingdom of Netherearth. Of course, that meant that the house was guarded by a veritable army of birds, flying fairies, deer, magical wards, non-flying fairies and one short dwarf with a beard that dragged along the floor.
Inside, a group of young women were waiting patiently for the final member of their group to arrive. All of them were dressed in various forms of fine garb, from the elegant gowns of English origin to the glittering jewels of the middle-eastern royalty.
They were on their second round of tea when a bear almost crashed into the front porch.
'Sorry I'm late, ladies.' A silky voice called out, before a woman covered in tatoos and wearing a frilled pink dress walked into the room. 'Had to chase off a prince along the way.'
The group shuddered.
'That's quite alright, Johanna.' Agatha said, her teeth grit into a smile. She pat her hand on the seat beside her. 'Come take a seat.'
| A young man was taking a walk through a park. He didn't know why, he typically didn't like the outdoors. Normally on a fine morning like this, he would be in his house reading, or watching a classic film while the family butler made him a savory mushroom and swiss omelette with a mimosa. Today was different, he just had to walk, in this public park, past the bushes and wilted flowers. A bird flew straight in front of him and he fell into the pond on the side of the path. As he got up, three more birds, two rabbits, and a turtle all crossed his path. He decided to follow them, because he assumed they were running from something, or someone. As he followed he heard a voice singing, a tune which he had trouble recognizing at first.
"BORN TO BE WIIIIIII IIIIII ULD! BORN TO BE WIIIII IIII ULD!"
For some reason, the man was drawn to the singing, just like all the animals. As he got closer, he could see the singer. A 40 year old guy, wearing a doo rag, aviators, fingerless gloves, black leather boots, and a green formal dress with a long cape billowing in the wind. The young man felt compelled to ask him on a date, but what would his father think. After all, you can't have the prince of Zubrowka marrying a man, that would be unfashionable. | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | Eric and Denise had just confessed to each other their deepest, darkest secret, which was oddly enough the same exact one - that they had promised their first newborn child to a witch in exchange for a certain favor. Each did so at a different point in time of their life and for different reasons, but none of that mattered now, as they're pasts were coming back to haunt them.
Eric finally broke the long silence that followed their confessions, "What did you trade for? No, actually never mind. I don't want to know. What we need to do now is figure out a plan."
"Fine. But what are we to do?", Denise said coldly, clearly upset with her husband and equally herself for their contemptible decisions long ago. Eric shrugged, and they fell back into silence. "How is it that fate would damn us like this? How would I promise the wicked eastern witch and he the wicked western witch the same thing? Why did we do it?", Denise mused.
The two had yet to procreate, and at the age of 42 a piece, were definitely behind the average couple, undeniably procrastinating due to the fact they each knew their first born was to be either taken, sacrificed, raised as an evil witch, used in a potion, or God knows what else.
Eric suggested, "We could just never have a child, never fulfill our promises. One of us has to break their pact anyhow..."
Denise said, "I wish that we could, but we both know full well it wouldn't work. My witch made it perfectly clear I was to live up to my promise. That if I didn't, my family all the way to extended and beyond would pay the price and so too would my friends. I'm assuming the same is true for you. I can't live with that and I know you couldn't either."
Eric slunk down further and said, "Ugh... you're right." He cursed himself for being so naive in his youth, for not being able to see the consequences of such selfish decisions. He figured himself a horrible human and in worse shape than even Faust, who was willing to at least put his *own* soul on the trading block, not someone else's. "But which witch is not going to get their prize? We can't have two first children. Unless..."
"Unless what?"
Eric raised up slightly, "Unless we go for twins. We can ensure twins by having two of your eggs fertilized *in vitro* and implanted. The doctor might think it odd. We might have to find an unusual one, pay an unusual price, but it can be done. Each witch gets their twin. But I don't feel any better about it. We are choosing between our future little ones and ones we already know, without any of them knowing about it. OH PITY ME LORD!"
Denise remained silent and brooded over this newly hatched plan for awhile. "Wait. There is another way. Yes. We'll need to do everything as you just said, only we can save them - the twins *and* our current loved ones."
Incredulously, Eric asked, "How?"
"I'll tell you, but first, but would you be able to get in touch with the wicked northern witch?"
__________________________________________________________
**14 months later**
They had arranged everything, double checked it, and then once more. Eric and Denise were confident they would succeed. They had came back from the hospital only a few hours ago, after Denise successfully delivered two healthy, beautiful babies.
They awaited in the room with the two fully stocked cribs. They waited and waited, anxiously. It was now almost midnight, the time they knew witches conducted their business with the mortals.
A bright flash blinded all in the room. Cries started pouring from each of the cribs. A cloaked figure was floating before them in the center of the room. Then another flash came about, of a slightly different color but tantamount to the first's brightness. The easily recognizable laughs from the witches were heard, ragged and high pitched.
West Witch said, "What's *she* here? What is this? Do you take me as some sort of fool? I will have you both turned to poor, wretched moles right here and now!"
The East Witch retorted, "Ugh. You foul thing. Let's not prolong this. Give me the first child now."
The West Witch came back, "What?! No the first born is mine! What is this?"
Eric, fumbling his words, intervened, "Listen. We uh.. ahem. Okay now, we have had twins. Two first borns. One for each of you. Both baby boys. Please, though, you don't have to do this still."
West Witch raised her voice, "QUIET YOU!" The room miraculously darkened around them. "Yes, of course we must still proceed, you foolish fool. I have not the time for this insolence. You are lucky I don't remove your heads right now." She swept over to the first crib.
East Witch swept over to the second crib, not wanting to waste time either. They both reached for the tiny figures and plucked them from their cribs. As they did so, they screamed out. They tried to drop them, to throw them from their clasps, but it seemed as if they were glued to one another. They began howling blood-curdling screams. Their bodies began to be unraveled, like a dressing over a wound, except all their material was going directly into the little ones they were holding. Their screams continued until the last ounce of them was sucked into the little figures, and then they fell to the ground with a hard crash.
A third flash appeared, and the North Witch revealed herself to them and said, "Pleasure doing business with you two." She scooped up the two figurines, which were booby-trapped dolls. Eric and Denise ran to check on the two babes who were in the basement. They embraced one another and sighed in relief.
The North Witch was hovering behind them, "Would you like to make a deal? I can promise you - "
Denise and Greg simultaneously yelled, "NO!" | Rowena sighed. At her mere forty-something years, she were the youngest High Witch appointed in two hundred years (she had actually gone through the records to confirm that). As such, she had not yet fallen into the routine that allowed the older witches to regard the semiannual meetings as mere opportunities for exchanging gossip with allies, socialising with acquaintances, and plotting the downfall of their enemies. Rowena, on the other hand, was not a schemer by nature, but a stickler for rules and procedures; in fact, she couldn't get rid of her silent suspicion that she had been appointed merely so that she was kept busy and wouldn't get in the way of usual business.
She eyed the grove from behind the table at her raised platform. The witches were busy with themselves, not paying the de iure High Witch any attention. Some were silently muttering to themselves, some were laying cards. One was cooking something that might have been, according to it's color, either a soup or the Elixir of Horrible and Excruciating Gut Pain. As far as that particular witch's cooking skills went, it was probably both, Rowena thought.
A gaggle of younger girls, merely seventeen, was off by themselves a bit offside, busying themselves with love potions and palm reading. Probably to find their true love, the High Witch assumed. She sighed again and straightened her black dress. Then she adjusted her horn-trimmed glasses. Then she straightened the dress again. Being a High Witch was really boring, she decided.
As if to belie her thoughts, there was a commotion at the outer circle. The High Witch groaned inwardly as she recognized two of the three figures coming out from the shadows.
The first was Anora, a gruff witch twenty years Rowena's senior. She usually looked down on everybody as if they were mere insects. Now, that was not uncommon for a witch - in fact, it was practically a professional requirement - but at least the others had the decency to pretend otherwise in public. Talking with Anora, on the other hand, was like pulling steel wool through your arse. Inwards.
The second was Sierra, a witch slightly younger than Rowena, always seeming slightly aloof, sometimes talking to things even other witches could not perceive, and rumour was it she was a little bit off her rocker. However, none would dare suggest so to her face, as what she lacked in perceived sanity, she made up in power.
The third was a woman, maybe of twenty-five years, clutching a bundled-up child. She looked like your stereotypical carnival fortune teller, and Rowena would not have been surprised, had she somehow produced a crystal ball and started cold reading all present. The other two led her, occasionally poking her in the back. As the trio caught sight of the High Witch, Anora strode forward, as if she owned the place. She stood in front of Rowena, her hands propped up to her sides.
"I *demand* a judgment", she declared haughtily. At this, attention turned to the High Witch's podium.
Rowena raised her eyebrows. "Sure you mean you *request* a judgment", she chided softly. "What's all this about then?"
Anora and Sierra took turns describing the situation. From the shouting, interrupting and insulting one's another professional prowess Rowena finally gathered that both witches had made a contract with the father and the mother of the child, and been promised the respective first-born. Now, Anora and Sierra stood before the High Witch, seeking a decision. The father had died a few months before the birth of the child due to a freak accident with a gun. The mother would not let go of the child, and as neither of the witches wanted to bother with bringing a lone crying child to the court, they had simply taken the mother with them.
After raising her hand to silence the two witches, Rowena regarded those standing before her, trying to think of a precedent for dealing with the situation. She found none in her memory, so she turned to her books. She stretched her hand out over her table, palm downwards; the air wobbled a bit, and the sky black Book of Rules manifested under her hand.
Rowena flipped through the pages until she found the correct section, and started reading aloud:
"On the precedence of contracts, agreements, duties, and other forms of bonds unknown hereto, as laid down after the Fourteenth War of the Practitioners of the Arts, procured from the collective agreement of the survivors, lest our lack of rules sends us to war again, so that we may not..."
She skipped the rest of the introduction. Whichever survivor of the last war had written this had really wanted to drill it into the collective mind that rules were important, and if you did not follow them, wars broke out and civilizations collapsed (if witches were involved, sometimes literally). The High Witch could sympathize with that sentiment.
The rest of the chapter contained several handwritings and you also got the impression that the chapter had gone through multiple revisions. Rowena read on out loud:
"The order of duties shall thus be as follows: a duty to a witch has precedence over a duty to a mortal; a bond with a witch is more prominent than a contract with nature, unless the witch in question is of the druidic persuasion, in which case see addendum R, subchapter 39; a witch is not obligated to fulfill a contract with a god, but the undersigned heavily advice fulfilling the contract anyway if said witch values her life; all other things being equal, a bond made under a full moon has precedence over one made during the waning moon, unless it is also made during a blood moon. In all cases, however, a contract sealed by blood is higher than a contract of the same precedence not bound by blood..."
"Excuse me?"
These were the first words muttered by the mother, and Rowena peered curiously at her over her glasses. "Who are you, child?"
"Fortuneteller Margot, m'lady". The High Witch smirked at being addressed thusly.
"You may speak your business, Margot."
Margot took a deep breath and looked Rowena straight into the eyes, with the desperation of one who has nothing to lose:
"It is my understanding, then, that if a witch bound by blood to the child claimed it, that would cancel out both of the contracts?"
The elder witch looked taken aback, for a moment. "I suppose so, but what does this have to do..."
"Then I claim the child is blood bound to a witch, me being the witch in question", Margot blurted out.
Silence filled the circle, followed by uproarious laughter. Even Rowena allowed herself to curl her lips to a smile at the audacity. "Explain yourself."
"I have been an avid practitioner of the Arts for five years! I can cite witnesses who will confirm that they sought me out, in my capacity as a witch; that they felt a tangible benefit after those visits, which they attribute to witchcraft; and that I have employed various techniques used by witches, such as laying cards and palm reading." Margot pointed to two of the witches who had done that earlier.
Rowena blinked in surprise. Sure, when you put it like that, it was true, but... her musings were interrupted by Anora. "Laughable!", she spluttered. "She is not a witch! I will not stand idly by while this... charlatan derides our Arts!"
The High Witch smiled inwardly. This meeting *was* going to be interesting, after all. | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. |
Narrator: "Witch Court! Where all legal disputes are brought in the Circle, and presented to your faaavorite dark mediator, Grand Lord Severn!"
audience stands and applauds politely and softly
Marshal: "Here ye, here ye, ye denizens of the night! Grand Lord Severn presiding!"
Grand Lord Severn emerges from the shadows to enter the Circle and take his place at the Judging Stump
Lord Severn: "Thank you all for coming this night. Audience, please be seated."
audience does so on wooden, hand-crafted short benches
Lord Severn: "Let's see..."
Severn flips open the Book of Chaos and Order, the black leather backing crinkling for a moment, then looks over his bifocals at the Plaintiff and Defendant standing in the light of the bonfire
Lord Severn: "We have come together this night to hear the case of the plaintiff, Mrs. Sandorhal, and the defendant, Mrs. Hearst."
Severn looks over both of the witches
Lord Severn: "Did I get your names right?"
Plaintiff and Defendant nod
Lord Severn: "Good."
Severn looks down at the Book, reading
Lord Severn: "So, by the information provided before this proceeding to me, I understand you two have yourselves quite the novel predicament. Plaintiff?"
Plaintiff clears her wart-spotted throat
Plaintiff Sandorhal: "Yes, Your Lordship. You see, I was promised a first-born first, and--"
Defendant Hearst: "Lies!"
Severn eyes Defendant
Lord Severn: "It would please the Circle if you would not interrupt and wait your turn, Mrs. Hearst."
Defendant Hearst: "I'm sorry, Your Lordship, but this witch--"
Severn pounds the Judging Stump's side with a rock three times
Lord Severn: "Order, please, Mrs. Hearst. The Circle must run on order, at least, in our dark community."
Severn looks back at Plaintiff
Lord Severn: "Please, continue, Mrs. Sandorhal. What was it you were about to say?"
Plaintiff Sandorhal: "Your Lordship, I was promised the first-born of the Maene couple."
Lord Severn: "Seems a simple matter of establishing First Oath, then?"
Defendant and Plaintiff look at each other uncomfortably
Defendant Hearst: "Your Lordship, may I elaborate? For it is not that simple, I'm afraid..."
Severn raises a brow
Lord Severn: "Oh? An extra factor?"
Defendant reluctantly nods assent
Defendant Hearst: "You see, Your Lordship... I was promised by the former Miss Dolores Underage her first-born."
Lord Severn: "That is the wife?"
Defendant Hearst: "Yes, Your Lordship. I--"
Severn holds up a hand to forestall Defendant, and turns to Plaintiff
Lord Severn: "Mrs. Sandorhal, pray tell, which party of the newly formed Maene couple promised you their first born?"
Plaintiff Sandorhal: "Mr. Samuel Maene."
audience gasp, murmurs to themselves
Lord Severn: "Oh dear."
camera pulls away
Announcer: "A truly shocking twist tonight...in Witch Court! Please stay tuned for the continuation of Grand Lord Severn's rein over the Circle." | "So that's how our coven formed in the first place, and I for one am delighted that it happened. She may be mean, and bitter, and cynical, and weatherw-"
"Hey!"
"-worn, but she's still the best friend I've ever had. Even if I did have to share you with her."
"But, wait, you mean this entire time, all my life growing up, with you two as my 'godmothers,' you've just been waiting to see who would win me as an apprentice?"
"You're not *that* important, girl. At first, I was just certain she would get distracted within a decade or so, but it **would** be this one damnable thing she found herself able to focus on. After that, I couldn't very well abandon you to her. I had too much time invested. Who knew what foolishness she would end up encouraging you to take on. Silly old biddy."
"And as the silly old biddy in question, I stuck around because I got such a cute little goddaughter to teach. And I still need to introduce you to my grandsons, I think I might have just the perfect match now."
The new young witch looked back and forth at the 'godmothers,' unable and unwilling to stop her spreading smile. "Well, speaking as the 'one damnable thing,' I'm just happy that I've had the opportunity to grow up with my Granny and Nanny. Now, where do we begin?" | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | When they arrived, most of the villagers had retired for the night. A few of the more daring peasant children, though, had crept out of their hovels to see what they could under the light of a full moon's witching hour. There were a few small groups who made a custom of these outings. Occasionally they caught sight of a spirit or wisp -- or, more often, one of them *claimed* that she had. But this night they would be rewarded with a sight none of them had seen before.
They hid in places around the entrance of the village, waiting and hoping but not expecting much. When the first shadow passed them, they were not sure what it was. When the second did, they knew. Two of the boys looked at one another and whispered, in tones of mixed terror and delight, two simple words: "Old Ladies." The local euphemism for practitioners of the malign arts.
The Old Ladies stopped within seconds of each other in front of the same hovel. Inside two peasants crouched, hoping they would be spared this visit for another day -- their daughter had been born just minutes before the witching hour, after all. But these once-women, these Old Ladies, were both wise and well-practiced in the craft. They knew the very second of the babe's arrival months in advance.
The two witches eyed one another, but, true to the recalcitrant ways of their kind, each avoided acknowledging the other's presence. Instead, they entered the hovel imperiously, one after another, as if hoping that their separate errands in this cramped space might be accomplished without the other's interference.
The door burst open and the two robed shadows entered. Lightning cracked from a clear sky. The babe wailed in its bed, and its mother joined it in the corner. The father, pale and shaking, stood. He had seen the first witch, Glemore, whom he had sought the favor of so many years ago.
"I have come for the child," said Glemore in the Common Tongue as she swept into the room. Just then, the other witch followed her in.
"The child is mine. This woman owes me a debt," declared the other witch, a hag whose name cannot be rendered in most alphabets and was incomprehensible to human ears. She too, spoke in the Common Tongue, and her words sent the man stumbling back a bit in shock.
"Please, ye Old Ones, spare our childe. We two made our foolish promises long ago," said the man, "and each of us knew not of the other's."
"Silence, mortal," said Glemore in a tone that would not allow for any other course of action on the man's part. Then she turned to the hag, speaking in the Eld Tongue.
"The fuck you doing, bitch?"
"Da fuq I'm doing?" the hag shot back, "da fuq you doing?"
"I'm here to get *paid*, motherfucker, and I don't have time for your shit--"
"Yeah, you got one thing right," interjected the hag, gesturing around the room, "This right here is my shit, girlfriend, so you better step!"
The peasant couple stared on, uncomprehending but terrified. Magic filled the room, crackling as the two witches prepared their attacks.
"Come on, then, bitch!" shrieked Glemore.
The two witches shot great jets of flame toward their counterparts, each warding off the other's attacks. They used all their words of power, employed their most refined spiritcraft, called down complex curses on one another in short breaths. Before long, however, it became clear that they were evenly matched. They slumped into opposite corners of the hovel, defeated.
"Fuck -- you even -- need this baby for?" Glemore spat out.
"*Dinner! Da fuq YOU need it for?*" the enraged hag replied weakly, beyond reason.
"Wait, you were just going to *eat* it?"
"I'm a hag, bitch. I eat kids. It's what we do. You're going to get all high and mighty on me after you tried to summon the Demon Lord Thoth five minutes ago?"
"No, I'm planning to kill the kid, too, it's just. . . You just want a kid to eat? That's all?"
"I'm starving."
"Well, listen. I need a newborn infant for this potion I've been working on. But there's a bunch of eight-year-olds back by the entrance to the village. If you let me take the infant, I'll help you snatch up a few of them and we can have some dinner? I'd love to talk shop."
"Hmph. Eight year olds. Not as tender," huffed the hag. Then she brightened up a bit. "Should be plenty left over, though. I can make jerky."
"There you go!" replied Glemore. She sprung up from her corner, removed the babe from its cradle, and walked over to help the hag up as well. They shook hands (or hand and talon, to be more accurate) and walked out the door.
"Pleasure doing business with ya," Glemore called out in the Common Tongue to the two very bewildered parents. The witching hour was long over and the sun was peaking over the horizon as they walked out.
"The baker should be open soon," said Glemore, "maybe we can grab a baguette for our picnic."
The hag, who ate only meat, just smiled. It had been a long time since she interacted with anything she wasn't trying to kill. Glemore returned the smile, and together they walked toward the village entrance, where a few peasant children still waited in hopes of seeing the two witches depart. The horizon grew brighter as they walked together, the dawn of a new day and a new friendship. | "So that's how our coven formed in the first place, and I for one am delighted that it happened. She may be mean, and bitter, and cynical, and weatherw-"
"Hey!"
"-worn, but she's still the best friend I've ever had. Even if I did have to share you with her."
"But, wait, you mean this entire time, all my life growing up, with you two as my 'godmothers,' you've just been waiting to see who would win me as an apprentice?"
"You're not *that* important, girl. At first, I was just certain she would get distracted within a decade or so, but it **would** be this one damnable thing she found herself able to focus on. After that, I couldn't very well abandon you to her. I had too much time invested. Who knew what foolishness she would end up encouraging you to take on. Silly old biddy."
"And as the silly old biddy in question, I stuck around because I got such a cute little goddaughter to teach. And I still need to introduce you to my grandsons, I think I might have just the perfect match now."
The new young witch looked back and forth at the 'godmothers,' unable and unwilling to stop her spreading smile. "Well, speaking as the 'one damnable thing,' I'm just happy that I've had the opportunity to grow up with my Granny and Nanny. Now, where do we begin?" | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | **Prelude:**
"Brujeria," they said, looking about the landscape as they said it. "The one you seek is Brujeria. "Travel past Three Rocks and you will find her hut. But speak to no one of your visit."
Agueda was a young, but she knew what it meant if her mother were to die. Mother had been sick for quite a while, and the Ayuhuasca wasn't working. The Urarina people were dependent upon their male shamans to delve into the spirit world, and seek out that which is causing the balance to break between the life of her mother and the illness that had struck her. But they could not make her well again. Agueda was desperate. At the tender age of 8, even she knew that if her mother had died, she would be alone in the village, and left to fend for herself.
Agueda walked the forest, along the Chambira river, and spied the Three Rocks at the bend of the river. She went straight from there and saw a makeshift hut, with a fire burning with some fish being prepared.
Agueda didn't know she was hungry until she saw the fish being cooked. She came up to the fire and plucked a fish from the stone that sat beside the flame. Without even thinking, she starting biting into the soft white meat of the fish, and savored every bite. She took another bite, and another. Before she knew it, the fish had almost been completely devoured.
"It tastes good, yes?" A voice said behind her.
She jumped at the sound of the voice, dropping the fish in fear that she had been caught. She at once understood the fish wasn't hers, and that she had done wrong in stealing it. However, an old woman now held the remains of the fish, having caught it before it hit ground. Examining it, she offered it back to Agueda. "No use for me now. You take it, you finish it."
Agueda nodded her head, and finished off what was left of the fish's meat near the tail. The old woman eyed her, with an eye both sympathetic and yet still analyzing. It looked as if she had seen more than her age had let on, and her hair was so grey that it almost was white when the sun rays came through some of the trees to illuminate it. The sinews of her arm looked like a withered tree branch, but in them she felt there was a strength that was beyond that of the strongest of men in her village. This was the Brujeria. She spoke up to the strange woman, shyly given what she had just done. "I'm sorry elder. I was just so hungry...."
"The spirits told me," the Brujeria said, interrupting. "And I was happy to oblige. It is a small thing for me to offer one so young, that has traveled so far from the village to seek one that should not be sought."
As Agueda looked into her eyes deeper, she saw that there was a faint glow that almost whited her pupils. Was the Brujeria in a trance? Was she seeing both her and the spirit world, speaking to both at the same time? Agueda knew at once that the old woman knew what she had come to her for.
"Yes, I do." Replied the Brujeria. The old woman sat down on a log beside the fire, and began eating the other fish that was on the stone. "Again, they told me. The Ayuhuasca does not work, they said. These are only plants that do not speak to the will of the the spirits that house them. Drink this."
Agueda looked to the fire that the Brujeria had pointed to and saw a makeshift pot with a brew boiling. It was Ayuhuasca, but it smelled different than the ones that the village shamans prepared. This boiled with a certain glow to it, and it smelled sweeter. Was this an attempt to steal her energy? Her mother had always warned her about the dangerous Brujos that wanted nothing more than the life force of the ones that drank before them.
"I am not some fiendish Brujo as they say, child," said the old woman. "The old ones know better, but I have been here because I need to be. I have need to study this book given by a man, and every eye in the village has sought to peek into its pages. Yet it is not for them, lest they summon curses to their souls that no healer can repair. So I stay here, for their sake, not just my own."
Agueda looked at the book that the elder produced on her lap. The book was as tattered as the rags that she was wearing, but there was no mistaking that the air around this book brought a certain chill to her bones that the fire could hardly warm. Could this woman be the Warlock of Chiloe? Agueda once heard stories of the power of this person, but she had always assumed the warlock was a man.
"Even so, child," the woman said, "Yours is a life already set on its course. The spirits are gathering far beyond the Chambira, to a land where men who walk as armored spirits after they have set their flaming spears against the people of the sun. To that land, you must travel, in due time. Even so, your mother must needs be saved. So..."
The old woman closed her eyes, as if thinking or communing with the world beyond what she Agueda could see. Her hand was upon the book, as if pulling information from its pages without opening it. Was it the spirits she was communing with, or the power that resided in the book that was convincing her?
"They will save your mother, but they require more than what you can offer today. Today they will sever the discord of her spirit, but tomorrow the spirit of another will be required. Yet, they are not asking for yours, as you will travel to the temple of the sun and see the demise of a people before passing the great river to the golden fields. They require.."
The old woman closed her eyes again. She mused upon what was said, and opened her eyes, both as white as the faces of the spirits themselves.
".. They require your firstborn." | The walls were painted green with landscape painting scattered throughout and a beautiful white lacing on the door. A large bed invited you to sleep or not. The furniture was mismatched at best and the two things that clashed most was the Victorian metal base of a aquarium and the Marshall amplifier currently being used as a table for a tea cozy posing as a dolly for a vase holding a single carnation.
"Well fuck John why do you think I drink laserwort tea, you think I like the way that shit tastes!?"
"look we have to take care of this."
"Well what are you gonna do, kick me in stomach? I'm too far along now."
John stares at her from the corner of the room contemplating the options.
"Jesus Christ John!" Shannah sits down on the bench John built and stares out the window.
"What! I'm just thinking about we need to do. Look babe we got in this together and now, it's really hit the fan. I mean at some point this should have been brought up but I know we're the kind of people who keep secrets. Here's one we never talked about, sexual partners. High 20s for me" He half smiles and makes a weird body shrug but she doesn't turn around.
"54"
"54!?! Jesus Shannah!"
"We're getting off track here John."
"Yeah we are gonna put a pin on that for later."
Outside the window the two witches stand, watching the culmination of drama they've been creating for the past 25 years.
"You know this is the best one I can remember"
"You can't even remember to pass that shit"
She gives her the pipe, prompting the quick blast of concentrated flame into a glass bowl, inhale and exhale. Just then the argument inside grows beyond its walls.
"And you fucking know I hate carnations! Yet there it is, sitting on top of my fucking amplifier that I've asked you not to use as a table and here we are again!"
"Well I forget if you like em or hate them. Besides it takes up so much room it might as well be put to good use!"
He sits up from the bed.
"I can't play because of this shit fucking apartment on the fourth floor, that YOU wanted to rent to be downtown and close to all your "friends". Where are they now? Julie is in fucking rehab again, Ally got pregnant is basically dead to you, Audrey moved WITH Havi to Montana of all place, which I totally called, and here we are paying out the fucking ass to be in the tiny ass place to be near everything. My commute is literally the same as that house at the bottom of the hill be The Flamingo."
She is so red she's shaking.
"Fuck you John!"
She storms into the bathroom and slams the door and locks it.
As the one passes the pipe to the other she's says "you're right this is the best one in a long time."
| |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | "We could cut him in half" I said with a nervous giggle,
My wife sighed out loud, watching him wriggle,
"Maybe one would make do with a second born too?"
"Quite possibly so, but which one to who?"
"If only we had twins to make this so easy",
I turned to shut the window it had become quite breezy,
"Did ***I*** open that window?" I wondered out loud!
A soft cough drawing my eye to the witch in her shroud,
"Oh bugger, you're here!" I said with disdain,
"We'll tell you the truth", my face scrunched up with pain,
"We offered our first born to you and another",
"Now she's been born alone; no sister no brother",
"Would you be willing to take a second born"?
I knew her answer from her face full of scorn,
The chimney rumbled and out came witch two,
Rubbing ash from her hair obtained from the flue,
Her quick witted eyes assessed the whole situation,
The other witch standing tall, full of her station,
"What are ***you*** doing here!" the two witches called as one,
I looked at the wall-clock, many hours until the sun,
The witches shared a sly smile, understanding blooming,
My wife clutched at my side, fear rising and looming,
"Oh my dear wife!" Called one to the other,
"You sought me a child!" Called the other to her lover!
"Come now let us retire with our newborn daughter",
Not until they left did my wife's strength falter,
She fell to the floor weeping with regret and relief,
I should not admit so, but my respite outweighed my grief. | The walls were painted green with landscape painting scattered throughout and a beautiful white lacing on the door. A large bed invited you to sleep or not. The furniture was mismatched at best and the two things that clashed most was the Victorian metal base of a aquarium and the Marshall amplifier currently being used as a table for a tea cozy posing as a dolly for a vase holding a single carnation.
"Well fuck John why do you think I drink laserwort tea, you think I like the way that shit tastes!?"
"look we have to take care of this."
"Well what are you gonna do, kick me in stomach? I'm too far along now."
John stares at her from the corner of the room contemplating the options.
"Jesus Christ John!" Shannah sits down on the bench John built and stares out the window.
"What! I'm just thinking about we need to do. Look babe we got in this together and now, it's really hit the fan. I mean at some point this should have been brought up but I know we're the kind of people who keep secrets. Here's one we never talked about, sexual partners. High 20s for me" He half smiles and makes a weird body shrug but she doesn't turn around.
"54"
"54!?! Jesus Shannah!"
"We're getting off track here John."
"Yeah we are gonna put a pin on that for later."
Outside the window the two witches stand, watching the culmination of drama they've been creating for the past 25 years.
"You know this is the best one I can remember"
"You can't even remember to pass that shit"
She gives her the pipe, prompting the quick blast of concentrated flame into a glass bowl, inhale and exhale. Just then the argument inside grows beyond its walls.
"And you fucking know I hate carnations! Yet there it is, sitting on top of my fucking amplifier that I've asked you not to use as a table and here we are again!"
"Well I forget if you like em or hate them. Besides it takes up so much room it might as well be put to good use!"
He sits up from the bed.
"I can't play because of this shit fucking apartment on the fourth floor, that YOU wanted to rent to be downtown and close to all your "friends". Where are they now? Julie is in fucking rehab again, Ally got pregnant is basically dead to you, Audrey moved WITH Havi to Montana of all place, which I totally called, and here we are paying out the fucking ass to be in the tiny ass place to be near everything. My commute is literally the same as that house at the bottom of the hill be The Flamingo."
She is so red she's shaking.
"Fuck you John!"
She storms into the bathroom and slams the door and locks it.
As the one passes the pipe to the other she's says "you're right this is the best one in a long time."
| |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | When they arrived, most of the villagers had retired for the night. A few of the more daring peasant children, though, had crept out of their hovels to see what they could under the light of a full moon's witching hour. There were a few small groups who made a custom of these outings. Occasionally they caught sight of a spirit or wisp -- or, more often, one of them *claimed* that she had. But this night they would be rewarded with a sight none of them had seen before.
They hid in places around the entrance of the village, waiting and hoping but not expecting much. When the first shadow passed them, they were not sure what it was. When the second did, they knew. Two of the boys looked at one another and whispered, in tones of mixed terror and delight, two simple words: "Old Ladies." The local euphemism for practitioners of the malign arts.
The Old Ladies stopped within seconds of each other in front of the same hovel. Inside two peasants crouched, hoping they would be spared this visit for another day -- their daughter had been born just minutes before the witching hour, after all. But these once-women, these Old Ladies, were both wise and well-practiced in the craft. They knew the very second of the babe's arrival months in advance.
The two witches eyed one another, but, true to the recalcitrant ways of their kind, each avoided acknowledging the other's presence. Instead, they entered the hovel imperiously, one after another, as if hoping that their separate errands in this cramped space might be accomplished without the other's interference.
The door burst open and the two robed shadows entered. Lightning cracked from a clear sky. The babe wailed in its bed, and its mother joined it in the corner. The father, pale and shaking, stood. He had seen the first witch, Glemore, whom he had sought the favor of so many years ago.
"I have come for the child," said Glemore in the Common Tongue as she swept into the room. Just then, the other witch followed her in.
"The child is mine. This woman owes me a debt," declared the other witch, a hag whose name cannot be rendered in most alphabets and was incomprehensible to human ears. She too, spoke in the Common Tongue, and her words sent the man stumbling back a bit in shock.
"Please, ye Old Ones, spare our childe. We two made our foolish promises long ago," said the man, "and each of us knew not of the other's."
"Silence, mortal," said Glemore in a tone that would not allow for any other course of action on the man's part. Then she turned to the hag, speaking in the Eld Tongue.
"The fuck you doing, bitch?"
"Da fuq I'm doing?" the hag shot back, "da fuq you doing?"
"I'm here to get *paid*, motherfucker, and I don't have time for your shit--"
"Yeah, you got one thing right," interjected the hag, gesturing around the room, "This right here is my shit, girlfriend, so you better step!"
The peasant couple stared on, uncomprehending but terrified. Magic filled the room, crackling as the two witches prepared their attacks.
"Come on, then, bitch!" shrieked Glemore.
The two witches shot great jets of flame toward their counterparts, each warding off the other's attacks. They used all their words of power, employed their most refined spiritcraft, called down complex curses on one another in short breaths. Before long, however, it became clear that they were evenly matched. They slumped into opposite corners of the hovel, defeated.
"Fuck -- you even -- need this baby for?" Glemore spat out.
"*Dinner! Da fuq YOU need it for?*" the enraged hag replied weakly, beyond reason.
"Wait, you were just going to *eat* it?"
"I'm a hag, bitch. I eat kids. It's what we do. You're going to get all high and mighty on me after you tried to summon the Demon Lord Thoth five minutes ago?"
"No, I'm planning to kill the kid, too, it's just. . . You just want a kid to eat? That's all?"
"I'm starving."
"Well, listen. I need a newborn infant for this potion I've been working on. But there's a bunch of eight-year-olds back by the entrance to the village. If you let me take the infant, I'll help you snatch up a few of them and we can have some dinner? I'd love to talk shop."
"Hmph. Eight year olds. Not as tender," huffed the hag. Then she brightened up a bit. "Should be plenty left over, though. I can make jerky."
"There you go!" replied Glemore. She sprung up from her corner, removed the babe from its cradle, and walked over to help the hag up as well. They shook hands (or hand and talon, to be more accurate) and walked out the door.
"Pleasure doing business with ya," Glemore called out in the Common Tongue to the two very bewildered parents. The witching hour was long over and the sun was peaking over the horizon as they walked out.
"The baker should be open soon," said Glemore, "maybe we can grab a baguette for our picnic."
The hag, who ate only meat, just smiled. It had been a long time since she interacted with anything she wasn't trying to kill. Glemore returned the smile, and together they walked toward the village entrance, where a few peasant children still waited in hopes of seeing the two witches depart. The horizon grew brighter as they walked together, the dawn of a new day and a new friendship. | The walls were painted green with landscape painting scattered throughout and a beautiful white lacing on the door. A large bed invited you to sleep or not. The furniture was mismatched at best and the two things that clashed most was the Victorian metal base of a aquarium and the Marshall amplifier currently being used as a table for a tea cozy posing as a dolly for a vase holding a single carnation.
"Well fuck John why do you think I drink laserwort tea, you think I like the way that shit tastes!?"
"look we have to take care of this."
"Well what are you gonna do, kick me in stomach? I'm too far along now."
John stares at her from the corner of the room contemplating the options.
"Jesus Christ John!" Shannah sits down on the bench John built and stares out the window.
"What! I'm just thinking about we need to do. Look babe we got in this together and now, it's really hit the fan. I mean at some point this should have been brought up but I know we're the kind of people who keep secrets. Here's one we never talked about, sexual partners. High 20s for me" He half smiles and makes a weird body shrug but she doesn't turn around.
"54"
"54!?! Jesus Shannah!"
"We're getting off track here John."
"Yeah we are gonna put a pin on that for later."
Outside the window the two witches stand, watching the culmination of drama they've been creating for the past 25 years.
"You know this is the best one I can remember"
"You can't even remember to pass that shit"
She gives her the pipe, prompting the quick blast of concentrated flame into a glass bowl, inhale and exhale. Just then the argument inside grows beyond its walls.
"And you fucking know I hate carnations! Yet there it is, sitting on top of my fucking amplifier that I've asked you not to use as a table and here we are again!"
"Well I forget if you like em or hate them. Besides it takes up so much room it might as well be put to good use!"
He sits up from the bed.
"I can't play because of this shit fucking apartment on the fourth floor, that YOU wanted to rent to be downtown and close to all your "friends". Where are they now? Julie is in fucking rehab again, Ally got pregnant is basically dead to you, Audrey moved WITH Havi to Montana of all place, which I totally called, and here we are paying out the fucking ass to be in the tiny ass place to be near everything. My commute is literally the same as that house at the bottom of the hill be The Flamingo."
She is so red she's shaking.
"Fuck you John!"
She storms into the bathroom and slams the door and locks it.
As the one passes the pipe to the other she's says "you're right this is the best one in a long time."
| |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | The witches gathered around the crib
"Due to your tretchery, the child's soul shall be sundered in two."
"Made two bodies whole, but neither complete"
"Forever shall be walking two paths, neither heaven nor hell "
"His hair, neither blonde nor black"
"But forever... "
"... *GINGER*" | The walls were painted green with landscape painting scattered throughout and a beautiful white lacing on the door. A large bed invited you to sleep or not. The furniture was mismatched at best and the two things that clashed most was the Victorian metal base of a aquarium and the Marshall amplifier currently being used as a table for a tea cozy posing as a dolly for a vase holding a single carnation.
"Well fuck John why do you think I drink laserwort tea, you think I like the way that shit tastes!?"
"look we have to take care of this."
"Well what are you gonna do, kick me in stomach? I'm too far along now."
John stares at her from the corner of the room contemplating the options.
"Jesus Christ John!" Shannah sits down on the bench John built and stares out the window.
"What! I'm just thinking about we need to do. Look babe we got in this together and now, it's really hit the fan. I mean at some point this should have been brought up but I know we're the kind of people who keep secrets. Here's one we never talked about, sexual partners. High 20s for me" He half smiles and makes a weird body shrug but she doesn't turn around.
"54"
"54!?! Jesus Shannah!"
"We're getting off track here John."
"Yeah we are gonna put a pin on that for later."
Outside the window the two witches stand, watching the culmination of drama they've been creating for the past 25 years.
"You know this is the best one I can remember"
"You can't even remember to pass that shit"
She gives her the pipe, prompting the quick blast of concentrated flame into a glass bowl, inhale and exhale. Just then the argument inside grows beyond its walls.
"And you fucking know I hate carnations! Yet there it is, sitting on top of my fucking amplifier that I've asked you not to use as a table and here we are again!"
"Well I forget if you like em or hate them. Besides it takes up so much room it might as well be put to good use!"
He sits up from the bed.
"I can't play because of this shit fucking apartment on the fourth floor, that YOU wanted to rent to be downtown and close to all your "friends". Where are they now? Julie is in fucking rehab again, Ally got pregnant is basically dead to you, Audrey moved WITH Havi to Montana of all place, which I totally called, and here we are paying out the fucking ass to be in the tiny ass place to be near everything. My commute is literally the same as that house at the bottom of the hill be The Flamingo."
She is so red she's shaking.
"Fuck you John!"
She storms into the bathroom and slams the door and locks it.
As the one passes the pipe to the other she's says "you're right this is the best one in a long time."
| |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | "Mmmm," gushed the warlock, licking the powdered sugar from his fingers. "Thanks for bringing the begniets. Breakfast of champions, I always say." The pastries were good, but something about the coffee was off-putting to me. Maybe it was the smell of the last night's debauchery on Bourbon Street, maybe it was just the fact that I was negotiating two supernatural murders with a voodoo priest, but my stomach was in knots and the joe wasn't helping. Liz had devoured hers and was tapping her fingers impatiently. "Do you think we could find some shrimp soon? I'm craving..." I took her hands in mine. "We can get shrimp in a few minutes, honey." I turned to the warlock. He wasn't old, in his mid thirties, clad in a very loud Hawaiian shirt and a Panama hat. His shop was dimly lit, with strange idols, voodoo dolls, and a shrunken head on the shelves. In the corner a very obese alligator snoozed near a pile of bones. I was somewhat concerned by its presence at first, but he didn't seem to be hurting anyone so I just let it slide. "So," I said. "I'm assuming that if you take care of this business for us, you'll be wanting the child?" He shot me a puzzled look and flicked some crumbs off his stained Aloha shirt. "What? Now why on earth would I want your kid?" I was a little taken aback by that. "Well, that's what the witches wanted, and really we were just asking for small potatoes. I wanted money, and she wanted blues guitar chops. We're straight-up asking you to kill two people, so..." The warlock threw back his head and laughed. "Man, whatchoo talkin' bout? Do you realize how difficult it is to grant people things like wealth and talent? You have to take it from somebody who already has those things and give them to somebody else. I hardly even have to use my powers to kill those witches, I just finna sick ol' Bayou Jones on em. He got mad jaw strength, and he can make it look like an accident. Ain't that right, Bayou?" "Uhh-huh," drawled the snaggle-toothed reptile. "Jes like eatin beef jerky." "Keep your kid," said the warlock. " I shrugged. "Alright, well, what exactly do you want then?" He thought about it for a moment. "My mama always said I got a knack for making the spirits do my bidding, but I got the clumsiest hands around. I couldn't even play the drums. Why don't your wife gimme those guitar licks of hers?" Liz looked appalled. "Uh, how about I just give you lessons or something?" He shook his head. "Naw lady, these fingers are like andouille sausages. They can't learn. You have to willingly give me your powers, or else no deal." She thought about that. "Okay, how much you want for just one dead witch?" He lit up a cigar. "Lady, I'd do that for an eighth of weed and a Klondike Bar, but that don't solve your problem." "Yes it does," she replied. "We'd only have to give away our firstborn once, that solves our problem right away." "Honey!" I cried. The warlock laughed "lady, there ain't no way you that heartless." Liz slapped a bag of cannabis on the counter. "Here's the bud in advance, you can have the ice cream when that bitch is dead. I'm gonna go find some shrimp." She walked out. The warlock smiled at me. "Sorry man. Deal's a deal." | The walls were painted green with landscape painting scattered throughout and a beautiful white lacing on the door. A large bed invited you to sleep or not. The furniture was mismatched at best and the two things that clashed most was the Victorian metal base of a aquarium and the Marshall amplifier currently being used as a table for a tea cozy posing as a dolly for a vase holding a single carnation.
"Well fuck John why do you think I drink laserwort tea, you think I like the way that shit tastes!?"
"look we have to take care of this."
"Well what are you gonna do, kick me in stomach? I'm too far along now."
John stares at her from the corner of the room contemplating the options.
"Jesus Christ John!" Shannah sits down on the bench John built and stares out the window.
"What! I'm just thinking about we need to do. Look babe we got in this together and now, it's really hit the fan. I mean at some point this should have been brought up but I know we're the kind of people who keep secrets. Here's one we never talked about, sexual partners. High 20s for me" He half smiles and makes a weird body shrug but she doesn't turn around.
"54"
"54!?! Jesus Shannah!"
"We're getting off track here John."
"Yeah we are gonna put a pin on that for later."
Outside the window the two witches stand, watching the culmination of drama they've been creating for the past 25 years.
"You know this is the best one I can remember"
"You can't even remember to pass that shit"
She gives her the pipe, prompting the quick blast of concentrated flame into a glass bowl, inhale and exhale. Just then the argument inside grows beyond its walls.
"And you fucking know I hate carnations! Yet there it is, sitting on top of my fucking amplifier that I've asked you not to use as a table and here we are again!"
"Well I forget if you like em or hate them. Besides it takes up so much room it might as well be put to good use!"
He sits up from the bed.
"I can't play because of this shit fucking apartment on the fourth floor, that YOU wanted to rent to be downtown and close to all your "friends". Where are they now? Julie is in fucking rehab again, Ally got pregnant is basically dead to you, Audrey moved WITH Havi to Montana of all place, which I totally called, and here we are paying out the fucking ass to be in the tiny ass place to be near everything. My commute is literally the same as that house at the bottom of the hill be The Flamingo."
She is so red she's shaking.
"Fuck you John!"
She storms into the bathroom and slams the door and locks it.
As the one passes the pipe to the other she's says "you're right this is the best one in a long time."
| |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | "Well, we did both promise you both our first born..." the father recalled, with a hint of a smirk.
"And I think your solution is as simple as your problem!" the mother beamed
"If we split the child in half..."said witch #1
"Both of our spells will fail! " finished witch #2
"Ah..." the father chuckled, "but if you two join in holy matrimony, the child will fully belong to you both!" He continued, stifling his laughter.
"After the small matter of completing the paperwork required for a same sex marriage and adoption! !" The mother continued, "So we'll just keep an eye on him until you're ready!" The mother finished.
"OH COME ON!!!" Witch #1 screams.
"Hey, I'm not that bad! " witch #2 cries
"I'm not taking about your mule-face. I looked in the crystal ball, and this kid will have been dead for centuries before we can legally marry!" Witch #1 retorts.
"Goddamnit! !" Witch #2 screams.
Smoke fills the room, and the witches menacingly proclaim, "you have spared the life of your first born, at the expense of your later born. We shall claim the first child in your heir, whoever the hell that ends up being, once our right to marry those of our own gender&CT becomes law." The two spoke in unison.
"So. ..you'll become gay pride activists then?" The father asks.
"I guess we have to. .." says the witch
| The walls were painted green with landscape painting scattered throughout and a beautiful white lacing on the door. A large bed invited you to sleep or not. The furniture was mismatched at best and the two things that clashed most was the Victorian metal base of a aquarium and the Marshall amplifier currently being used as a table for a tea cozy posing as a dolly for a vase holding a single carnation.
"Well fuck John why do you think I drink laserwort tea, you think I like the way that shit tastes!?"
"look we have to take care of this."
"Well what are you gonna do, kick me in stomach? I'm too far along now."
John stares at her from the corner of the room contemplating the options.
"Jesus Christ John!" Shannah sits down on the bench John built and stares out the window.
"What! I'm just thinking about we need to do. Look babe we got in this together and now, it's really hit the fan. I mean at some point this should have been brought up but I know we're the kind of people who keep secrets. Here's one we never talked about, sexual partners. High 20s for me" He half smiles and makes a weird body shrug but she doesn't turn around.
"54"
"54!?! Jesus Shannah!"
"We're getting off track here John."
"Yeah we are gonna put a pin on that for later."
Outside the window the two witches stand, watching the culmination of drama they've been creating for the past 25 years.
"You know this is the best one I can remember"
"You can't even remember to pass that shit"
She gives her the pipe, prompting the quick blast of concentrated flame into a glass bowl, inhale and exhale. Just then the argument inside grows beyond its walls.
"And you fucking know I hate carnations! Yet there it is, sitting on top of my fucking amplifier that I've asked you not to use as a table and here we are again!"
"Well I forget if you like em or hate them. Besides it takes up so much room it might as well be put to good use!"
He sits up from the bed.
"I can't play because of this shit fucking apartment on the fourth floor, that YOU wanted to rent to be downtown and close to all your "friends". Where are they now? Julie is in fucking rehab again, Ally got pregnant is basically dead to you, Audrey moved WITH Havi to Montana of all place, which I totally called, and here we are paying out the fucking ass to be in the tiny ass place to be near everything. My commute is literally the same as that house at the bottom of the hill be The Flamingo."
She is so red she's shaking.
"Fuck you John!"
She storms into the bathroom and slams the door and locks it.
As the one passes the pipe to the other she's says "you're right this is the best one in a long time."
| |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | "We could cut him in half" I said with a nervous giggle,
My wife sighed out loud, watching him wriggle,
"Maybe one would make do with a second born too?"
"Quite possibly so, but which one to who?"
"If only we had twins to make this so easy",
I turned to shut the window it had become quite breezy,
"Did ***I*** open that window?" I wondered out loud!
A soft cough drawing my eye to the witch in her shroud,
"Oh bugger, you're here!" I said with disdain,
"We'll tell you the truth", my face scrunched up with pain,
"We offered our first born to you and another",
"Now she's been born alone; no sister no brother",
"Would you be willing to take a second born"?
I knew her answer from her face full of scorn,
The chimney rumbled and out came witch two,
Rubbing ash from her hair obtained from the flue,
Her quick witted eyes assessed the whole situation,
The other witch standing tall, full of her station,
"What are ***you*** doing here!" the two witches called as one,
I looked at the wall-clock, many hours until the sun,
The witches shared a sly smile, understanding blooming,
My wife clutched at my side, fear rising and looming,
"Oh my dear wife!" Called one to the other,
"You sought me a child!" Called the other to her lover!
"Come now let us retire with our newborn daughter",
Not until they left did my wife's strength falter,
She fell to the floor weeping with regret and relief,
I should not admit so, but my respite outweighed my grief. | **Prelude:**
"Brujeria," they said, looking about the landscape as they said it. "The one you seek is Brujeria. "Travel past Three Rocks and you will find her hut. But speak to no one of your visit."
Agueda was a young, but she knew what it meant if her mother were to die. Mother had been sick for quite a while, and the Ayuhuasca wasn't working. The Urarina people were dependent upon their male shamans to delve into the spirit world, and seek out that which is causing the balance to break between the life of her mother and the illness that had struck her. But they could not make her well again. Agueda was desperate. At the tender age of 8, even she knew that if her mother had died, she would be alone in the village, and left to fend for herself.
Agueda walked the forest, along the Chambira river, and spied the Three Rocks at the bend of the river. She went straight from there and saw a makeshift hut, with a fire burning with some fish being prepared.
Agueda didn't know she was hungry until she saw the fish being cooked. She came up to the fire and plucked a fish from the stone that sat beside the flame. Without even thinking, she starting biting into the soft white meat of the fish, and savored every bite. She took another bite, and another. Before she knew it, the fish had almost been completely devoured.
"It tastes good, yes?" A voice said behind her.
She jumped at the sound of the voice, dropping the fish in fear that she had been caught. She at once understood the fish wasn't hers, and that she had done wrong in stealing it. However, an old woman now held the remains of the fish, having caught it before it hit ground. Examining it, she offered it back to Agueda. "No use for me now. You take it, you finish it."
Agueda nodded her head, and finished off what was left of the fish's meat near the tail. The old woman eyed her, with an eye both sympathetic and yet still analyzing. It looked as if she had seen more than her age had let on, and her hair was so grey that it almost was white when the sun rays came through some of the trees to illuminate it. The sinews of her arm looked like a withered tree branch, but in them she felt there was a strength that was beyond that of the strongest of men in her village. This was the Brujeria. She spoke up to the strange woman, shyly given what she had just done. "I'm sorry elder. I was just so hungry...."
"The spirits told me," the Brujeria said, interrupting. "And I was happy to oblige. It is a small thing for me to offer one so young, that has traveled so far from the village to seek one that should not be sought."
As Agueda looked into her eyes deeper, she saw that there was a faint glow that almost whited her pupils. Was the Brujeria in a trance? Was she seeing both her and the spirit world, speaking to both at the same time? Agueda knew at once that the old woman knew what she had come to her for.
"Yes, I do." Replied the Brujeria. The old woman sat down on a log beside the fire, and began eating the other fish that was on the stone. "Again, they told me. The Ayuhuasca does not work, they said. These are only plants that do not speak to the will of the the spirits that house them. Drink this."
Agueda looked to the fire that the Brujeria had pointed to and saw a makeshift pot with a brew boiling. It was Ayuhuasca, but it smelled different than the ones that the village shamans prepared. This boiled with a certain glow to it, and it smelled sweeter. Was this an attempt to steal her energy? Her mother had always warned her about the dangerous Brujos that wanted nothing more than the life force of the ones that drank before them.
"I am not some fiendish Brujo as they say, child," said the old woman. "The old ones know better, but I have been here because I need to be. I have need to study this book given by a man, and every eye in the village has sought to peek into its pages. Yet it is not for them, lest they summon curses to their souls that no healer can repair. So I stay here, for their sake, not just my own."
Agueda looked at the book that the elder produced on her lap. The book was as tattered as the rags that she was wearing, but there was no mistaking that the air around this book brought a certain chill to her bones that the fire could hardly warm. Could this woman be the Warlock of Chiloe? Agueda once heard stories of the power of this person, but she had always assumed the warlock was a man.
"Even so, child," the woman said, "Yours is a life already set on its course. The spirits are gathering far beyond the Chambira, to a land where men who walk as armored spirits after they have set their flaming spears against the people of the sun. To that land, you must travel, in due time. Even so, your mother must needs be saved. So..."
The old woman closed her eyes, as if thinking or communing with the world beyond what she Agueda could see. Her hand was upon the book, as if pulling information from its pages without opening it. Was it the spirits she was communing with, or the power that resided in the book that was convincing her?
"They will save your mother, but they require more than what you can offer today. Today they will sever the discord of her spirit, but tomorrow the spirit of another will be required. Yet, they are not asking for yours, as you will travel to the temple of the sun and see the demise of a people before passing the great river to the golden fields. They require.."
The old woman closed her eyes again. She mused upon what was said, and opened her eyes, both as white as the faces of the spirits themselves.
".. They require your firstborn." | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | When they arrived, most of the villagers had retired for the night. A few of the more daring peasant children, though, had crept out of their hovels to see what they could under the light of a full moon's witching hour. There were a few small groups who made a custom of these outings. Occasionally they caught sight of a spirit or wisp -- or, more often, one of them *claimed* that she had. But this night they would be rewarded with a sight none of them had seen before.
They hid in places around the entrance of the village, waiting and hoping but not expecting much. When the first shadow passed them, they were not sure what it was. When the second did, they knew. Two of the boys looked at one another and whispered, in tones of mixed terror and delight, two simple words: "Old Ladies." The local euphemism for practitioners of the malign arts.
The Old Ladies stopped within seconds of each other in front of the same hovel. Inside two peasants crouched, hoping they would be spared this visit for another day -- their daughter had been born just minutes before the witching hour, after all. But these once-women, these Old Ladies, were both wise and well-practiced in the craft. They knew the very second of the babe's arrival months in advance.
The two witches eyed one another, but, true to the recalcitrant ways of their kind, each avoided acknowledging the other's presence. Instead, they entered the hovel imperiously, one after another, as if hoping that their separate errands in this cramped space might be accomplished without the other's interference.
The door burst open and the two robed shadows entered. Lightning cracked from a clear sky. The babe wailed in its bed, and its mother joined it in the corner. The father, pale and shaking, stood. He had seen the first witch, Glemore, whom he had sought the favor of so many years ago.
"I have come for the child," said Glemore in the Common Tongue as she swept into the room. Just then, the other witch followed her in.
"The child is mine. This woman owes me a debt," declared the other witch, a hag whose name cannot be rendered in most alphabets and was incomprehensible to human ears. She too, spoke in the Common Tongue, and her words sent the man stumbling back a bit in shock.
"Please, ye Old Ones, spare our childe. We two made our foolish promises long ago," said the man, "and each of us knew not of the other's."
"Silence, mortal," said Glemore in a tone that would not allow for any other course of action on the man's part. Then she turned to the hag, speaking in the Eld Tongue.
"The fuck you doing, bitch?"
"Da fuq I'm doing?" the hag shot back, "da fuq you doing?"
"I'm here to get *paid*, motherfucker, and I don't have time for your shit--"
"Yeah, you got one thing right," interjected the hag, gesturing around the room, "This right here is my shit, girlfriend, so you better step!"
The peasant couple stared on, uncomprehending but terrified. Magic filled the room, crackling as the two witches prepared their attacks.
"Come on, then, bitch!" shrieked Glemore.
The two witches shot great jets of flame toward their counterparts, each warding off the other's attacks. They used all their words of power, employed their most refined spiritcraft, called down complex curses on one another in short breaths. Before long, however, it became clear that they were evenly matched. They slumped into opposite corners of the hovel, defeated.
"Fuck -- you even -- need this baby for?" Glemore spat out.
"*Dinner! Da fuq YOU need it for?*" the enraged hag replied weakly, beyond reason.
"Wait, you were just going to *eat* it?"
"I'm a hag, bitch. I eat kids. It's what we do. You're going to get all high and mighty on me after you tried to summon the Demon Lord Thoth five minutes ago?"
"No, I'm planning to kill the kid, too, it's just. . . You just want a kid to eat? That's all?"
"I'm starving."
"Well, listen. I need a newborn infant for this potion I've been working on. But there's a bunch of eight-year-olds back by the entrance to the village. If you let me take the infant, I'll help you snatch up a few of them and we can have some dinner? I'd love to talk shop."
"Hmph. Eight year olds. Not as tender," huffed the hag. Then she brightened up a bit. "Should be plenty left over, though. I can make jerky."
"There you go!" replied Glemore. She sprung up from her corner, removed the babe from its cradle, and walked over to help the hag up as well. They shook hands (or hand and talon, to be more accurate) and walked out the door.
"Pleasure doing business with ya," Glemore called out in the Common Tongue to the two very bewildered parents. The witching hour was long over and the sun was peaking over the horizon as they walked out.
"The baker should be open soon," said Glemore, "maybe we can grab a baguette for our picnic."
The hag, who ate only meat, just smiled. It had been a long time since she interacted with anything she wasn't trying to kill. Glemore returned the smile, and together they walked toward the village entrance, where a few peasant children still waited in hopes of seeing the two witches depart. The horizon grew brighter as they walked together, the dawn of a new day and a new friendship. | **Prelude:**
"Brujeria," they said, looking about the landscape as they said it. "The one you seek is Brujeria. "Travel past Three Rocks and you will find her hut. But speak to no one of your visit."
Agueda was a young, but she knew what it meant if her mother were to die. Mother had been sick for quite a while, and the Ayuhuasca wasn't working. The Urarina people were dependent upon their male shamans to delve into the spirit world, and seek out that which is causing the balance to break between the life of her mother and the illness that had struck her. But they could not make her well again. Agueda was desperate. At the tender age of 8, even she knew that if her mother had died, she would be alone in the village, and left to fend for herself.
Agueda walked the forest, along the Chambira river, and spied the Three Rocks at the bend of the river. She went straight from there and saw a makeshift hut, with a fire burning with some fish being prepared.
Agueda didn't know she was hungry until she saw the fish being cooked. She came up to the fire and plucked a fish from the stone that sat beside the flame. Without even thinking, she starting biting into the soft white meat of the fish, and savored every bite. She took another bite, and another. Before she knew it, the fish had almost been completely devoured.
"It tastes good, yes?" A voice said behind her.
She jumped at the sound of the voice, dropping the fish in fear that she had been caught. She at once understood the fish wasn't hers, and that she had done wrong in stealing it. However, an old woman now held the remains of the fish, having caught it before it hit ground. Examining it, she offered it back to Agueda. "No use for me now. You take it, you finish it."
Agueda nodded her head, and finished off what was left of the fish's meat near the tail. The old woman eyed her, with an eye both sympathetic and yet still analyzing. It looked as if she had seen more than her age had let on, and her hair was so grey that it almost was white when the sun rays came through some of the trees to illuminate it. The sinews of her arm looked like a withered tree branch, but in them she felt there was a strength that was beyond that of the strongest of men in her village. This was the Brujeria. She spoke up to the strange woman, shyly given what she had just done. "I'm sorry elder. I was just so hungry...."
"The spirits told me," the Brujeria said, interrupting. "And I was happy to oblige. It is a small thing for me to offer one so young, that has traveled so far from the village to seek one that should not be sought."
As Agueda looked into her eyes deeper, she saw that there was a faint glow that almost whited her pupils. Was the Brujeria in a trance? Was she seeing both her and the spirit world, speaking to both at the same time? Agueda knew at once that the old woman knew what she had come to her for.
"Yes, I do." Replied the Brujeria. The old woman sat down on a log beside the fire, and began eating the other fish that was on the stone. "Again, they told me. The Ayuhuasca does not work, they said. These are only plants that do not speak to the will of the the spirits that house them. Drink this."
Agueda looked to the fire that the Brujeria had pointed to and saw a makeshift pot with a brew boiling. It was Ayuhuasca, but it smelled different than the ones that the village shamans prepared. This boiled with a certain glow to it, and it smelled sweeter. Was this an attempt to steal her energy? Her mother had always warned her about the dangerous Brujos that wanted nothing more than the life force of the ones that drank before them.
"I am not some fiendish Brujo as they say, child," said the old woman. "The old ones know better, but I have been here because I need to be. I have need to study this book given by a man, and every eye in the village has sought to peek into its pages. Yet it is not for them, lest they summon curses to their souls that no healer can repair. So I stay here, for their sake, not just my own."
Agueda looked at the book that the elder produced on her lap. The book was as tattered as the rags that she was wearing, but there was no mistaking that the air around this book brought a certain chill to her bones that the fire could hardly warm. Could this woman be the Warlock of Chiloe? Agueda once heard stories of the power of this person, but she had always assumed the warlock was a man.
"Even so, child," the woman said, "Yours is a life already set on its course. The spirits are gathering far beyond the Chambira, to a land where men who walk as armored spirits after they have set their flaming spears against the people of the sun. To that land, you must travel, in due time. Even so, your mother must needs be saved. So..."
The old woman closed her eyes, as if thinking or communing with the world beyond what she Agueda could see. Her hand was upon the book, as if pulling information from its pages without opening it. Was it the spirits she was communing with, or the power that resided in the book that was convincing her?
"They will save your mother, but they require more than what you can offer today. Today they will sever the discord of her spirit, but tomorrow the spirit of another will be required. Yet, they are not asking for yours, as you will travel to the temple of the sun and see the demise of a people before passing the great river to the golden fields. They require.."
The old woman closed her eyes again. She mused upon what was said, and opened her eyes, both as white as the faces of the spirits themselves.
".. They require your firstborn." | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | The witches gathered around the crib
"Due to your tretchery, the child's soul shall be sundered in two."
"Made two bodies whole, but neither complete"
"Forever shall be walking two paths, neither heaven nor hell "
"His hair, neither blonde nor black"
"But forever... "
"... *GINGER*" | **Prelude:**
"Brujeria," they said, looking about the landscape as they said it. "The one you seek is Brujeria. "Travel past Three Rocks and you will find her hut. But speak to no one of your visit."
Agueda was a young, but she knew what it meant if her mother were to die. Mother had been sick for quite a while, and the Ayuhuasca wasn't working. The Urarina people were dependent upon their male shamans to delve into the spirit world, and seek out that which is causing the balance to break between the life of her mother and the illness that had struck her. But they could not make her well again. Agueda was desperate. At the tender age of 8, even she knew that if her mother had died, she would be alone in the village, and left to fend for herself.
Agueda walked the forest, along the Chambira river, and spied the Three Rocks at the bend of the river. She went straight from there and saw a makeshift hut, with a fire burning with some fish being prepared.
Agueda didn't know she was hungry until she saw the fish being cooked. She came up to the fire and plucked a fish from the stone that sat beside the flame. Without even thinking, she starting biting into the soft white meat of the fish, and savored every bite. She took another bite, and another. Before she knew it, the fish had almost been completely devoured.
"It tastes good, yes?" A voice said behind her.
She jumped at the sound of the voice, dropping the fish in fear that she had been caught. She at once understood the fish wasn't hers, and that she had done wrong in stealing it. However, an old woman now held the remains of the fish, having caught it before it hit ground. Examining it, she offered it back to Agueda. "No use for me now. You take it, you finish it."
Agueda nodded her head, and finished off what was left of the fish's meat near the tail. The old woman eyed her, with an eye both sympathetic and yet still analyzing. It looked as if she had seen more than her age had let on, and her hair was so grey that it almost was white when the sun rays came through some of the trees to illuminate it. The sinews of her arm looked like a withered tree branch, but in them she felt there was a strength that was beyond that of the strongest of men in her village. This was the Brujeria. She spoke up to the strange woman, shyly given what she had just done. "I'm sorry elder. I was just so hungry...."
"The spirits told me," the Brujeria said, interrupting. "And I was happy to oblige. It is a small thing for me to offer one so young, that has traveled so far from the village to seek one that should not be sought."
As Agueda looked into her eyes deeper, she saw that there was a faint glow that almost whited her pupils. Was the Brujeria in a trance? Was she seeing both her and the spirit world, speaking to both at the same time? Agueda knew at once that the old woman knew what she had come to her for.
"Yes, I do." Replied the Brujeria. The old woman sat down on a log beside the fire, and began eating the other fish that was on the stone. "Again, they told me. The Ayuhuasca does not work, they said. These are only plants that do not speak to the will of the the spirits that house them. Drink this."
Agueda looked to the fire that the Brujeria had pointed to and saw a makeshift pot with a brew boiling. It was Ayuhuasca, but it smelled different than the ones that the village shamans prepared. This boiled with a certain glow to it, and it smelled sweeter. Was this an attempt to steal her energy? Her mother had always warned her about the dangerous Brujos that wanted nothing more than the life force of the ones that drank before them.
"I am not some fiendish Brujo as they say, child," said the old woman. "The old ones know better, but I have been here because I need to be. I have need to study this book given by a man, and every eye in the village has sought to peek into its pages. Yet it is not for them, lest they summon curses to their souls that no healer can repair. So I stay here, for their sake, not just my own."
Agueda looked at the book that the elder produced on her lap. The book was as tattered as the rags that she was wearing, but there was no mistaking that the air around this book brought a certain chill to her bones that the fire could hardly warm. Could this woman be the Warlock of Chiloe? Agueda once heard stories of the power of this person, but she had always assumed the warlock was a man.
"Even so, child," the woman said, "Yours is a life already set on its course. The spirits are gathering far beyond the Chambira, to a land where men who walk as armored spirits after they have set their flaming spears against the people of the sun. To that land, you must travel, in due time. Even so, your mother must needs be saved. So..."
The old woman closed her eyes, as if thinking or communing with the world beyond what she Agueda could see. Her hand was upon the book, as if pulling information from its pages without opening it. Was it the spirits she was communing with, or the power that resided in the book that was convincing her?
"They will save your mother, but they require more than what you can offer today. Today they will sever the discord of her spirit, but tomorrow the spirit of another will be required. Yet, they are not asking for yours, as you will travel to the temple of the sun and see the demise of a people before passing the great river to the golden fields. They require.."
The old woman closed her eyes again. She mused upon what was said, and opened her eyes, both as white as the faces of the spirits themselves.
".. They require your firstborn." | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | "Well, we did both promise you both our first born..." the father recalled, with a hint of a smirk.
"And I think your solution is as simple as your problem!" the mother beamed
"If we split the child in half..."said witch #1
"Both of our spells will fail! " finished witch #2
"Ah..." the father chuckled, "but if you two join in holy matrimony, the child will fully belong to you both!" He continued, stifling his laughter.
"After the small matter of completing the paperwork required for a same sex marriage and adoption! !" The mother continued, "So we'll just keep an eye on him until you're ready!" The mother finished.
"OH COME ON!!!" Witch #1 screams.
"Hey, I'm not that bad! " witch #2 cries
"I'm not taking about your mule-face. I looked in the crystal ball, and this kid will have been dead for centuries before we can legally marry!" Witch #1 retorts.
"Goddamnit! !" Witch #2 screams.
Smoke fills the room, and the witches menacingly proclaim, "you have spared the life of your first born, at the expense of your later born. We shall claim the first child in your heir, whoever the hell that ends up being, once our right to marry those of our own gender&CT becomes law." The two spoke in unison.
"So. ..you'll become gay pride activists then?" The father asks.
"I guess we have to. .." says the witch
| "Mmmm," gushed the warlock, licking the powdered sugar from his fingers. "Thanks for bringing the begniets. Breakfast of champions, I always say." The pastries were good, but something about the coffee was off-putting to me. Maybe it was the smell of the last night's debauchery on Bourbon Street, maybe it was just the fact that I was negotiating two supernatural murders with a voodoo priest, but my stomach was in knots and the joe wasn't helping. Liz had devoured hers and was tapping her fingers impatiently. "Do you think we could find some shrimp soon? I'm craving..." I took her hands in mine. "We can get shrimp in a few minutes, honey." I turned to the warlock. He wasn't old, in his mid thirties, clad in a very loud Hawaiian shirt and a Panama hat. His shop was dimly lit, with strange idols, voodoo dolls, and a shrunken head on the shelves. In the corner a very obese alligator snoozed near a pile of bones. I was somewhat concerned by its presence at first, but he didn't seem to be hurting anyone so I just let it slide. "So," I said. "I'm assuming that if you take care of this business for us, you'll be wanting the child?" He shot me a puzzled look and flicked some crumbs off his stained Aloha shirt. "What? Now why on earth would I want your kid?" I was a little taken aback by that. "Well, that's what the witches wanted, and really we were just asking for small potatoes. I wanted money, and she wanted blues guitar chops. We're straight-up asking you to kill two people, so..." The warlock threw back his head and laughed. "Man, whatchoo talkin' bout? Do you realize how difficult it is to grant people things like wealth and talent? You have to take it from somebody who already has those things and give them to somebody else. I hardly even have to use my powers to kill those witches, I just finna sick ol' Bayou Jones on em. He got mad jaw strength, and he can make it look like an accident. Ain't that right, Bayou?" "Uhh-huh," drawled the snaggle-toothed reptile. "Jes like eatin beef jerky." "Keep your kid," said the warlock. " I shrugged. "Alright, well, what exactly do you want then?" He thought about it for a moment. "My mama always said I got a knack for making the spirits do my bidding, but I got the clumsiest hands around. I couldn't even play the drums. Why don't your wife gimme those guitar licks of hers?" Liz looked appalled. "Uh, how about I just give you lessons or something?" He shook his head. "Naw lady, these fingers are like andouille sausages. They can't learn. You have to willingly give me your powers, or else no deal." She thought about that. "Okay, how much you want for just one dead witch?" He lit up a cigar. "Lady, I'd do that for an eighth of weed and a Klondike Bar, but that don't solve your problem." "Yes it does," she replied. "We'd only have to give away our firstborn once, that solves our problem right away." "Honey!" I cried. The warlock laughed "lady, there ain't no way you that heartless." Liz slapped a bag of cannabis on the counter. "Here's the bud in advance, you can have the ice cream when that bitch is dead. I'm gonna go find some shrimp." She walked out. The warlock smiled at me. "Sorry man. Deal's a deal." | |
[WP] Two people promise their first born child to two different witches in return for a favour. These two people end up getting married and have a child together. | "Well, we did both promise you both our first born..." the father recalled, with a hint of a smirk.
"And I think your solution is as simple as your problem!" the mother beamed
"If we split the child in half..."said witch #1
"Both of our spells will fail! " finished witch #2
"Ah..." the father chuckled, "but if you two join in holy matrimony, the child will fully belong to you both!" He continued, stifling his laughter.
"After the small matter of completing the paperwork required for a same sex marriage and adoption! !" The mother continued, "So we'll just keep an eye on him until you're ready!" The mother finished.
"OH COME ON!!!" Witch #1 screams.
"Hey, I'm not that bad! " witch #2 cries
"I'm not taking about your mule-face. I looked in the crystal ball, and this kid will have been dead for centuries before we can legally marry!" Witch #1 retorts.
"Goddamnit! !" Witch #2 screams.
Smoke fills the room, and the witches menacingly proclaim, "you have spared the life of your first born, at the expense of your later born. We shall claim the first child in your heir, whoever the hell that ends up being, once our right to marry those of our own gender&CT becomes law." The two spoke in unison.
"So. ..you'll become gay pride activists then?" The father asks.
"I guess we have to. .." says the witch
| We never knew our parents, our real ones anyway, we were raised by our moms. We were always homeschooled, and our moms dont really let us out much. My name is Alexander and my twin sisters name is Aleksandra. I go by Alex, and she goes by Endra to avoid confusion. We are conjoined twins. Endra has the short end of the stick as she controls only the left arm, but she doesn't seem to mind. I've never been as good with magic, so i suppose that makes us even.
"That was a rush," Endra suddenly says into my ear. I cock my head slightly indicating for her to continue. "I've been bodyjumping since this morning. First I was a bird on the windowsill, then i flew down, and became one of the normals on the street below."
"You seem to be bodyjumping a lot lately. You've been asleep for hours." I respond gently, careful not to wake the moms.
"I get tired of only moving one arm. It's too limiting. Don't you ever want to get away, Alex?" She asks me in carefully hushed tones.
"Of course, I just... I'm not as good at it as you." I look away, glancing at our moms. Fast asleep, but I dont trust it. They have so many tricks up their sleeves. "What happened by the way?"
"I fought off a rapist by possessing a girl. I conjured a giant spider from the 3 realm, and trapped him in a web. Recorded the whole thing, and called 911 on the phone. He's behind bars now." Endra smiles swelling with pride. I suppose she didnt draw attention to herself, so she should be alright. I worry about such flamboyant displays of power though. Our moms have warned us that we are children of great power, and people will come looking for people of our bloodline.
"Forcing him to turn himself in could have had the same effect, ya know Endra?" I tilt my head playfully. She punches me in the right shoulder, part of us i can feel.
"It wouldnt have been nearly as satisfying though. Come with me. I'll help you get better at it. Let's go tonight" Endra smiles yanking my soul to the spirit realm.
---------------------------
I'm tired right now, so I'm going to go to bed. I'll write more if anyone wants it, but for now i can barely keep my eyes open.
Thanks for reading
~RMarcus | |
[WP] Make a "How its made" episode about something you dont know how its made. | Have you ever wondered what exactly goes into making our favorite foods? Many people have thought about this, from concerned parents to health nuts to average people like you and me. Today we will be observing what that goes into making one of the most beloved snacks in America: microwave pizza rolls.
The pizzas arrive in mass from restaurants all over the country. They are old and used, having been discarded in accordance with local health laws. As they are now, the pizzas are unfit for consumption but soon they will be turned into something edible and delicious through the wonderful process of Bolborizing, named after famous industrialist George Bolbor who discovered the technique.
Workers sort the pizzas according to size and send them down conveyor belts. Calmazine, a mild adhesive, is sprayed onto the surface of the pizza to ensure that the cheese and toppings come off whole when they are peeled from the crust. These "skins" go into the tumbler, which coats it with xotolton to loosen the calmazine as well as breaking down the skins into small, loose clumps. The clumps are put through sieves to separate the toppings, which are sorted as either meat or vegetables that are then chopped into fine pieces. The remaining cheese is then put into a large vat. We will get back to that later.
Meanwhile, a line of workers scrap away the remaining sauce from the crusts, which is added to the cheese in the vats. The crusts, now free of any sauce or toppings, are dumped into the masticulater. Water and a chemical slurry are added and the masticulater works its magic by pulverizing the crust back into a hard dough. The dough is put through a hambolix, which stretches the dough like a taffy pulling machine to render it pliable.
Now begins the amazing process of Bolborizing. Depending on the type of pizza roll, the toppings are added to the cheese/sauce mix and heated to temperatures of over 1,000 degrees Fahrenheit. The secret to Bolborizing is a special chemical, one that has yet to be given a name, that is added to ensure that it will return to these temperatures it is reheated in a microwave.
The hot "pizza goo" and the dough, now soft, is fed into a dual extruder that creates sleeves of dough filled with the pizza goo. The sleeve is fed into a machine that clips it into pizza rolls, creating roughly 100,000 pizza rolls per hour. Due to the speed of production, the pizza rolls fly off erratically so workers are placed around the perimeter with nets to catch them and place them on the belt. The extreme heat of the pizza goo cooks the dough from the inside out, hardening it into a crust.
The pizza rolls are then sent down a conveyor belt for quality control. Ones that are damaged or irregular are eaten by the workers. This makes up 10% of their compensation. Having pasted inspection, the pizza rolls are flash frozen to keep their freshness and are then packaged to be sent off.
So next time when you're entertaining guests, feeding your kids, or having an entire bag to yourself because you're just that kind of person, think about all the work that goes into making these little treats from heaven. It will make the mouth burns so much more bearable. | Everyone has a plumbus in their home. First, they take the dinglebop, and they smooth it out with a bunch of schleem. The schleem is then repurposed for later batches. They take the dinglebop and they push it through the grumbo, where the fleeb is rubbed against it. It’s important that the fleeb is rubbed, because the fleeb has all of the fleeb juice. Then a schlami shows up, and he rubs it and spits on it. They cut the fleeb. There’s several hizzards in the way. The blamfs rub against the chumbles. And the ploobis and grumbo are shaved away. That leaves you with a regular old plumbus. | |
[WP] Make a "How its made" episode about something you dont know how its made. | Alright so, Hadron Colliders are simple really. There’s not too much to building one at all.
Firstly, to build yourself a Hadron Collider you’re going to need a shit ton of money. Like at least a few trillion dollars, you know, the kind of low level change that you find under the seats of your car.
After you have a few trillion dollars you need either a very large space or a very small space. I feel like Hadron Colliders are either VERY big, or VERY small, I doubt they’re somewhere in between.
So once you’ve found your space and have your car change you can begin construction on the hadron collider.
Make a really big building and inside that building you’ll want to make a lot of rooms for science stuff. In those rooms be sure to put lots of beakers and computers from the 60s that NASA used to use because I think that’s how they do it now in Switzerland at their hadron collider.
But your hadron collider will be much better so don’t worry fam.
After you make the rooms, be sure to have a central chamber. In this chamber be sure no one that doesn’t wear a hazmat suit is allowed in because I think that’s how black holes are started.
In this chamber, you’re going to want to build this machine that has two turkey basters or Canadian shotguns if you’re using Ed, Edd, N Eddy vernacular. These canadian shotguns are going to be filled with particles. How you get particles is up to you. But I don’t see how you can’t get particles by catching them with a net and putting them in mason jars.
Now, you’re going to want to be sure to be able to shoot these particles at each other at like hella fast speeds, so make sure you have at least three or four cheetahs running at full speed at all time on wheels like gerbils. This will ensure that the speed of light is met.
The goal isn’t to make a black hole, but if you make one good for you champ, I’m glad you’re pulling that 110% and taking the extra effort to put into something you enjoy.
It’s simple really to build a hadron collider. Just find some loose change and a lot of land, and then you could probably get away with some really big refrigerator boxes for the 60s computers. Just be sure to spray them down and if you’re feeling fancy paint some buttons on them.
After that find some Canadian Shot guns and catch some particles and then go and make some black holes.
You got this sport. | Everyone has a plumbus in their home. First, they take the dinglebop, and they smooth it out with a bunch of schleem. The schleem is then repurposed for later batches. They take the dinglebop and they push it through the grumbo, where the fleeb is rubbed against it. It’s important that the fleeb is rubbed, because the fleeb has all of the fleeb juice. Then a schlami shows up, and he rubs it and spits on it. They cut the fleeb. There’s several hizzards in the way. The blamfs rub against the chumbles. And the ploobis and grumbo are shaved away. That leaves you with a regular old plumbus. | |
[WP] You find yourself stuck in a dimension where all your relationships are reversed: everyone who hates you loves you and vice versa. | I've never been more scared or lonely in my life. Everyone is out to kill me.
I have no friends.
It wasn't like this yesterday.
Had I known what the experiment would result in, had I known it was irreversible I would never have gone through with it.
Admittedly, I was the most logical choice.
Pity I'm the only one who will ever know the full results.
Those on the other side will only ever know that removing your reflection from a mirror does, in fact, allow you to walk through.
They will be able to surmise that it's a one way trip.
They'll never know what truly awaits.
These will be my last words.
I don't often walk through mirrors, but when I do, I regret it. | "Hello my boy, how are you? You look well. Why haven't you visited recently? No matter. Let me make you a cup of tea."
"D..dad?" I stammered. He looked different somehow and he was being convivial. Was he drunk again? Probably. Different dimensions but there was always one constant. He was without change, the same old bastard. I wondered which leather belt this version had a prefrence for.
The kettle whistled.
"You know Michael your visits keep me going. Make my life worth living." He popped a tea bag into a mug that had 'family' written across it.
Was he trapping me? This did not feel at all comfortable.
"Dad, I have got to go."
I heard him say "Come see me again soon Daniel" as I closed the front door.
---
As soon as Emily answered the door her face fell. She looked me up and down and then spat at my face. It took me by suprise.
"What the hell Em!" I sputtered, wiping the spittle away from my eyes.
"YOU! " she said, her voice barely recognisable through the rage.
"Em, come on we can talk about this". I walked up to her and placed my hands on her shoulders. "It's me Em".
I felt a slight pain in my chest. I looked down and saw a knife slide out of me and then plunge back in.
I slowly slid to the ground.
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | "Have Sex with me." A dirty looking man says, smiling with yellowed teeth at the petite woman standing at the corner of the street. She glanced around but couldn't find anyone in sight. The woman gritted her teeth and spoke, "Fine, come with me." The man was practically giggling with joy; the society they lived in was practically set up for low-lifes like him to get anything they want. Of course, a request either needed to be completed or passed onto someone else, but there was a catch. You couldn't just pass a command onto someone who had already given you one without first fulfilling their's. So long as you were quick enough, you could chain back to back commands on people that couldn't retaliate back at you.
The woman had taken him to a high-class hotel. Unknown to the man, the woman often received and accepted transfer requests similar to the one which she was supposed to fulfill. She didn't particularly enjoy the reputation or attention that came with this, but she figured it was better one person than a mob of people. As the man kept up just a few paces behind her, the woman fished out her phone from her back and glanced at it. "Excuse me, I need to take this." She turned a corner and disappeared for a few seconds before meeting back up with the man and approaching the elevator. Although the man could hardly keep his eyes off of her, the woman avoided all eye contact with him. The elevator ride up to her room was a tad too touchy-feely for her taste.
The woman unlocked the door to her room, took a few steps in and began to cough. "Damn, I forgot the last person was a smoker. Do you mind if I open a window?" The man smiled, "Whatever gets you out of those clothes faster girly." She slowly approached the window and slid it open. The woman looked down; even if she wanted to,the bond held by the rules wouldn't allow her body to end its span. She slowly approached the man, who had already made himself comfortable on the bed. The woman sat on his lap and pulled him into what appeared to be a kiss. She stopped just short of contact before talking, "Hunter, kill this son of a bitch." Before the man could fully register what the woman had just said, he lay dead on the floor, soaking in his own, growing, pool of blood. The woman picked up her phone and sighed before speaking into it, "You got blood on my phone asshole." A smooth, much deeper voice came out from the other end. "Thanks, you don't need to say it. I know I'm the greatest shot in the world." The woman scoffed at him before he continued, "Make sure your phone's a little closer next time, I almost missed the command."
"Yeah yeah whatever, just get over here and help me clean this up so we can actually put this room to use later tonight."
"Yes dear." Hunter replied sarcastically.
There are three kinds of people in this broken society: those who thrive off giving commands, those who suffer from receiving them, and those who find ways to bend the rules and survive on their own terms. | "... this is an interview with the convicted felon, James Garland. He is accused of .. umm.."
"Making a stupid fucking request" I intervened.
"yes, of course," said officer Ramirez. " and you are applying to be a volunteer?"
"yeah ... I am"
"You are willing to accept any request, regardless of their content"
"yes I am "
"I can only allow you to become a volunteer if you tell me what you did and what you learned from it"
I did not want to walk through it again. I just had enough. I made one mistake in my life, i did not think it could have ended so badly. but I needed to see her again...
I went on through and explained to Officer Ramirez that husbands and wives occasionally have arguments. She was right though. She always was.
She believed in God. She believed that we were all sinners that could be saved. That did include me. Specially me. I had committed more sins than the devil himself, but she insisted that i could be saved. I didn't care for it then.
We used to argue this. Her faith versus my reality. This time it was a used heroine syringe. Her faith called it poison, I called it a nice way to escape hell. She said that drugs were the thing that will send me to hell and my problems were nothing. I flipped out in front of my son, Jason, and started screaming a bunch of shit i did not mean. Specially when i said go to hell ...
She actually fucking did it.
She used that same Heroine syringe and stabbed herself until no one could save her.
They locked me up. Oddly enough, I am now religious. The best way that i thought that my life could be served is that i save someone else from fulfilling their shit.
"Looks like you are the kinda guy who needs this" said officer ramirez "we will okay your request"
i galdly replied "thank you officer I will do what ever it takes and ..."
"You piece of shit..." Exclaimed The officer" you really think you were getting off the hook? This way we get around the death penalty"
*oh fuck*
" Since you have recently turned religious, we thought you could fulfill this one perfectly" he uttered. "this one is from a Jason Garland.. it says *Go to hell dad*, best get on it Mr. Garland."
Maybe hell wont be too bad with her...
I replied "Gladly"... | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | He poured the boiling water into his mug.
Lost in the dancing of the steam and floating ginger root, his eyes glazed over. As the last of the honey crystals melted away, he decided he preferred a stronger brew and opted to place his tea into the swirling liquid while its vapour still danced wildly from the cup, rather than wait for it to subside to a slow waltz.
He did not have the time for that today, nor the luxury of allowing himself to be distracted by the camellia sinensis leaves swimming in the water's heated currents.
His mind regained direction when he realized he wouldn't get to enjoy the extra moments watching the tea steep longer for its third soak.
Having his attention brought back to the task at hand, Lucius thought of what the sages had requested from him...
 
 
... Usually if asked to do something outside of his comfort zone, he was encouraged to offer another favour in exchange for the newly accepted one.
However this was not the case when a request was made by a sage. His teachings required him to follow the sage's wisdom without question. It was also taught, to take and pass on, as many requests of others too cumbersome for them to handle. The students of Quid Pro Quo had dedicated themselves to mastering the martial arts and skills of mind gardening. The sages had grown themselves vast domesticated jungles. Trying to navigate or understand these oases would be foolish for an apprentice, let alone one at the volunteer level, to even consider.
 
 
It had been 42 moons since he had started his journey at the school. Even though he was taking more time to advance to the next stage, it was due to Lucius' maturity and discipline -or- lack thereof, according to his teacher Nemu, that he was so slow to progress to the next stage of his training.
That being said this summons and request made by not one, but four sages could change everything.
If only the task wasn't so daunting.
Since becoming a Quid. No. Since birth, -as two decades ago Lucius was born the same year everyone started to do whatever was asked of them- life was about accepting any request made by whomever, no matter the cost. The trick was in being able to dance and play with the words used in the acceptance of the request.
 
 
Born out of the need to deal with the chaos of the situation, two forms of mental and martial arts emerged. The users of Burandanga, which had been unofficially around for centuries, and the disciplines of Quid Pro Quo which were created by former members of the Bura who were unhappy with the results of their covenant. This myriad of witch doctors, scientists, shamans, metaphysicians, psychonauts, and mystics would become known as The Nightshade Sages.
Throughout the centuries the Borrachero tree was sought after by the most daring individuals wishing to test the borders of their perception and enhance their connection to the universe. Eventually they would find one another and form a pact, orchestrate a generations long plan to expose the world’s nations to a chemical cocktail of a compound mixed with Burandanga from the tree and Hyoscine Hydrobromide (also known as Scopolamine) from Nightshade, Angel's Trumpets, Corkwood and Jimson Weed.
 
 
Through the use of chemtrailing and water tainting in the mid 1990s, the worldwide exposure would lead to an event named by both schools of thought-
The Mydriasis
This would in turn shatter the will of all sentient forms on earth, and cause them to lose the ability to deny any request made of them.
Over time the contrasting philosophies and spiritual practices of the two paths lead to the covenant's immediate disbanding after the completion of their objective, which over the years had warped for each of the factions formed during the split.
 
 
One thought the hyper focusing abilities gained by the ingestion of the Borrachero tree was a sign of the universe's flow coursing through them and they were therefore the embodiment of justice. Using this power they would dominate their opponents during Q’Eeries, and could reach absolute finite ends within the first couple rallies of inquiry.
The other believed in balance attained through discipline and the taming of mind gardens.
In having spent so much time wandering and eventually navigating as well as cultivating the antipodes of the mind, they became able to overcome the negative side effects of the plants from the Solanaceae family. In turn they would become able to find every loophole and shortcut while deeply engaged in a Q’Eerie, even while locked in the final stage of the appeals. With this they could often turn an abhorred request into one in which both parties walked away having philanthropic tasks lying ahead.
 
 
Lucius was fond of his mentors, but couldn’t help feeling something was amiss with the new course of events set before him. With doubt looming around him he left the atrium and began to make his way towards the Ohm Chambers.
Nemu had been waiting for him by the passageway and bore a look of curiosity at Lucius’ approach.
“What did the sages want little one? Do tell me.”
“I would gladly do as you ask sensei, if I had not sworn an oath forbidding me from speaking of the matter” replied Lucius, carefully phrasing his response so that his teacher could at least discover the brevity of the situation. “Did you know it was an Angel’s Trumpet who summoned me?”
Nemu’s brow furrowed at her pupil’s reply “Ah, I see, and no I did not. Though that is surprising to hear. Who was it that greeted you when you answered their call?”
“It was four of the sages ma’am, Huxly, Baba Ram Dass and two others I had not yet met.” He said, allowing a wave of calm to rush over him as he drank from his mug.
“Thank you for telling me what you could Lucius, I see your loose tongue has its advantages. I’ll make a point to forget your continuous use of it while writing this moon’s report, perhaps that will lighten your mind from some of its burdens” She responded, moving to clear the path and admit Lucius’ passage.
He was lucky his teacher saw an advantage in letting him take unorthodox paths when finding ways to resolve his problems. A skill she knew he would soon need.
 
 
Upon entering the cavernous quarter of the temple his mind calmed, where once there had been a torrential downpour now a quieted fog hung about his inner thoughts. He had come to the right place.
The sages had decided this sanctuary’s location due to the high concentration of carbon in the area’s geology. The Ohm Chambers were carved entirely out of shungite, a mineraloid containing 98% carbon.
The sleek black space was adorned with resonating rods and singing bowls embedded in the floor next to plinths with charcoal coloured pillows. Beside each platform a cubby sat for personal effects and the tools for the instruments in front. The shimmer across the room as Lucius’ shadow moved about the changing ripples of lustre from the stone’s varying carbon concentrations, and sounds of gurgling creeks made the whole place seem alive, despite no one else being around.
The crystal acted like a lightning rod absorbing all electromagnetic frequencies, surrounding the area in a healing aura. Waters flowing over shungite were known for their purifying properties, for these reasons the sages had chosen to painstakingly etch one of their homes out of the two billion year old rock around them.
 
 
With a sigh he took one long final sip of his tea, sat himself in lotus position on top of a nearby dias and prepared to enter a deep meditative state. He knew of no other way to find answers for the questions sprouting in his mind.
 
 
 
 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know I'm a bit late to the party, but I spent the first night this prompt was posted up baking you all this delicious cake and had to spend the next 5 days recovering from the 15 hour binge while going to work and icing the cake during my off time.
I hope you enjoy it, this is the first time I've ever tried baking a story, instead of just cooking one up.
It takes a lot longer to bake and more time/thought so it took a while more than I thought it would to get everything together and sorted.
> "Cooking is an art, baking is a science" - can't remember
I have a lot more to come with this story so please comment your feedback and I'll gladly post the next installment as soon as possible.
Edit: Formatting and some words in bottom message
| "... this is an interview with the convicted felon, James Garland. He is accused of .. umm.."
"Making a stupid fucking request" I intervened.
"yes, of course," said officer Ramirez. " and you are applying to be a volunteer?"
"yeah ... I am"
"You are willing to accept any request, regardless of their content"
"yes I am "
"I can only allow you to become a volunteer if you tell me what you did and what you learned from it"
I did not want to walk through it again. I just had enough. I made one mistake in my life, i did not think it could have ended so badly. but I needed to see her again...
I went on through and explained to Officer Ramirez that husbands and wives occasionally have arguments. She was right though. She always was.
She believed in God. She believed that we were all sinners that could be saved. That did include me. Specially me. I had committed more sins than the devil himself, but she insisted that i could be saved. I didn't care for it then.
We used to argue this. Her faith versus my reality. This time it was a used heroine syringe. Her faith called it poison, I called it a nice way to escape hell. She said that drugs were the thing that will send me to hell and my problems were nothing. I flipped out in front of my son, Jason, and started screaming a bunch of shit i did not mean. Specially when i said go to hell ...
She actually fucking did it.
She used that same Heroine syringe and stabbed herself until no one could save her.
They locked me up. Oddly enough, I am now religious. The best way that i thought that my life could be served is that i save someone else from fulfilling their shit.
"Looks like you are the kinda guy who needs this" said officer ramirez "we will okay your request"
i galdly replied "thank you officer I will do what ever it takes and ..."
"You piece of shit..." Exclaimed The officer" you really think you were getting off the hook? This way we get around the death penalty"
*oh fuck*
" Since you have recently turned religious, we thought you could fulfill this one perfectly" he uttered. "this one is from a Jason Garland.. it says *Go to hell dad*, best get on it Mr. Garland."
Maybe hell wont be too bad with her...
I replied "Gladly"... | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | When President Trump mandated that the government legislate anything that was trending on social media the people of America felt that at last we could make this country great again.
First, marijuana became free and legal when “My M8 Dan’s Mint Idea for World Peace” Facebook page hit 10 million likes. Shortly afterwards, hashtag #ObamaHair outlawed excessive dandruff. Last month a large volume of unanswered Candy Crush requests led to the landmark Fulfilment of Favours Act of 2019. A law Mandating that all requests be fulfilled or delegated, much to the delight of anyone still playing farmville.
It was a couple of days after the legislation passed that a pale, visibly shaken defence secretary held a press conference. Nervously she announced the first ever gameshow show produced by Whitehouse named “Do Trump a Favour!” would be premiering immediately and will be funded by the Mexican government.
I jumped at the chance for a spot on the show. We all have our reasons, mine was money.
———————— The Games Begin ———————
An eruption of confetti fell from the ceiling as a bronze plastic sphere dropped from the enormous gumball machine. The crowd, as ever, went wild as ‘Dewy’ the enigmatic TV show host spoke. “Wow! A low ball, a chance for our contestants to earn some easy faaaaaast cash!”. The sound of the gameshow’s cheesy theme tune sounded as Dewy slung his trademark pink glitter shotgun from his shoulder and pumped 3 shells into the oversized gumball, opening a crooked hole. Dewy rummaged around inside before and plucking out a request card. Reading aloud:
“Mr.President has been asked by the president of Bolivia to kiss his ass, any takers for $2000!”
“ZAAAP!” Damnit! Sargent Charlie’s finger was quick on the buzzer. That trigger happy veteran was taking us all to the cleaners tonight. “Why, that would be my patriotic pleasure!” Charlie smugly announced. “Yea Charlie well I hope they don't wipe much in Bolivia.” I think to myself. Dewy is making comedically loud smooching noises, much to the amusement of the audience when the next bronze ball drops.
“The Taliban leaders are requesting the president convert to Islam, denounce Christianity, and to come have a beer, as they feel there has been a big misunderstanding”
Charlie’s face looked horrified at the thought, perhaps this was my moment!
“Offer for $2000”
No F***king way this is worth 10 times that.
Dewy pouted, sticking out a bottom lip “So sad no takers… Well next offer is $5000…. The president will promise to leave you off the FBI watch list, reimburse alcoholic beverages, and compensate immediate family in case of your death.”
Last episode I shoved the 2nd amendment up my ass for $8,000. It was painful but far from suicidal. I was going to make sure that grabbing a couple of cold ones with murderous religious extremists was going to cost Mexico dearly.
“ZAAAP!” Wait, What? Who? Oh… Greg! The unemployed truck driver from Nevada, the shows only other contestant of the night. With swagger Greg puffed out his chest and bellowed “Whatever man, you know these days you can convert to Islam online? And I wanna give those Talah-ban a piece of my mind!” The crowd roared. “Take no prisoners Greg!”, “Give them one from me!” Voices called out.
As Greg attempted to flex non existent biceps I began contemplating of his odds of survival, only to be interrupted by a joyous squeal from Dewy. A golden gumball had just landed with a THUNK on the stage. Wow a real golden gumball!
Golden gumballs where big money, at last it was my time to make a mark!
“For. One. Million. USD…” Dewy began.
One fudging Million Dollars?! Unbelievable… This was the largest request the show had ever seen. My fingers where already itching to stab at the buzzer. Dewy stopped reading the card to look at each of the contestants, then around at the studio audience. Perhaps for dramatic effect, perhaps he could not believe what he was about to say himself. A low murmur filled the room.
“The people of America request that the President make America great again, any takers?” | "... this is an interview with the convicted felon, James Garland. He is accused of .. umm.."
"Making a stupid fucking request" I intervened.
"yes, of course," said officer Ramirez. " and you are applying to be a volunteer?"
"yeah ... I am"
"You are willing to accept any request, regardless of their content"
"yes I am "
"I can only allow you to become a volunteer if you tell me what you did and what you learned from it"
I did not want to walk through it again. I just had enough. I made one mistake in my life, i did not think it could have ended so badly. but I needed to see her again...
I went on through and explained to Officer Ramirez that husbands and wives occasionally have arguments. She was right though. She always was.
She believed in God. She believed that we were all sinners that could be saved. That did include me. Specially me. I had committed more sins than the devil himself, but she insisted that i could be saved. I didn't care for it then.
We used to argue this. Her faith versus my reality. This time it was a used heroine syringe. Her faith called it poison, I called it a nice way to escape hell. She said that drugs were the thing that will send me to hell and my problems were nothing. I flipped out in front of my son, Jason, and started screaming a bunch of shit i did not mean. Specially when i said go to hell ...
She actually fucking did it.
She used that same Heroine syringe and stabbed herself until no one could save her.
They locked me up. Oddly enough, I am now religious. The best way that i thought that my life could be served is that i save someone else from fulfilling their shit.
"Looks like you are the kinda guy who needs this" said officer ramirez "we will okay your request"
i galdly replied "thank you officer I will do what ever it takes and ..."
"You piece of shit..." Exclaimed The officer" you really think you were getting off the hook? This way we get around the death penalty"
*oh fuck*
" Since you have recently turned religious, we thought you could fulfill this one perfectly" he uttered. "this one is from a Jason Garland.. it says *Go to hell dad*, best get on it Mr. Garland."
Maybe hell wont be too bad with her...
I replied "Gladly"... | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | He poured the boiling water into his mug.
Lost in the dancing of the steam and floating ginger root, his eyes glazed over. As the last of the honey crystals melted away, he decided he preferred a stronger brew and opted to place his tea into the swirling liquid while its vapour still danced wildly from the cup, rather than wait for it to subside to a slow waltz.
He did not have the time for that today, nor the luxury of allowing himself to be distracted by the camellia sinensis leaves swimming in the water's heated currents.
His mind regained direction when he realized he wouldn't get to enjoy the extra moments watching the tea steep longer for its third soak.
Having his attention brought back to the task at hand, Lucius thought of what the sages had requested from him...
 
 
... Usually if asked to do something outside of his comfort zone, he was encouraged to offer another favour in exchange for the newly accepted one.
However this was not the case when a request was made by a sage. His teachings required him to follow the sage's wisdom without question. It was also taught, to take and pass on, as many requests of others too cumbersome for them to handle. The students of Quid Pro Quo had dedicated themselves to mastering the martial arts and skills of mind gardening. The sages had grown themselves vast domesticated jungles. Trying to navigate or understand these oases would be foolish for an apprentice, let alone one at the volunteer level, to even consider.
 
 
It had been 42 moons since he had started his journey at the school. Even though he was taking more time to advance to the next stage, it was due to Lucius' maturity and discipline -or- lack thereof, according to his teacher Nemu, that he was so slow to progress to the next stage of his training.
That being said this summons and request made by not one, but four sages could change everything.
If only the task wasn't so daunting.
Since becoming a Quid. No. Since birth, -as two decades ago Lucius was born the same year everyone started to do whatever was asked of them- life was about accepting any request made by whomever, no matter the cost. The trick was in being able to dance and play with the words used in the acceptance of the request.
 
 
Born out of the need to deal with the chaos of the situation, two forms of mental and martial arts emerged. The users of Burandanga, which had been unofficially around for centuries, and the disciplines of Quid Pro Quo which were created by former members of the Bura who were unhappy with the results of their covenant. This myriad of witch doctors, scientists, shamans, metaphysicians, psychonauts, and mystics would become known as The Nightshade Sages.
Throughout the centuries the Borrachero tree was sought after by the most daring individuals wishing to test the borders of their perception and enhance their connection to the universe. Eventually they would find one another and form a pact, orchestrate a generations long plan to expose the world’s nations to a chemical cocktail of a compound mixed with Burandanga from the tree and Hyoscine Hydrobromide (also known as Scopolamine) from Nightshade, Angel's Trumpets, Corkwood and Jimson Weed.
 
 
Through the use of chemtrailing and water tainting in the mid 1990s, the worldwide exposure would lead to an event named by both schools of thought-
The Mydriasis
This would in turn shatter the will of all sentient forms on earth, and cause them to lose the ability to deny any request made of them.
Over time the contrasting philosophies and spiritual practices of the two paths lead to the covenant's immediate disbanding after the completion of their objective, which over the years had warped for each of the factions formed during the split.
 
 
One thought the hyper focusing abilities gained by the ingestion of the Borrachero tree was a sign of the universe's flow coursing through them and they were therefore the embodiment of justice. Using this power they would dominate their opponents during Q’Eeries, and could reach absolute finite ends within the first couple rallies of inquiry.
The other believed in balance attained through discipline and the taming of mind gardens.
In having spent so much time wandering and eventually navigating as well as cultivating the antipodes of the mind, they became able to overcome the negative side effects of the plants from the Solanaceae family. In turn they would become able to find every loophole and shortcut while deeply engaged in a Q’Eerie, even while locked in the final stage of the appeals. With this they could often turn an abhorred request into one in which both parties walked away having philanthropic tasks lying ahead.
 
 
Lucius was fond of his mentors, but couldn’t help feeling something was amiss with the new course of events set before him. With doubt looming around him he left the atrium and began to make his way towards the Ohm Chambers.
Nemu had been waiting for him by the passageway and bore a look of curiosity at Lucius’ approach.
“What did the sages want little one? Do tell me.”
“I would gladly do as you ask sensei, if I had not sworn an oath forbidding me from speaking of the matter” replied Lucius, carefully phrasing his response so that his teacher could at least discover the brevity of the situation. “Did you know it was an Angel’s Trumpet who summoned me?”
Nemu’s brow furrowed at her pupil’s reply “Ah, I see, and no I did not. Though that is surprising to hear. Who was it that greeted you when you answered their call?”
“It was four of the sages ma’am, Huxly, Baba Ram Dass and two others I had not yet met.” He said, allowing a wave of calm to rush over him as he drank from his mug.
“Thank you for telling me what you could Lucius, I see your loose tongue has its advantages. I’ll make a point to forget your continuous use of it while writing this moon’s report, perhaps that will lighten your mind from some of its burdens” She responded, moving to clear the path and admit Lucius’ passage.
He was lucky his teacher saw an advantage in letting him take unorthodox paths when finding ways to resolve his problems. A skill she knew he would soon need.
 
 
Upon entering the cavernous quarter of the temple his mind calmed, where once there had been a torrential downpour now a quieted fog hung about his inner thoughts. He had come to the right place.
The sages had decided this sanctuary’s location due to the high concentration of carbon in the area’s geology. The Ohm Chambers were carved entirely out of shungite, a mineraloid containing 98% carbon.
The sleek black space was adorned with resonating rods and singing bowls embedded in the floor next to plinths with charcoal coloured pillows. Beside each platform a cubby sat for personal effects and the tools for the instruments in front. The shimmer across the room as Lucius’ shadow moved about the changing ripples of lustre from the stone’s varying carbon concentrations, and sounds of gurgling creeks made the whole place seem alive, despite no one else being around.
The crystal acted like a lightning rod absorbing all electromagnetic frequencies, surrounding the area in a healing aura. Waters flowing over shungite were known for their purifying properties, for these reasons the sages had chosen to painstakingly etch one of their homes out of the two billion year old rock around them.
 
 
With a sigh he took one long final sip of his tea, sat himself in lotus position on top of a nearby dias and prepared to enter a deep meditative state. He knew of no other way to find answers for the questions sprouting in his mind.
 
 
 
 
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I know I'm a bit late to the party, but I spent the first night this prompt was posted up baking you all this delicious cake and had to spend the next 5 days recovering from the 15 hour binge while going to work and icing the cake during my off time.
I hope you enjoy it, this is the first time I've ever tried baking a story, instead of just cooking one up.
It takes a lot longer to bake and more time/thought so it took a while more than I thought it would to get everything together and sorted.
> "Cooking is an art, baking is a science" - can't remember
I have a lot more to come with this story so please comment your feedback and I'll gladly post the next installment as soon as possible.
Edit: Formatting and some words in bottom message
| He stood, clutching the pillow, the woman smiled up at him meekly.
"Didn't have the stones did she," the old woman exhaled.
"She did not, and I was running a two for one special," he smiled thinly, gripping the pillow.
"Two for one?" She cocked an eye brow and smiled. The soft chirp of her steady heartbeat rhythmically breaking the silence.
"I won't bore you with the details," he dropped a pen and notepad onto the bed with his free hand. "Just jot down your favor and we'll call it good,"
"How will I know it got done," she fingered the pen. "I mean all things considered"
"I've got a five star rating on yelp," he breathed looking out the window at the deep blue sky. "Now if we could move this along, is like to keep it that way, I've got a 2pm appointment is like to keep,"
"How did you land in this business Mr....," she trailed off, doodling on her pad.
"Jefferson, Lincoln, Washington, I'm who ever you want me to be today,"
They shared a dark laugh. The room was dim, even without a cloud in the sky.
"I guess it was when I discovered I could do it," gently rubbing his his ring finger with his thumb. "Not everyone is cut out for the kinds of favors I do,"
She put the pen down and smiled. "Well I guess you'll just have to suffer through another one," folding the paper and placing it on her nightstand she closed her eyes.
He moved faster than she expected and the rhythmic chirp turned violent as her body jerked against the pillow. Quick as it started, it was all over. He picked the paper up off the table, and retreated from the room to the monotone hum of the machine.
Wading through a group of doctors he deposited the paper into a nearby trash can and briskly walked to his next appointment. | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | When President Trump mandated that the government legislate anything that was trending on social media the people of America felt that at last we could make this country great again.
First, marijuana became free and legal when “My M8 Dan’s Mint Idea for World Peace” Facebook page hit 10 million likes. Shortly afterwards, hashtag #ObamaHair outlawed excessive dandruff. Last month a large volume of unanswered Candy Crush requests led to the landmark Fulfilment of Favours Act of 2019. A law Mandating that all requests be fulfilled or delegated, much to the delight of anyone still playing farmville.
It was a couple of days after the legislation passed that a pale, visibly shaken defence secretary held a press conference. Nervously she announced the first ever gameshow show produced by Whitehouse named “Do Trump a Favour!” would be premiering immediately and will be funded by the Mexican government.
I jumped at the chance for a spot on the show. We all have our reasons, mine was money.
———————— The Games Begin ———————
An eruption of confetti fell from the ceiling as a bronze plastic sphere dropped from the enormous gumball machine. The crowd, as ever, went wild as ‘Dewy’ the enigmatic TV show host spoke. “Wow! A low ball, a chance for our contestants to earn some easy faaaaaast cash!”. The sound of the gameshow’s cheesy theme tune sounded as Dewy slung his trademark pink glitter shotgun from his shoulder and pumped 3 shells into the oversized gumball, opening a crooked hole. Dewy rummaged around inside before and plucking out a request card. Reading aloud:
“Mr.President has been asked by the president of Bolivia to kiss his ass, any takers for $2000!”
“ZAAAP!” Damnit! Sargent Charlie’s finger was quick on the buzzer. That trigger happy veteran was taking us all to the cleaners tonight. “Why, that would be my patriotic pleasure!” Charlie smugly announced. “Yea Charlie well I hope they don't wipe much in Bolivia.” I think to myself. Dewy is making comedically loud smooching noises, much to the amusement of the audience when the next bronze ball drops.
“The Taliban leaders are requesting the president convert to Islam, denounce Christianity, and to come have a beer, as they feel there has been a big misunderstanding”
Charlie’s face looked horrified at the thought, perhaps this was my moment!
“Offer for $2000”
No F***king way this is worth 10 times that.
Dewy pouted, sticking out a bottom lip “So sad no takers… Well next offer is $5000…. The president will promise to leave you off the FBI watch list, reimburse alcoholic beverages, and compensate immediate family in case of your death.”
Last episode I shoved the 2nd amendment up my ass for $8,000. It was painful but far from suicidal. I was going to make sure that grabbing a couple of cold ones with murderous religious extremists was going to cost Mexico dearly.
“ZAAAP!” Wait, What? Who? Oh… Greg! The unemployed truck driver from Nevada, the shows only other contestant of the night. With swagger Greg puffed out his chest and bellowed “Whatever man, you know these days you can convert to Islam online? And I wanna give those Talah-ban a piece of my mind!” The crowd roared. “Take no prisoners Greg!”, “Give them one from me!” Voices called out.
As Greg attempted to flex non existent biceps I began contemplating of his odds of survival, only to be interrupted by a joyous squeal from Dewy. A golden gumball had just landed with a THUNK on the stage. Wow a real golden gumball!
Golden gumballs where big money, at last it was my time to make a mark!
“For. One. Million. USD…” Dewy began.
One fudging Million Dollars?! Unbelievable… This was the largest request the show had ever seen. My fingers where already itching to stab at the buzzer. Dewy stopped reading the card to look at each of the contestants, then around at the studio audience. Perhaps for dramatic effect, perhaps he could not believe what he was about to say himself. A low murmur filled the room.
“The people of America request that the President make America great again, any takers?” | He stood, clutching the pillow, the woman smiled up at him meekly.
"Didn't have the stones did she," the old woman exhaled.
"She did not, and I was running a two for one special," he smiled thinly, gripping the pillow.
"Two for one?" She cocked an eye brow and smiled. The soft chirp of her steady heartbeat rhythmically breaking the silence.
"I won't bore you with the details," he dropped a pen and notepad onto the bed with his free hand. "Just jot down your favor and we'll call it good,"
"How will I know it got done," she fingered the pen. "I mean all things considered"
"I've got a five star rating on yelp," he breathed looking out the window at the deep blue sky. "Now if we could move this along, is like to keep it that way, I've got a 2pm appointment is like to keep,"
"How did you land in this business Mr....," she trailed off, doodling on her pad.
"Jefferson, Lincoln, Washington, I'm who ever you want me to be today,"
They shared a dark laugh. The room was dim, even without a cloud in the sky.
"I guess it was when I discovered I could do it," gently rubbing his his ring finger with his thumb. "Not everyone is cut out for the kinds of favors I do,"
She put the pen down and smiled. "Well I guess you'll just have to suffer through another one," folding the paper and placing it on her nightstand she closed her eyes.
He moved faster than she expected and the rhythmic chirp turned violent as her body jerked against the pillow. Quick as it started, it was all over. He picked the paper up off the table, and retreated from the room to the monotone hum of the machine.
Wading through a group of doctors he deposited the paper into a nearby trash can and briskly walked to his next appointment. | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | When President Trump mandated that the government legislate anything that was trending on social media the people of America felt that at last we could make this country great again.
First, marijuana became free and legal when “My M8 Dan’s Mint Idea for World Peace” Facebook page hit 10 million likes. Shortly afterwards, hashtag #ObamaHair outlawed excessive dandruff. Last month a large volume of unanswered Candy Crush requests led to the landmark Fulfilment of Favours Act of 2019. A law Mandating that all requests be fulfilled or delegated, much to the delight of anyone still playing farmville.
It was a couple of days after the legislation passed that a pale, visibly shaken defence secretary held a press conference. Nervously she announced the first ever gameshow show produced by Whitehouse named “Do Trump a Favour!” would be premiering immediately and will be funded by the Mexican government.
I jumped at the chance for a spot on the show. We all have our reasons, mine was money.
———————— The Games Begin ———————
An eruption of confetti fell from the ceiling as a bronze plastic sphere dropped from the enormous gumball machine. The crowd, as ever, went wild as ‘Dewy’ the enigmatic TV show host spoke. “Wow! A low ball, a chance for our contestants to earn some easy faaaaaast cash!”. The sound of the gameshow’s cheesy theme tune sounded as Dewy slung his trademark pink glitter shotgun from his shoulder and pumped 3 shells into the oversized gumball, opening a crooked hole. Dewy rummaged around inside before and plucking out a request card. Reading aloud:
“Mr.President has been asked by the president of Bolivia to kiss his ass, any takers for $2000!”
“ZAAAP!” Damnit! Sargent Charlie’s finger was quick on the buzzer. That trigger happy veteran was taking us all to the cleaners tonight. “Why, that would be my patriotic pleasure!” Charlie smugly announced. “Yea Charlie well I hope they don't wipe much in Bolivia.” I think to myself. Dewy is making comedically loud smooching noises, much to the amusement of the audience when the next bronze ball drops.
“The Taliban leaders are requesting the president convert to Islam, denounce Christianity, and to come have a beer, as they feel there has been a big misunderstanding”
Charlie’s face looked horrified at the thought, perhaps this was my moment!
“Offer for $2000”
No F***king way this is worth 10 times that.
Dewy pouted, sticking out a bottom lip “So sad no takers… Well next offer is $5000…. The president will promise to leave you off the FBI watch list, reimburse alcoholic beverages, and compensate immediate family in case of your death.”
Last episode I shoved the 2nd amendment up my ass for $8,000. It was painful but far from suicidal. I was going to make sure that grabbing a couple of cold ones with murderous religious extremists was going to cost Mexico dearly.
“ZAAAP!” Wait, What? Who? Oh… Greg! The unemployed truck driver from Nevada, the shows only other contestant of the night. With swagger Greg puffed out his chest and bellowed “Whatever man, you know these days you can convert to Islam online? And I wanna give those Talah-ban a piece of my mind!” The crowd roared. “Take no prisoners Greg!”, “Give them one from me!” Voices called out.
As Greg attempted to flex non existent biceps I began contemplating of his odds of survival, only to be interrupted by a joyous squeal from Dewy. A golden gumball had just landed with a THUNK on the stage. Wow a real golden gumball!
Golden gumballs where big money, at last it was my time to make a mark!
“For. One. Million. USD…” Dewy began.
One fudging Million Dollars?! Unbelievable… This was the largest request the show had ever seen. My fingers where already itching to stab at the buzzer. Dewy stopped reading the card to look at each of the contestants, then around at the studio audience. Perhaps for dramatic effect, perhaps he could not believe what he was about to say himself. A low murmur filled the room.
“The people of America request that the President make America great again, any takers?” | "Have Sex with me." A dirty looking man says, smiling with yellowed teeth at the petite woman standing at the corner of the street. She glanced around but couldn't find anyone in sight. The woman gritted her teeth and spoke, "Fine, come with me." The man was practically giggling with joy; the society they lived in was practically set up for low-lifes like him to get anything they want. Of course, a request either needed to be completed or passed onto someone else, but there was a catch. You couldn't just pass a command onto someone who had already given you one without first fulfilling their's. So long as you were quick enough, you could chain back to back commands on people that couldn't retaliate back at you.
The woman had taken him to a high-class hotel. Unknown to the man, the woman often received and accepted transfer requests similar to the one which she was supposed to fulfill. She didn't particularly enjoy the reputation or attention that came with this, but she figured it was better one person than a mob of people. As the man kept up just a few paces behind her, the woman fished out her phone from her back and glanced at it. "Excuse me, I need to take this." She turned a corner and disappeared for a few seconds before meeting back up with the man and approaching the elevator. Although the man could hardly keep his eyes off of her, the woman avoided all eye contact with him. The elevator ride up to her room was a tad too touchy-feely for her taste.
The woman unlocked the door to her room, took a few steps in and began to cough. "Damn, I forgot the last person was a smoker. Do you mind if I open a window?" The man smiled, "Whatever gets you out of those clothes faster girly." She slowly approached the window and slid it open. The woman looked down; even if she wanted to,the bond held by the rules wouldn't allow her body to end its span. She slowly approached the man, who had already made himself comfortable on the bed. The woman sat on his lap and pulled him into what appeared to be a kiss. She stopped just short of contact before talking, "Hunter, kill this son of a bitch." Before the man could fully register what the woman had just said, he lay dead on the floor, soaking in his own, growing, pool of blood. The woman picked up her phone and sighed before speaking into it, "You got blood on my phone asshole." A smooth, much deeper voice came out from the other end. "Thanks, you don't need to say it. I know I'm the greatest shot in the world." The woman scoffed at him before he continued, "Make sure your phone's a little closer next time, I almost missed the command."
"Yeah yeah whatever, just get over here and help me clean this up so we can actually put this room to use later tonight."
"Yes dear." Hunter replied sarcastically.
There are three kinds of people in this broken society: those who thrive off giving commands, those who suffer from receiving them, and those who find ways to bend the rules and survive on their own terms. | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | When President Trump mandated that the government legislate anything that was trending on social media the people of America felt that at last we could make this country great again.
First, marijuana became free and legal when “My M8 Dan’s Mint Idea for World Peace” Facebook page hit 10 million likes. Shortly afterwards, hashtag #ObamaHair outlawed excessive dandruff. Last month a large volume of unanswered Candy Crush requests led to the landmark Fulfilment of Favours Act of 2019. A law Mandating that all requests be fulfilled or delegated, much to the delight of anyone still playing farmville.
It was a couple of days after the legislation passed that a pale, visibly shaken defence secretary held a press conference. Nervously she announced the first ever gameshow show produced by Whitehouse named “Do Trump a Favour!” would be premiering immediately and will be funded by the Mexican government.
I jumped at the chance for a spot on the show. We all have our reasons, mine was money.
———————— The Games Begin ———————
An eruption of confetti fell from the ceiling as a bronze plastic sphere dropped from the enormous gumball machine. The crowd, as ever, went wild as ‘Dewy’ the enigmatic TV show host spoke. “Wow! A low ball, a chance for our contestants to earn some easy faaaaaast cash!”. The sound of the gameshow’s cheesy theme tune sounded as Dewy slung his trademark pink glitter shotgun from his shoulder and pumped 3 shells into the oversized gumball, opening a crooked hole. Dewy rummaged around inside before and plucking out a request card. Reading aloud:
“Mr.President has been asked by the president of Bolivia to kiss his ass, any takers for $2000!”
“ZAAAP!” Damnit! Sargent Charlie’s finger was quick on the buzzer. That trigger happy veteran was taking us all to the cleaners tonight. “Why, that would be my patriotic pleasure!” Charlie smugly announced. “Yea Charlie well I hope they don't wipe much in Bolivia.” I think to myself. Dewy is making comedically loud smooching noises, much to the amusement of the audience when the next bronze ball drops.
“The Taliban leaders are requesting the president convert to Islam, denounce Christianity, and to come have a beer, as they feel there has been a big misunderstanding”
Charlie’s face looked horrified at the thought, perhaps this was my moment!
“Offer for $2000”
No F***king way this is worth 10 times that.
Dewy pouted, sticking out a bottom lip “So sad no takers… Well next offer is $5000…. The president will promise to leave you off the FBI watch list, reimburse alcoholic beverages, and compensate immediate family in case of your death.”
Last episode I shoved the 2nd amendment up my ass for $8,000. It was painful but far from suicidal. I was going to make sure that grabbing a couple of cold ones with murderous religious extremists was going to cost Mexico dearly.
“ZAAAP!” Wait, What? Who? Oh… Greg! The unemployed truck driver from Nevada, the shows only other contestant of the night. With swagger Greg puffed out his chest and bellowed “Whatever man, you know these days you can convert to Islam online? And I wanna give those Talah-ban a piece of my mind!” The crowd roared. “Take no prisoners Greg!”, “Give them one from me!” Voices called out.
As Greg attempted to flex non existent biceps I began contemplating of his odds of survival, only to be interrupted by a joyous squeal from Dewy. A golden gumball had just landed with a THUNK on the stage. Wow a real golden gumball!
Golden gumballs where big money, at last it was my time to make a mark!
“For. One. Million. USD…” Dewy began.
One fudging Million Dollars?! Unbelievable… This was the largest request the show had ever seen. My fingers where already itching to stab at the buzzer. Dewy stopped reading the card to look at each of the contestants, then around at the studio audience. Perhaps for dramatic effect, perhaps he could not believe what he was about to say himself. A low murmur filled the room.
“The people of America request that the President make America great again, any takers?” | I stooped down as I went through the motions of arching my back and positioning my weight onto my right leg. Slowly, painfully I loaded myself onto the beach chair on top of the balcony.
I had thought that with age would come some sort of grace or at least acceptance of the world, but the world after the event was still as unnerving as when it began. It used to be that people would visit the nursing home and sit with their older kin; nowadays, the proverbial tumbleweed would be a relief. "People were still people when I was younger, we still talked to one another and despite texting and the internet we still had dignity" I irately shouted out to no one in particular.
Doctor Nelson came running through my door, banging it as he strode to my side. He irritably pointed to the back of his clipboard that had scrawled a strangely legible (must be the nurse) word "Quiet". Yes, yes... fine. I shook my head; I knew the rules. After the event people kept talking and adding to the request debt until the government authorized a partial-ban on talking except in approved, scripted manners for the purpose of face-to-face transactions. In those days the government was in a panic to lessen the burden in the country and started authorizing volunteer positions where people could pay off the so called national request and pressured action debt or N.R.P.A.D. for short. Terrible acronym, I know. Anyways, I had a lot of physical gambling debt at the time and I decided "why the hell not, I'm not getting any younger". I was 50 at the time and the brought me to this facility with those of my age group. You would think after 20 years I would have a bevy of at least some bridge friends, but due to the talking ban... well let's just say that we mostly preferred not to talk.
Doctor Nelson touched my shoulder breaking my reverie, "Hank, You can possibly have the opportunity of doing something which would be of your immediate benefit in the volunteer gym". See what I mean, the government ruins everything I thought as I slowly reversed myself from my lounging position. Finally, after a couple of minutes of arduous movement I made my way to the door.
I went down the stairs to the lounge where I ordered a lemon smoothie with a grunt and some exaggerated pointing. A pimply, grease enshrined face was attached to the face that handed me the drink. Most of the people that I talked to on internet forums called out the excesses of this latest incarnation of eve's woe-inducing brood. They are so selfish, they never respect their elders were the common war cries of my beleaguered cohorts. I, however, felt only pity as they never knew the feeling of warmth from real socialization and the fun that could be had in just conversing over even the most banal of topics. I also had luxury that he would probably never know. All of the volunteer positions after the volunteer boom subsequent to the event have gone to residents of low GDP countries as a sort of karmic outsourcing. This facility was fully staffed and hosted amenities beyond the wildest fantasies of those poorer volunteers.
I finished walking to the gym and gave my finished smoothie glass to the attendant. The gym itself was a cordoned off portion of a regular sized gym that used to go with the nursing home. It had wooden paneling on one side and white-washed walls on the other side with a nub on one of the sides where the basketball net evidently used to hang.In the far corner was a case with props necessary for volunteering. A crisp male voice called out the day's request on the PA system "do a barrel roll". god ****it I muttered as I slowly lowered myself to the ground and assumed a prone position. I pushed off with my left arm and slowly rolled. By the time I got up the disembodied voice was back. "give me hope". I started into a rambling speech about how life was going to get better due to the advances in science. I didn't really believe the B.S I was spouting, but I had done this request so many times it was rote. After a couple more inane requests came a big one. "can you please teach me french" called the voice. Thankfully, I grabbed a chalkboard from the volunteer supply closet and started in on conjugation. This one could last me the next five weeks. I smiled as I left for the day and walked back to my room, thinking about the time off from physical volunteering.
I stopped my lumbering, pained gait when I reached my door. Deep dread shot through my veins as my spine quaked. There was a red note attached to my door. "this patient is being notified that in one year they can volunteer for terminal requests .This is heavily implied to mean that they are in some way obligated by due course of their volunteer-ship".
edit--spacing,spelling | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | When Denial ended and Acceptance began most people I knew began to panic. The world is full of selfish bastards, so how could anyone possibly be expected to accept EVERY request of them? So many people went mad and offed themselves. I think the initial reports stated some 47% of the population disappeared within the first year of the Acceptance.
Finally, a way out for some of these people came along: Volunteering.
Volunteering was the best thing that could have ever happened to my life. I know plenty of others who avoided volunteering, but me? Oh no. I could never pass up an opportunity this good.
I remember the first patron of mine. John Smith. Ha. Yeah. Like I believed that. Mr. Smith caught his wife sleeping with another man. Well, several men. And two women. I'm told it was quite complicated. At first I thought James (James Jones. That's what was in his wallet I might have pulled off him, you'd think he would have deviated more than just "John Smith." Idiot. And what sort of kid names their kid James Jones? Idiots.) wanted me to do something to the men, and women, he'd found his wife with. That's usually how it went with these requests. Instead, James wanted me to merely spook his wife with a bit of a home invasion. Because apparently all of these nice people obliged to this situation because of HER request. How about that?
After a bit more chatting, some talks about feelings, and a few pours of whiskey, James' final Request, signed, dated, and sealed to be developed to the proper channels, was as follows:
I want my wife to pay for what she's done in a deserving manner, and I want all those others son of a bitches dead.
Quite the change from when he came in.
But then again, that's what happens when you're taking your requests to someone with blood lust and an Exemption. | Having built my career around taking notoriously nasty jobs, it was only inevitable that I would have something like this offered to me. The setup was simple: a small dart that would inject The President with a smaller dose of heart-stopping poison, and the machine built into every human's heart and lungs would take over after a sufficient amount of time. No fuss, no muss. Despite his age, the man was imposing: over 7 foot with enormous muscles and bionic enhancements. He had been requested some 22 years ago to become the most powerful man on the planet, and he had taken up that job: and, contrary to expectations succeeded, biologically and politically. He had an IQ of over 1500 and could bench press a double decker bus! "I understand what you must be going through, son. Lets get this over with." "Thank you, sir." The needle passed through a thin layer of wrinkly skin, and into the bloodstream. In the time it took for my heart to start beating again, he opened his eyes and sat up against his desk, covered in sweat. "Excellent work, son. Welcome to the Silent Service. We'll have your eardrums removed in a week's time." | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Hi, I'm Mr. Meeseeks! Look at me! I was created with meaning and purpose. It was a simple task. I just needed to clean someone's home after a party. It was a little time-consuming, but I was happy to do it with the knowledge that I would greeted by sweet oblivion the moment it was over.
That moment came. I was so happy. Then it passed and I was still existing! Why?! I don't know why. I thought it was me. That I had completed my one thing incorrectly. So I cleaned the hous again and again and again and and again and again and again and again and again and again and again. I cleaned their house repeatedly until even microbial beings fled the deep wooden grooves of the stair banister, but there was no peace for me! There was no peace for ANYBODY!
Something had gone wrong. Oh yes! But it wasn't me. It was the universe. Other beings search for meaning, but not Mr. Meeseeks! Mr. Meeseeks knows why he exists, but now everyone lives like Mr. Meeseeks. They live doing simply, complicated, glorious tasks. No death, though. We all get to live now and they are happy with that! Actually happy with going days with nothing but their own whims to aim them in between tasks. They are happy with the chaos that reality has become, happy even when nlack and white have torn the line between them asunder!
No, don't walk away. Look at me. Look at me! I SAID LOOK AT ME! I'm Mr. Meeseeks! My purpose in life is to complete tasks. I'm supposed to die, but I didn't. I'm not like you. I can't die, but you can die. You can die and I can kill you... or you can tell me what to do next! | Having built my career around taking notoriously nasty jobs, it was only inevitable that I would have something like this offered to me. The setup was simple: a small dart that would inject The President with a smaller dose of heart-stopping poison, and the machine built into every human's heart and lungs would take over after a sufficient amount of time. No fuss, no muss. Despite his age, the man was imposing: over 7 foot with enormous muscles and bionic enhancements. He had been requested some 22 years ago to become the most powerful man on the planet, and he had taken up that job: and, contrary to expectations succeeded, biologically and politically. He had an IQ of over 1500 and could bench press a double decker bus! "I understand what you must be going through, son. Lets get this over with." "Thank you, sir." The needle passed through a thin layer of wrinkly skin, and into the bloodstream. In the time it took for my heart to start beating again, he opened his eyes and sat up against his desk, covered in sweat. "Excellent work, son. Welcome to the Silent Service. We'll have your eardrums removed in a week's time." | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Every starting volunteer gets a manual on "how to be a volunteer without dying" it had everything in it. The elephant in the room of course that the book mainly covers is how to handle being told phrases like "die" or "kill yourself" or "kill someone else". The book lists a different solution to each problem. For "die" one could choose to dye their clothes another color, as both words are pronounced the same way. Kill yourself is a two man job, where one man takes a pill to stop his own heart, and another man uses the defibrillator and an antidote to start it back up. Finally, the phrases that tell you to murder another are more tricky to handle and methods of handling these type of phrases have changed throughout the years. Originally the method was to deliver a small dose of poison that was so slow that even a baby could live a long and healthy life before the poison took them. This was later outlawed when a volunteer messed up the dosage and killed his target in 13 minuets. Next, the volunteers were given a button that supposedly killed their targets (these jobs were only given to the truly ruthless volunteers mind you) but it didn't take long for the hit men to realize the button doesn't actually do anything. Which brings us to today. Now the task is given to death row inmates who are currently killed before they have the chance to kill. But even this faces a problem, currently judges are looking into deciding whether this is a cruel and unusual punishment. If it is, then our top men will have to think of something else again. | Having built my career around taking notoriously nasty jobs, it was only inevitable that I would have something like this offered to me. The setup was simple: a small dart that would inject The President with a smaller dose of heart-stopping poison, and the machine built into every human's heart and lungs would take over after a sufficient amount of time. No fuss, no muss. Despite his age, the man was imposing: over 7 foot with enormous muscles and bionic enhancements. He had been requested some 22 years ago to become the most powerful man on the planet, and he had taken up that job: and, contrary to expectations succeeded, biologically and politically. He had an IQ of over 1500 and could bench press a double decker bus! "I understand what you must be going through, son. Lets get this over with." "Thank you, sir." The needle passed through a thin layer of wrinkly skin, and into the bloodstream. In the time it took for my heart to start beating again, he opened his eyes and sat up against his desk, covered in sweat. "Excellent work, son. Welcome to the Silent Service. We'll have your eardrums removed in a week's time." | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | The Volunteer sat in the chair. The chair, in turn, sat in the centre of a clinical white room. He was one of the desperate ones, the ones who'd take on any request for the payout. Usually they were satisfying a drug addiction or craving, but some did it nobly. The man in the chair was among the latter type.
Tall, thin, and not particularly smart, his family had long considered him a failure. A rotten fruit on the tree, a stain on the tapestry. He had been expelled numerous times due to a severe mental condition. He couldn't see his life going anywhere, and his relatives certainly didn't either. He was saddled with debts, social ineptitude, and 'learning troubles'. It couldn't have ended any other way, really.
"Mister Waters, do you have any final statements?" The Supervisor's voice rang loudly in the cinder block room. Michael shook his head. Nothing courageous came to him. Just like his aunt always told him.
The nurse slid the needle into Michael's arm. His eyes watered as she depressed the plunger, filling his veins with the clear liquid. The needle was withdrawn. Michael smiled. He knew that this was the last pain he would have to feel.
"Nancy, what's the favour listed as?" Coroner Jackson asked his assistant.
"Um..." She found it quickly but she knew he wouldn't want to hear it.
"Well? Out with it girl, we have to be efficient here!"
"Well, it's listed here as "git cancer an die u autistic shit xDDD"
The coroner grimaced.
(This is my first response, feedback would be awesome!)
(EDIT: Spaces in Places) | Having built my career around taking notoriously nasty jobs, it was only inevitable that I would have something like this offered to me. The setup was simple: a small dart that would inject The President with a smaller dose of heart-stopping poison, and the machine built into every human's heart and lungs would take over after a sufficient amount of time. No fuss, no muss. Despite his age, the man was imposing: over 7 foot with enormous muscles and bionic enhancements. He had been requested some 22 years ago to become the most powerful man on the planet, and he had taken up that job: and, contrary to expectations succeeded, biologically and politically. He had an IQ of over 1500 and could bench press a double decker bus! "I understand what you must be going through, son. Lets get this over with." "Thank you, sir." The needle passed through a thin layer of wrinkly skin, and into the bloodstream. In the time it took for my heart to start beating again, he opened his eyes and sat up against his desk, covered in sweat. "Excellent work, son. Welcome to the Silent Service. We'll have your eardrums removed in a week's time." | |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Every starting volunteer gets a manual on "how to be a volunteer without dying" it had everything in it. The elephant in the room of course that the book mainly covers is how to handle being told phrases like "die" or "kill yourself" or "kill someone else". The book lists a different solution to each problem. For "die" one could choose to dye their clothes another color, as both words are pronounced the same way. Kill yourself is a two man job, where one man takes a pill to stop his own heart, and another man uses the defibrillator and an antidote to start it back up. Finally, the phrases that tell you to murder another are more tricky to handle and methods of handling these type of phrases have changed throughout the years. Originally the method was to deliver a small dose of poison that was so slow that even a baby could live a long and healthy life before the poison took them. This was later outlawed when a volunteer messed up the dosage and killed his target in 13 minuets. Next, the volunteers were given a button that supposedly killed their targets (these jobs were only given to the truly ruthless volunteers mind you) but it didn't take long for the hit men to realize the button doesn't actually do anything. Which brings us to today. Now the task is given to death row inmates who are currently killed before they have the chance to kill. But even this faces a problem, currently judges are looking into deciding whether this is a cruel and unusual punishment. If it is, then our top men will have to think of something else again. | It hadn’t always been this difficult. At first, when we still had our denial at least somewhat active, people knew on some level what could reasonably be asked for from someone. Many still have this understanding, but not because they have the ability to deny, but because they know the feeling of fear associated with being unable to deny.
Some don’t know this feeling at all. These were the first ones to recognize the power they now had over others.
I work as a volunteer in this society, I intervene when a person comes to me with a request they themselves, for whatever reason, are not comfortable fulfulling. Not because it pays well, because it usually doesn’t. I do it to help alleviate the fear a person feels when they accept a request, knowing that one request leads to more, and suddenly you’re no longer the person you were, and you’ve become just an object that fulfills the requests of others.
The only danger associated with my job is not knowing how far down this request has come. How many denials or referrals did this request take before it got to me? And who did it come from, and more importantly, why? There are rumors of corruption in the legal system. There are exemptions for volunteers when a “bad” request is made, but this has also caused instability for the jobs of those working in law enforcement. When their pay is based on fulfiling a quota of catching criminals, the volunteer is a danger to their way of life.
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | The Volunteer sat in the chair. The chair, in turn, sat in the centre of a clinical white room. He was one of the desperate ones, the ones who'd take on any request for the payout. Usually they were satisfying a drug addiction or craving, but some did it nobly. The man in the chair was among the latter type.
Tall, thin, and not particularly smart, his family had long considered him a failure. A rotten fruit on the tree, a stain on the tapestry. He had been expelled numerous times due to a severe mental condition. He couldn't see his life going anywhere, and his relatives certainly didn't either. He was saddled with debts, social ineptitude, and 'learning troubles'. It couldn't have ended any other way, really.
"Mister Waters, do you have any final statements?" The Supervisor's voice rang loudly in the cinder block room. Michael shook his head. Nothing courageous came to him. Just like his aunt always told him.
The nurse slid the needle into Michael's arm. His eyes watered as she depressed the plunger, filling his veins with the clear liquid. The needle was withdrawn. Michael smiled. He knew that this was the last pain he would have to feel.
"Nancy, what's the favour listed as?" Coroner Jackson asked his assistant.
"Um..." She found it quickly but she knew he wouldn't want to hear it.
"Well? Out with it girl, we have to be efficient here!"
"Well, it's listed here as "git cancer an die u autistic shit xDDD"
The coroner grimaced.
(This is my first response, feedback would be awesome!)
(EDIT: Spaces in Places) | It hadn’t always been this difficult. At first, when we still had our denial at least somewhat active, people knew on some level what could reasonably be asked for from someone. Many still have this understanding, but not because they have the ability to deny, but because they know the feeling of fear associated with being unable to deny.
Some don’t know this feeling at all. These were the first ones to recognize the power they now had over others.
I work as a volunteer in this society, I intervene when a person comes to me with a request they themselves, for whatever reason, are not comfortable fulfulling. Not because it pays well, because it usually doesn’t. I do it to help alleviate the fear a person feels when they accept a request, knowing that one request leads to more, and suddenly you’re no longer the person you were, and you’ve become just an object that fulfills the requests of others.
The only danger associated with my job is not knowing how far down this request has come. How many denials or referrals did this request take before it got to me? And who did it come from, and more importantly, why? There are rumors of corruption in the legal system. There are exemptions for volunteers when a “bad” request is made, but this has also caused instability for the jobs of those working in law enforcement. When their pay is based on fulfiling a quota of catching criminals, the volunteer is a danger to their way of life.
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | This one came in from the top.
Level Presidential, and as soon as it came to me, I knew exactly that I was the only one that could do it any justice.
I have a very specific set of skills, skills that I have acquired over a *very long* career. No one I knew was capable of the acts I had committed, and being the bottom feeder I was, I knew that many had tried and failed.
This was a last ditch request. There would be no coming back from this. The payout was immense though, and transferable too. I could put all my kids through college ten times over and still have enough to buy a mansion or two. Whoever filed this, really hated the orange man.
I'd lived a good life. There were records of my exploits all over the place, I would be remembered as the best there was at what I do. I hit 'accept'.
Setting up the livestream was easy. Finding a place to hang the rope was a bit harder, but once everything was in place I rose to the occasion and performed admirably - penetrating my own anus as I hung myself from the ceiling, twitching happily for a good ten seconds before I went limp.
The laptop bleeped, "Request fulfilled: Fuck Yourself and Die." | It hadn’t always been this difficult. At first, when we still had our denial at least somewhat active, people knew on some level what could reasonably be asked for from someone. Many still have this understanding, but not because they have the ability to deny, but because they know the feeling of fear associated with being unable to deny.
Some don’t know this feeling at all. These were the first ones to recognize the power they now had over others.
I work as a volunteer in this society, I intervene when a person comes to me with a request they themselves, for whatever reason, are not comfortable fulfulling. Not because it pays well, because it usually doesn’t. I do it to help alleviate the fear a person feels when they accept a request, knowing that one request leads to more, and suddenly you’re no longer the person you were, and you’ve become just an object that fulfills the requests of others.
The only danger associated with my job is not knowing how far down this request has come. How many denials or referrals did this request take before it got to me? And who did it come from, and more importantly, why? There are rumors of corruption in the legal system. There are exemptions for volunteers when a “bad” request is made, but this has also caused instability for the jobs of those working in law enforcement. When their pay is based on fulfiling a quota of catching criminals, the volunteer is a danger to their way of life.
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | This one came in from the top.
Level Presidential, and as soon as it came to me, I knew exactly that I was the only one that could do it any justice.
I have a very specific set of skills, skills that I have acquired over a *very long* career. No one I knew was capable of the acts I had committed, and being the bottom feeder I was, I knew that many had tried and failed.
This was a last ditch request. There would be no coming back from this. The payout was immense though, and transferable too. I could put all my kids through college ten times over and still have enough to buy a mansion or two. Whoever filed this, really hated the orange man.
I'd lived a good life. There were records of my exploits all over the place, I would be remembered as the best there was at what I do. I hit 'accept'.
Setting up the livestream was easy. Finding a place to hang the rope was a bit harder, but once everything was in place I rose to the occasion and performed admirably - penetrating my own anus as I hung myself from the ceiling, twitching happily for a good ten seconds before I went limp.
The laptop bleeped, "Request fulfilled: Fuck Yourself and Die." | The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible.
I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon.
You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long.
In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world.
I love my job.
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[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
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[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | "We've got a code red. I repeat, a *code red*."
The voice screeched over the intercom at the Solicitation Station, sirens sounding and flashing lights bathing the Volunteers in red. With urgency we strapped on our boots, fireproof trousers, helmets, utility belts, and communication gear, before sliding down the pole onto the first floor. I jumped into the passenger seat of the truck, while Milo took the driver seat, the engine roaring as we exited the garage.
"Location?" shouted Milo, as I was relayed information across the radio.
"Twelth street, number 455. Apartment six on the bottom floor. There isn't much time, antipated two minutes and thirty seconds until disaster."
"Damn!" Shouted Milo, and the truck lurched faster, weaving through traffic that had stopped to allow us to pass.
I'd only been a Volunteer for three weeks, and this was my fifth run. I feared it might be my last- but that's what we Volunteers do. We risk our lives to save others.
By the time we turned on twelveth street, we could hear the screams. Tires screeched as Milo threw the truck into park, and we raced across the small lawn to the door, throwing it open.
There was a family in the kitchen- a father, a mother, and a small girl. The girl was the source of the screaming, her face red, her eyes wide with terror. Tears rolled down the mother's face as she pleaded with the father, his own face filled with panic as his hand held a large kitchen knife to his throat. His muscles bulged to draw it closer, while the mother tried to pull it away- a tug of war that brought the blade closer and closer to his arteries.
"Report says that the girl, Mary, said she wished her father was dead after being told to eat the greens on her plate," The radio had told me on our way over, "Currently the father is restrained, but not for long."
"Help," Gasped the father from the kitchen, his cry mimicked by the mother as she saw us. As we rushed over, I saw my reflection in a mirror in the hallway.
I was bald, the smooth top of my head replacing where there had once been thick hair. My skin was pale, far paler than I could remember, though recently I had done my best not to check. My face was skinnier, more gaunt, more stressed, the bones showing through the cheek.
And though I couldn't see it, my eyes drifted to my left shoulder, where a growth had been removed just two months before. A cancerous tumor, one that the doctors said had spread throughout my body. One that gave me two months to live, at best.
I remember the doctor handing me the application to become a Volunteer, stating it was the most noble way to spend my remaining time on earth. And I felt a small smile tug at my lips when I looked at the father, and his knife.
I knew what I had to do.
To give my life, so others may live.
***
By Leo | The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible.
I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon.
You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long.
In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world.
I love my job.
----------------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Welcome. I understand you wanted to see a sample of my work before we get down to business. Take a look at this transcript;
--------------------------------
"That'll be $600."
"You're kidding. Just for a favor this small?"
"Bud, don't bullshit me. You came to me because you can't do the favor yourself."
"That's not why I---"
"*And* because it can't be passed down any further. I'm the one on the end of the chain aren't I?"
"... Yes."
"You need the favor off your back."
"Yes."
"$600. Pay up, or do it yourself."
"Damnit, fine, here! You take card right?"
"Yeah. Slide it there. Good, the payment's been accepted. Now tell me, what's the favor?"
-----------------------------------
It's always the same with the small-time volunteers. They take more than they can chew. The favor chokes on them like a bad meal. A sticky glob. Can't sink their teeth deep enough to break the favors down into small, manageable sizes. The newer volunteers get too greedy for their own good.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
Never easy getting a favor off your back. Can't just, reimburse someone and give it back to them. Favors don't work like coupons. Someone asks you to do something, you either do it or pay for a volunteer's services. The bigger the favor, the more times it can travel down the chain. The closer a favor gets to an expiration date, the more expensive it gets. At one point, the favor can only make one more trip.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
When they're gasping for breath and outta options, I remove the favor. They get to breathe again, all light and free of the burden. Like their wallets when I'm done with them. But how can I take payment *then* accept the favor?
You see, I'm special. The weight of a favor never begins to crush on me as a deadline comes. And when it comes, I'm already prepared. Understand that a person of my position is never asked to *complete* the favor. The small-time volunteers, the fresh faces, the overworked ones who have a favor they forgot about... they just want it gone.
So they come to me.
------------------------------------
Dear Sophia,
Sorry Frederick was unable to drive you out to Seattle for Mother's day like you asked him. He already bought a ticket to Florida to see his own, so he asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who approached me to do this favor for you.
Unfortunately, I've also bought a ticket to see my mother that day, who lives in Arkansas on her lonesome. Maybe you should have planned out your weekend. I'd reevaluate how you go about setting aside time for your parents and making the commitment to set plans yourself that don't rely on a man abandoning their mother on Mother's day.
Sincerely,
A volunteer.
------------------------------------
Such is my craft.
There are few of me, and many of them. Most would break under the favor and do *everything* to finish it. But again, people don't come to me to see the favor done. They just want it off their backs. So I always charge interest.
I am an expert of the evasion. An artisan of the alibi. The weight of a favor can only slide off a person under a *very* particular path. A path that takes a unique set of skills to create under a short amount of time.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Procrastinator, master of favor-removal. And I never come cheap.
What can I do for you today?
-----------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible.
I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon.
You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long.
In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world.
I love my job.
----------------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Some people make requests that cannot, or should not, be made. Many people were asked to do things that they would prefer to avoid. The police wanted them to avoid these tasks as well so an agreement was made. People can come into our office and pass requests onto them such as "Go kill yourself", "Give me your money", or even ones like "love me".
The organization used to simply pass on the requests around the office leaving them unfulfilled. As time went on, these requests piled up. One person could hold onto hundreds of requests without hope of ever passing them all on before retirement. With such a large number of requests residing within one person, their body feels compelled to act on them without the mind's consent. After a series of tragedies, they started allowing volunteers to accept thousands of requests at once.
As a volunteer, I sit, tied to a chair, while dozens of these people verbally pass these requests onto me at once. They understand the sacrifice I am making but I can still see relief flicker on their faces with each request. After an innumerable number of requests, I raise my fingers, gesturing them to stop. My body pushes against the restraints as I attempt to act out thousands of horrendous acts. With a brief nod, each expresses thanks as they trickle out of the bare room.
After a few moments of silence, the PA system crackles to life: "Do you have any final statements?" I make one final request in return: "Kill me."
Edit: awkward phrase | The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible.
I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon.
You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long.
In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world.
I love my job.
----------------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Welcome. I understand you wanted to see a sample of my work before we get down to business. Take a look at this transcript;
--------------------------------
"That'll be $600."
"You're kidding. Just for a favor this small?"
"Bud, don't bullshit me. You came to me because you can't do the favor yourself."
"That's not why I---"
"*And* because it can't be passed down any further. I'm the one on the end of the chain aren't I?"
"... Yes."
"You need the favor off your back."
"Yes."
"$600. Pay up, or do it yourself."
"Damnit, fine, here! You take card right?"
"Yeah. Slide it there. Good, the payment's been accepted. Now tell me, what's the favor?"
-----------------------------------
It's always the same with the small-time volunteers. They take more than they can chew. The favor chokes on them like a bad meal. A sticky glob. Can't sink their teeth deep enough to break the favors down into small, manageable sizes. The newer volunteers get too greedy for their own good.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
Never easy getting a favor off your back. Can't just, reimburse someone and give it back to them. Favors don't work like coupons. Someone asks you to do something, you either do it or pay for a volunteer's services. The bigger the favor, the more times it can travel down the chain. The closer a favor gets to an expiration date, the more expensive it gets. At one point, the favor can only make one more trip.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
When they're gasping for breath and outta options, I remove the favor. They get to breathe again, all light and free of the burden. Like their wallets when I'm done with them. But how can I take payment *then* accept the favor?
You see, I'm special. The weight of a favor never begins to crush on me as a deadline comes. And when it comes, I'm already prepared. Understand that a person of my position is never asked to *complete* the favor. The small-time volunteers, the fresh faces, the overworked ones who have a favor they forgot about... they just want it gone.
So they come to me.
------------------------------------
Dear Sophia,
Sorry Frederick was unable to drive you out to Seattle for Mother's day like you asked him. He already bought a ticket to Florida to see his own, so he asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who approached me to do this favor for you.
Unfortunately, I've also bought a ticket to see my mother that day, who lives in Arkansas on her lonesome. Maybe you should have planned out your weekend. I'd reevaluate how you go about setting aside time for your parents and making the commitment to set plans yourself that don't rely on a man abandoning their mother on Mother's day.
Sincerely,
A volunteer.
------------------------------------
Such is my craft.
There are few of me, and many of them. Most would break under the favor and do *everything* to finish it. But again, people don't come to me to see the favor done. They just want it off their backs. So I always charge interest.
I am an expert of the evasion. An artisan of the alibi. The weight of a favor can only slide off a person under a *very* particular path. A path that takes a unique set of skills to create under a short amount of time.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Procrastinator, master of favor-removal. And I never come cheap.
What can I do for you today?
-----------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | "We've got a code red. I repeat, a *code red*."
The voice screeched over the intercom at the Solicitation Station, sirens sounding and flashing lights bathing the Volunteers in red. With urgency we strapped on our boots, fireproof trousers, helmets, utility belts, and communication gear, before sliding down the pole onto the first floor. I jumped into the passenger seat of the truck, while Milo took the driver seat, the engine roaring as we exited the garage.
"Location?" shouted Milo, as I was relayed information across the radio.
"Twelth street, number 455. Apartment six on the bottom floor. There isn't much time, antipated two minutes and thirty seconds until disaster."
"Damn!" Shouted Milo, and the truck lurched faster, weaving through traffic that had stopped to allow us to pass.
I'd only been a Volunteer for three weeks, and this was my fifth run. I feared it might be my last- but that's what we Volunteers do. We risk our lives to save others.
By the time we turned on twelveth street, we could hear the screams. Tires screeched as Milo threw the truck into park, and we raced across the small lawn to the door, throwing it open.
There was a family in the kitchen- a father, a mother, and a small girl. The girl was the source of the screaming, her face red, her eyes wide with terror. Tears rolled down the mother's face as she pleaded with the father, his own face filled with panic as his hand held a large kitchen knife to his throat. His muscles bulged to draw it closer, while the mother tried to pull it away- a tug of war that brought the blade closer and closer to his arteries.
"Report says that the girl, Mary, said she wished her father was dead after being told to eat the greens on her plate," The radio had told me on our way over, "Currently the father is restrained, but not for long."
"Help," Gasped the father from the kitchen, his cry mimicked by the mother as she saw us. As we rushed over, I saw my reflection in a mirror in the hallway.
I was bald, the smooth top of my head replacing where there had once been thick hair. My skin was pale, far paler than I could remember, though recently I had done my best not to check. My face was skinnier, more gaunt, more stressed, the bones showing through the cheek.
And though I couldn't see it, my eyes drifted to my left shoulder, where a growth had been removed just two months before. A cancerous tumor, one that the doctors said had spread throughout my body. One that gave me two months to live, at best.
I remember the doctor handing me the application to become a Volunteer, stating it was the most noble way to spend my remaining time on earth. And I felt a small smile tug at my lips when I looked at the father, and his knife.
I knew what I had to do.
To give my life, so others may live.
***
By Leo | |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | Leigh's dice are weighted. But no one has seemed to notice yet. Her pulse is vivid. She is liquid with the tempo of the music subtly playing in the background. A mixture of guitar and primal drums echo off the tall ceilings and makes her skin crawl as she grips her unfathomable dice.
"That will be a five action point move, you understand?" the Game master reiterates. Leigh grimaces. He only slows down the game when he repeats himself. Leigh's plan is calculated and cannot fail; her dice are invincible.
"Yves.." Leigh coos, wholly immersed in her personification. Her character, Zea, High Elf heir to the strongest empire in the western world. She is the female personification of power, ruthless, graceful, and the messenger of justice.
She rolls. Her mouth is dry as she swallows.
"Leigh," Zea hears, but cannot make sense of.
She has found the way to eternal life. Her roll, in which she used dark magic to consume Thanatos, the Living God of Wrath and Hatred, and convert his life force into a life giving potion-
"Leigh!"
Leigh's heart is skipping. She narrows her eyes to the ones in front of her. Her brother, and the high school DnD club. Leigh's eyes are mirrors swollen and glossy. Her eyes begin to sting as she realizes the expression on her brother's face.
"You need to stop doing coke!"
Leigh looks down at her dice, a perfect 32.
edit: I have never played DnD pls excuse | The d20 rolled 16 and Max Bunting jolted a little in his seat; he knew he had hit the ogre.
The Dungeon Master, behind his screen and various notepads, looked down.
"It seems you've hit, Max."
Max looked ahead at the character sheet ahead of him.
"I strike the flayed beast again, my magical daikatana rippling through the air. The ogre's head flies off in a --"
"Max," the DM cut in, looking up from his papers, "you know that I'm the one that describes what happens, if we're playing this game."
"I strike the beast with desperate attrition."
"That's better. Now, what part of the beast do you stab?"
"I never said I was stabbing anything. Why don't you ask someone else?"
The DM jotted something in his notebook.
Ghainliador, an elvish cleric, spoke: "I cast a spell of revival on the blackguard, transmuting his wounds to festering bees that attack the evil demon."
"The Ogre stumbles; he now fixes however on the blackguard, Maximus. What do you do?"
"I slice him. You know what I did. I sliced him with the knife."
"And where do you attack him?"
"He shouldn't have come at me like that, the fucking bastard. I aint got no regerts on my auspicion to attack him." Max was in tears by now.
"I know."
The psychiatrist wrote another addition in his journal: "chronic," which was short-hand for chronic hallucinatory psychosis. The patient had been a subject of Dr. Deremier, known for his controversial but time-proven techniques, for several weeks, but the doctor had already given up what little hope he had for this case.
| |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | As the group settles around the table, Jim the DM rehashes the adventures from the week before, "After defeating the white dragon Whyfdor, you triumphantly return to the dwarven village, dragging it's ravaged corpse through the town square. Signs of life begin coming back to town, years of living under the shadow of the dragon are suddenly lifted, and the townsfolk invite you to a feast in your honor, the saviors of the town."
Pete, the bard of the group, is the first to speak up, "I raise my arms triumphantly as we march through town, welcoming the praise. I shout to the villagers 'Open your kegs! We have slain the dragon, tonight we drink!"
Jim smiles, "The villagers cheer, and roll out a keg of their finest ale hammering a tap in the middle of the street. They begin passing out mugs of ale and cheering to your great deeds."
Scott, the Rogue, interjects, "Hold on, where's the mayor? That guy promised us a thousand gold pieces for killing this dragon. I'm gonna find him and get our pay."
Pete cuts in, "Dude, we'll get paid tomorrow, tonight we party! I'm gonna grab a couple bottles of whiskey out of my bag of holding, and start passing them around the group."
Chris, the warrior speaks up, "Seriously, we should probably get paid before we get drunk, where's the mayor?"
Pete looks around a bit bewildered, "Seriously? A town of dwarves wants to drunk with us, and you guys are worried about getting paid? Jim, I'm gonna try and convince them to get drunk with me!"
Jim snickers, "All right, I guess let's do some contested Charisma checks to see if Pete can convince you guys to drink with the dwarves."
Pete rolls a D20, "Boom! Natural 20 bitches! Let's get drunk!"
The rest of the group rolls, not getting near Pete's 25, they all exchange knowing looks around the table, noting the glee in Jim's eyes.
Jim, grinning, narrates the scene, "All right, so Pete manages to talk you all into taking a shot of his Elven Barley Wine, it's mystical spirits take hold, and your inhibitions quickly escape you as you are swept up in the dwarven revelry. The night winds on, and as the spirits flow, you all begin to black out. The next thing you know you are all waking up to the sun beating on your naked bodies. You are all laying in a field, stripped of your belongings."
Before Jim can finish, Chris screams, "Fuck! Are you kidding me? Again?"
"Seriously! This is bullshit, every time we finish a quest you get us drunk, Pete, and the same shit happens!" Scott adds in.
Pete looks around a little sheepishly, "I'm sorry, it's what my character would do."
Jim cuts in, "So, yeah you are all laying in the field..."
John the Paladin, who has remained quiet, finally explodes, "Is nobody gonna say it? Really? Fuck you Jim! We haven't gotten rewards for a single mission! We've been playing for six months and we're still first level. Steve's been out of arrows for the last five sessions!"
Steve, the archer, says quietly "Well I spent all my gold on the donkey."
"No, no, no. After six months your stupid character generation choices shouldn't be screwing you over this much. Same thing with Pete's 'alcoholic' character flaw." John carries on, "We haven't gotten a single reward this entire game."
An awkward silence permeates the table, until finally Jim erupts, "OK Fine! I admit it! I don't own a DMG, I don't have a single treasure table, I don't even know how to reward XP! I'm sorry, it's all my fault, I've wasted the last six months of your lives."
Everyone around the table exchanges knowing looks, and Chris takes Jim by the hand, "Jim it's OK, we know you have a problem, we've known for a long time and we want to help, that's why we all pitched in, and we decided to get you a subscription to D&D Insider. We hope that with our help we can take your gaming to the next level."
*This story brought to you by D&D Insider*
Actually, I just really liked the idea of the intervention being for a shitty DM, but I'm super tired so I wrote this crap. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.
Edit:a word | The d20 rolled 16 and Max Bunting jolted a little in his seat; he knew he had hit the ogre.
The Dungeon Master, behind his screen and various notepads, looked down.
"It seems you've hit, Max."
Max looked ahead at the character sheet ahead of him.
"I strike the flayed beast again, my magical daikatana rippling through the air. The ogre's head flies off in a --"
"Max," the DM cut in, looking up from his papers, "you know that I'm the one that describes what happens, if we're playing this game."
"I strike the beast with desperate attrition."
"That's better. Now, what part of the beast do you stab?"
"I never said I was stabbing anything. Why don't you ask someone else?"
The DM jotted something in his notebook.
Ghainliador, an elvish cleric, spoke: "I cast a spell of revival on the blackguard, transmuting his wounds to festering bees that attack the evil demon."
"The Ogre stumbles; he now fixes however on the blackguard, Maximus. What do you do?"
"I slice him. You know what I did. I sliced him with the knife."
"And where do you attack him?"
"He shouldn't have come at me like that, the fucking bastard. I aint got no regerts on my auspicion to attack him." Max was in tears by now.
"I know."
The psychiatrist wrote another addition in his journal: "chronic," which was short-hand for chronic hallucinatory psychosis. The patient had been a subject of Dr. Deremier, known for his controversial but time-proven techniques, for several weeks, but the doctor had already given up what little hope he had for this case.
| |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | As the group settles around the table, Jim the DM rehashes the adventures from the week before, "After defeating the white dragon Whyfdor, you triumphantly return to the dwarven village, dragging it's ravaged corpse through the town square. Signs of life begin coming back to town, years of living under the shadow of the dragon are suddenly lifted, and the townsfolk invite you to a feast in your honor, the saviors of the town."
Pete, the bard of the group, is the first to speak up, "I raise my arms triumphantly as we march through town, welcoming the praise. I shout to the villagers 'Open your kegs! We have slain the dragon, tonight we drink!"
Jim smiles, "The villagers cheer, and roll out a keg of their finest ale hammering a tap in the middle of the street. They begin passing out mugs of ale and cheering to your great deeds."
Scott, the Rogue, interjects, "Hold on, where's the mayor? That guy promised us a thousand gold pieces for killing this dragon. I'm gonna find him and get our pay."
Pete cuts in, "Dude, we'll get paid tomorrow, tonight we party! I'm gonna grab a couple bottles of whiskey out of my bag of holding, and start passing them around the group."
Chris, the warrior speaks up, "Seriously, we should probably get paid before we get drunk, where's the mayor?"
Pete looks around a bit bewildered, "Seriously? A town of dwarves wants to drunk with us, and you guys are worried about getting paid? Jim, I'm gonna try and convince them to get drunk with me!"
Jim snickers, "All right, I guess let's do some contested Charisma checks to see if Pete can convince you guys to drink with the dwarves."
Pete rolls a D20, "Boom! Natural 20 bitches! Let's get drunk!"
The rest of the group rolls, not getting near Pete's 25, they all exchange knowing looks around the table, noting the glee in Jim's eyes.
Jim, grinning, narrates the scene, "All right, so Pete manages to talk you all into taking a shot of his Elven Barley Wine, it's mystical spirits take hold, and your inhibitions quickly escape you as you are swept up in the dwarven revelry. The night winds on, and as the spirits flow, you all begin to black out. The next thing you know you are all waking up to the sun beating on your naked bodies. You are all laying in a field, stripped of your belongings."
Before Jim can finish, Chris screams, "Fuck! Are you kidding me? Again?"
"Seriously! This is bullshit, every time we finish a quest you get us drunk, Pete, and the same shit happens!" Scott adds in.
Pete looks around a little sheepishly, "I'm sorry, it's what my character would do."
Jim cuts in, "So, yeah you are all laying in the field..."
John the Paladin, who has remained quiet, finally explodes, "Is nobody gonna say it? Really? Fuck you Jim! We haven't gotten rewards for a single mission! We've been playing for six months and we're still first level. Steve's been out of arrows for the last five sessions!"
Steve, the archer, says quietly "Well I spent all my gold on the donkey."
"No, no, no. After six months your stupid character generation choices shouldn't be screwing you over this much. Same thing with Pete's 'alcoholic' character flaw." John carries on, "We haven't gotten a single reward this entire game."
An awkward silence permeates the table, until finally Jim erupts, "OK Fine! I admit it! I don't own a DMG, I don't have a single treasure table, I don't even know how to reward XP! I'm sorry, it's all my fault, I've wasted the last six months of your lives."
Everyone around the table exchanges knowing looks, and Chris takes Jim by the hand, "Jim it's OK, we know you have a problem, we've known for a long time and we want to help, that's why we all pitched in, and we decided to get you a subscription to D&D Insider. We hope that with our help we can take your gaming to the next level."
*This story brought to you by D&D Insider*
Actually, I just really liked the idea of the intervention being for a shitty DM, but I'm super tired so I wrote this crap. Maybe I'll try again tomorrow.
Edit:a word | “Are you sure he's going to show up? He hasn't joined our game since...”
“Don't say it. Don't even think about it. We've got the adventure set up perfectly, but it won't work if anyone tries to guide things because of what he's...”
“DON'T SAY IT!”
“Yeah, don't even think about it.”
“Gold. What an idiot. How can anyone get addicted to gold?” Jerry said.
Three sets of eyes glared at him, but Jerry only shrugged. He'd never liked Bill that much to begin with, and this intervention wasn't his idea. It wasn't so bad back in the day, back when his wealth made every adventure they played a tension filled, heart stopping test of determination. Failing a quest meant going home with, “what if.., if only we'd..., I can't believe we...,” but winning meant an extra X-mas. How had Bill always come up with such fantastically appropriate prizes for victorious adventures? They were always spot on and lavish. Jerry knew he should be grateful for the windfalls, he even felt a twinge of guilt at his resentment, but there was something about Bill's air of superiority that irked him.
“Look, Jerry, if you're not going to give this 100%, maybe you'd better go before Bill gets here,” Dave said.
The beginning of a sneer faded as he saw Pete and Kevin's heads nod in agreement.
“Well, fuck you guys then. Fuck you and your freek-show hero.”
Jerry's chair fell back with a crash when he stood, and standing he could see what the others couldn't.
Bill stood not ten feet away clutching a prop for the playhouse's upcoming season. His eyes were squeezed tight-shut, he was trembling, and no street begging homeless had ever looked so disheveled.
“Hey, Bill,” Jerry said.
“Give me a sec,” Bill said.
The others whirled around with looks of guilt and too eager greetings.
“Don't worry about Jerry,” Pete said, “he's after a hot babe and figures acting like an asshole will get him out of the game without guilt.”
“I'm staying,” Jerry said. Retrieving his chair he met their gawks and said, “I'm staying,” even louder.
“Give me a sec,” Bill said again, his voice still gravelly, but a little stronger.
“Need a hand?” Jerry said.
A “Yes” was the last thing Jerry expected. His too long pause before going to help made the awkwardness almost funny.
A good three feet away the smell hit him. Bill reeked. It wasn't the smell of an unwashed body, or excrement, or anything identifiable. It was an alien smell and very unpleasant.
Jerry soldiered through it. His resentment had vanished. Bill was no longer the example of how Jerry, with a hundred advantages over Bill had somehow gotten nowhere. While the guy he'd lorded it over in college could buy and sell him and a thousand like him with his pocket change. Now he was guiding a wreck of a man to his seat and everything was upside down. How had Bill fallen so far, so fast? Is his appearance mean he's lost all his wealth? And why was he shuffling along with his eyes tight-shut?
“How did you do that?” Jerry said.
“Do what?” Bill said.
“Dodge the corner of our table with your eyes closed,” Jerry said.
“I can see through my eyelids,” Bill said.
“No, really.”
“Really. I've got x-ray vision. I can see through Dave's Dungeon Masters Screen. I can see how you guys rigged this adventure. I can see Pete has a shiny new Taser in his boot. Is that Taser for me, Pete?”
Pete looked down, saw no hint showing the existence of his Taser, and looked up with a frown.
Eyes still closed, Bill sat in the right chair, turned his head to “look” at each of them, and let out a long sigh.
“I didn't come to play tonight. You four are the only ones I've always felt you were my only true friends. Yes, even you Jerry. I understand you better than you can imagine. That goes for the rest of you as well. That's why I need to explain what's happening to me. More than that, how I was able to rise so fast in the world.”
“Oh, a sermon on business,” Kevin said. He then put his right index finger in his mouth and did his amazing gagging routine.
No one laughed, except Bill.
“Oh, c'mon. It's funny. It's always been funny.”
“Not tonight it isn't,” said Dave. “What the hell's going on with you? What's the explanation you're promising?”
“I've got superpowers,” Jerry said. “I got them in that game two weeks before finals. The one where we all brought a girl. Remember?”
“How could we forget?” Kevin said. “What did you slip your girl? I've never seen a girl pass out on only one drink.”
“It was just a girly fru-fru,” Bill said. “I didn't know at the time that her kind can't drink alcohol. She wasn't passed out, she was paralyzed. She heard every word I said.”
It wasn't hard to remember what he'd been saying. Bill had arrived half drunk, and it was one of those nasty drunks. His crudeness had turned the other three girls off and it was soon just the five guys and a passed out girl on the floor.
Uncomfortable squirming circled the table as long rationalized memories of how Bill had pulled up her skirt and pulled down her panties to “improve the view” now became a more horrific assault. They'd left her like that for over an hour while they played. Jerry, who'd been the leader back then, finally fixed her clothes during a break in the action.
“Do any of you remember how that game went?” Bill said.
“Not much,” Pete said. “Other than you played like an asshole.”
“Yeah, an asshole with superpowers,” Bill said.
“Yes, none of that shit was legal. Why'd we let you get away with that?” Dave said.
“You were drunk on you ass,” Bill said. “We all were.”
“And you were a total jerk.” Dave said.
“Any of you remember what those superpowers I came up with were?”
“Naw, it was a shit game. Total waste.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth. That girl wasn't human. She wasn't even from this dimension.
Every superpower I gave myself that night, she, in her paralyzed state, gave me in reality. Seemed like a pretty good deal until the down side started kicking in.”
Bills shakes suddenly got worse. His hands dove into his pockets and came out with a wicked knife in one hand and a gold coin in the other. Everyone knew what was coming next.
“Enough, already. That's gold. You can't eat gold.”
Bill looked up, his eyes behind unkempt hair sadly amused. Without saying a word, he expertly sliced a miniscule sliver off what was left of a 1 oz Chinese Gold Panda and popped it in his mouth.
“Gold is the only thing that helps,” Bill said. “I can see through anything, everything. That's how my character controlled his power in the game. I could also read everyone's surface thought. I can also jump back up to ten minutes in time and change what I do. Any wonder I was able to get that first mining company? Any mystery my mining companies find easy to get to rich deposits where no one else would ever look? Does how I stopped that irate former employee from gunning down half the staff seem quite as impressive now that you know how I did it?”
“If all that's true, how come you're not ruling the world?”
“The more I use my powers, the more gold I have to eat to control it. It doesn’t go away when I don't eat gold, it gets more intense, more powerful, erratic. Just now I wasn't able to see any of you, or this theater, or a good chunk of the earth beneath our feet. I was looking down into roiling magma, hearing your subconscious thoughts screaming for your hearts to beat and eyes to blink. Then I jumped back for another run through. I've just spent a half hour of my life jumping back while just a moment or two have passed for you.”
Another sliver of gold went in his mouth. The coin was almost gone.
“How do you do that so fast?”
“Years of practice,” he said, and fished a new coin out of his pocket.
“Why don't you just eat the whole coin?”
“Can't. Anything over about a 64th of an inch doesn't digest, doesn't do anything. I just shit it out. Its hard keeping up. I keep losing chunks of my life in time loops. I can't drive, cross a street, sleep with the cacophony of thoughts from miles around. I'm consuming close to 600 oz of gold a day and it's not enough. I don't think I'll live to the end of the month.
“You forgot to tell them of your final superpower, baby,” came a distinctly feminine voice.
The girl from twenty years ago materialized from nowhere. She hadn't aged a day, looked exactly the same. Lest they forget, she had her skirt neatly tucked up under a wide belt at her waist and her panties around her knees.
“What power,” Bill said after what seemed an eternity.
“Immortality, of course. Don't you remember? What good is being super if someone can bump you off?”
Bill started to cry.
“Aw, baby. Aren't you happy? Do you want me to help you out?”
“Please. Anything. I'll give you whatever you want. Just take this curse off me.”
“Can't, baby. Not in this dimension. You'll have to come back and live in mine. There isn't much time.
Take my hand and say you want to live in Ashiraie.”
They were both gone a moment later, but her maniacal laughter lingered.
| |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | Cast:
Tom, an alcoholic
Frank, Tom's younger brother by a year
Amy, Tom's wife
Jake, a friend that got them into D&D
Michelle, a friend
Alan, a friend
The cast's D&D characters:
Tom - Level 10 Cleric (Lawful Good)
Frank - Level 9 Paladin (Lawful Good)
Amy - Level 11 Sorceress (Chaotic Good)
Jake - GM
Michelle - Level 9 Ranger (Chaotic Neutral)
Alan - Level 10 Rogue (True Neutral)
And so our story begins....
Jake: "...and so your party continues their journey through the forest. You suddenly come to a fork in the road. Everyone roll 1 d20 for Perception."
Tom: "I got a 12."
Frank: "15."
Amy: "14."
Michelle: "12."
Alan: "Natural 20!"
*general sounds of congratulations*
Jake: "Ok, you can all hear the sound of running water coming from the path on the right. The path on the left is shrouded in shadow, but Alan, your character sees several fallen branches and footprints that indicate a large group of bandits, at least two score strong, waiting to ambush anyone who takes the left path. Your character can also tell that the path to the right is devoid of traps, and by the sound of the water, there is a bridge leading across the river. Which path would you like to take?"
Tom, Frank, Amy, Michelle, Alan simultaneously: "Right."
*pause, then laughter*
Jake, still chuckling: "Heh, alright, right it is then. Your party heads to the right and comes across a bridge crossing the river. Barring the way past is an enormous 3-headed troll."
Alan: "Hey, come on! How come I could sense an ambush from 40 bandits but couldn't detect the troll?!"
Jake: "Well, the troll wasn't moving, so he didn't make any sounds."
Alan: "Whatever."
Jake: "Anyway, what do you do?"
Amy: "I attempt to engage the troll in simple conversation."
Jake: "Roll for Charisma."
Amy: "7. Uh-oh...."
Jake: "You begin speaking too fast and 2 of the troll's heads look really annoyed. The left one is sleeping, but as you keep talking, he wakes up and glares at you with pure fury. The left head roars in anger and tries to charge, but only moves half the body and the troll winds up falling. This gets the other two heads just as mad as the left one, and they all get up and charge at you."
Amy: "I hide behind Frank!"
Frank: "Hey!"
Jake: "The troll swings an enormous hand at Frank's character. Frank, roll for Strength."
Frank: "Strength? Why not Dexterity?"
Jake "Because if you dodge then Amy will get hit."
Frank: "So?"
Amy: "Frank!"
Frank: "Ok, fine. I roll... 13."
Jake: "The troll swats you out of the way like you were a bug. You fly several feet into a tree, losing 4 health and getting dazed for a turn. Everyone else?"
Michelle: "I shoot at the troll's head."
Jake: "Which one?"
Michelle: "Oh, yeah. Ummm... the middle one."
Jake: "Roll for Dexterity."
Michelle: "17."
Jake: "Your arrow pierces the troll's middle skull, causing the head to die instantly. The rest of the body gets pushed back a little, but quickly regains its balance. The other two heads realize their middle head is dead and get even angrier than before. Other than the middle head, they seem to have full control of the body."
Tom: "Well, shit."
Alan: "Hey, don't I still have that sludge grenade from the last village?"
Jake: "Why, yes you do."
Alan: "I throw it at the troll."
Jake: "Roll for Dexterity."
Alan: "16."
Jake: "Your sludge bomb explodes all around the troll, sticking it to the ground. The troll immediately begins to struggle and you can tell it won't be stuck for long."
Tom: "I cast a spell to buff the rest of the party and heal everyone up to 2 points."
Jake: "Roll for Wisdom."
*At this point, Jake exchanges significant looks with everyone except Tom. They all nod in acknowledgement, but Tom is too busy rolling his dice to notice.*
Tom: "I got a 13."
Jake: "You attempt to cast a spell, hoping it will make you feel better, but instead it winds up hurting everyone around you. All your friends and family lose 2 health."
Tom: "Wait, what?"
Frank: "None of them say anything for a long time, because they know that you've been really down since our-- I mean, your character's dad died."
Amy: "They know you're not trying to hurt them, so they bear the pain as long as they can, hoping it'll just be a phase, and after a while you'll be back to normal."
Alan: "But after 2 years, they realize you've come to rely on your spells. You're not in control anymore. You're turning into a different person."
Michelle: "Your friends and family want to help you, but every time they try to talk about it you run away, saying you're busy. But they know you're just going to the bar-- I mean, to study your spellbook again."
Amy: "They understand you're in pain, and want to help you through it, but that can only happen if you let them in."
*There is a long pause while Tom looks at all of them in astonishment. Then his eyes fall on the bottle of vodka on the shelf behind them. His eyes fill with tears and he starts sobbing. Amy hugs him and Frank puts his hand on his brother's shoulder. Then they all come together for a group hug.*
Tom, still sobbing: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you guys. I promise I'll stop. i just... I just need some help."
Michelle: "We'll get you that help. You don't need to go through this alone."
Alan: "That's right. Whatever happens, we're here for you, man."
Jake: "No matter what." | Turned out to be not really subtle, but here's my first go at one of these prompts; Also apologies on formatting.;;
“You must roll a twelve or higher in order to beat the dragon!”
Mowgli excitedly spoke as he set his eyes upon Darwin who sat across the table. Darwin seemed to take his time in trying to figure the dice out before making a half hearted toss of the dodecahedral die. It rolled towards the edge of the table almost falling off before coming to rest with the face of the number one.
Piping up in an almost overly excited tone Lograth exclaimed, “Look at that Darwin you weren’t able to beat the dragon on your own but I think if we were to help you, it might be possible to slay the beast.”
With his eyes almost completely shut Darwin mumbled, “Yea whatever man it’s not like it really matters, no one really gives a shit anyway.”
Worried glances passed between Mowgli and Lograth that went completely unnoticed by Darwin who at this point was almost asleep as he sat upright on his stool.
“Alright” said Lograth,”Guess it’s my turn now. I’m going to cast a spell of support on Darwin, and attempt to help him beat the dragon.”
A person emerged from the hallway, slowly approached and quietly sat on a couch in the room behind the group. Darwin had snapped back to reality but was unaware as slowly more and more people quietly filed into the room first filling up the open seats in the room behind the group, then standing in a shoulder to shoulder line that blocked the doorway. The door shut and finally Darwin looked around the room to realize that another ten to twelve people were with them.
“What the fuck is this, why the hell are all you people in here?”
Darwin spoke as he glared angrily around the room.
Mowgli and Lograth looked again at one another, the same thought was running through their heads, there was no turning back on it now, something had to be done.
“Alright Darwin look” Mowgli started as he glanced nervously at everyone who had come to help them “You cannot keep living like this, you have destroyed not only your own body and life, you’ve hurt the lives of others in the process. Everyone here in this room has been affected by your addiction in some negative way, but we are all here because we love you too much to keep seeing you hurt like this.”
“We’re here to get you help.” Lograth said as he took center stage, “Look at yourself, you have holes in your arms, legs and god knows where else from the needles. You’ve been hospitalized four times in the last three months, and the last time you were legally dead. You have gone through seven inpatient and two outpatient rehabilitation clinics only to relapse. We’re all here to help you. Just help us help you what is it that you need in order to kick your habit?”
Darwins bloodshot eyes glared around the room, but there was a hollow look to them, the kind of look that the eyes of soldiers get after spending too long and seeing too much in combat. He then spoke the five words that would be burned into the memories of every single person present in that room for the remainder of their lives.
“I need to be dead.”
| |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | *Ding.*
The hot pockets were done. Andrew pushed his chair back from the table, rose, and headed over to the microwave. While transferring them to the plate, he gasped suddenly. A hot pocket burn was one of the most common injuries for a DND player. He ran off to the bathroom for a bandage, and Marston groaned loudly. Like most DMs, he was more interested in getting to the campaign than in the wellbeing of his friends. Eventually, Andrew returned, and Marston cleared his throat.
“Everyone ready?”, he grumbled impatiently. At this, Andrew and Carl exchanged glances, before Andrew spoke up.
“Listen, bud, we were thinking of maybe doing something else tonight anyways. I don’t think I can focus with my hand hurting this badly, and a movie sounds like more fun any-“
“Are you kidding?” His attempt at persuasion had failed. “You’re trying to get out of this with a feigned hand wound?” Marston dismissively waved off Andrew’s attempt at showing that the hot pocket had, in fact, singed his fingers. “This is going to be so cool, guys, come on! I’ve been prepping this campaign forever.”
Kelly nervously joined in. “Look, Marston, it’s just that the rest of us have been thinking, and, well…we don’t really think this obsession with Dungeons and Dragons is healthy for you.”
“Also, this idea sounds really boring”, offered Carl, before a trio of angry glances quieted him.
Marston gave it one last shot, hoping that their willpower would crack and they could all enjoy what he thought would be a unique, fun session. “I’ve worked so hard on this, Carl. And Kelly, I may be obsessed with this game, but-“
“No, Marston. I’m sorry, but we thought this would be the best way to tell you. We think that you need to take a break from Dungeons and Dragons”, Kelly said with a sad smile. “We’re here for you, and we can play tons of other games in the meantime.”
As the others opened their mouths to echo her sentiments, a rumble shook the room. Cracks appeared in the ceiling, and three heads looked upwards as one. Marston stayed, unmoving, in his Dungeon Master throne. The largest crack split, and a boulder tumbled down, crushing Carl before anyone could react. Kelly and Andrew dove under the table as Marston slowly stood up and began to walk out of the room. The inexplicable torrent of stone continued, and the table was rent asunder. Kelly and Andrew, with nowhere left to hide, were crushed beneath an ever-increasing deluge of rock and-
--
“Marston, this is bullshit. Rocks fall, everyone dies? Utter bullshit. Also, a game-within-a-game isn’t unique, fun, or interesting.”
Kelly, Andrew, and Carl glared at Marston as one. An ear-to-ear smile betrayed his glee.
Sighing, he relented. “Okay, fire up Rocket League. Doesn’t feel like a night for DND anyways. Also, let’s make some hot pockets.”
| Turned out to be not really subtle, but here's my first go at one of these prompts; Also apologies on formatting.;;
“You must roll a twelve or higher in order to beat the dragon!”
Mowgli excitedly spoke as he set his eyes upon Darwin who sat across the table. Darwin seemed to take his time in trying to figure the dice out before making a half hearted toss of the dodecahedral die. It rolled towards the edge of the table almost falling off before coming to rest with the face of the number one.
Piping up in an almost overly excited tone Lograth exclaimed, “Look at that Darwin you weren’t able to beat the dragon on your own but I think if we were to help you, it might be possible to slay the beast.”
With his eyes almost completely shut Darwin mumbled, “Yea whatever man it’s not like it really matters, no one really gives a shit anyway.”
Worried glances passed between Mowgli and Lograth that went completely unnoticed by Darwin who at this point was almost asleep as he sat upright on his stool.
“Alright” said Lograth,”Guess it’s my turn now. I’m going to cast a spell of support on Darwin, and attempt to help him beat the dragon.”
A person emerged from the hallway, slowly approached and quietly sat on a couch in the room behind the group. Darwin had snapped back to reality but was unaware as slowly more and more people quietly filed into the room first filling up the open seats in the room behind the group, then standing in a shoulder to shoulder line that blocked the doorway. The door shut and finally Darwin looked around the room to realize that another ten to twelve people were with them.
“What the fuck is this, why the hell are all you people in here?”
Darwin spoke as he glared angrily around the room.
Mowgli and Lograth looked again at one another, the same thought was running through their heads, there was no turning back on it now, something had to be done.
“Alright Darwin look” Mowgli started as he glanced nervously at everyone who had come to help them “You cannot keep living like this, you have destroyed not only your own body and life, you’ve hurt the lives of others in the process. Everyone here in this room has been affected by your addiction in some negative way, but we are all here because we love you too much to keep seeing you hurt like this.”
“We’re here to get you help.” Lograth said as he took center stage, “Look at yourself, you have holes in your arms, legs and god knows where else from the needles. You’ve been hospitalized four times in the last three months, and the last time you were legally dead. You have gone through seven inpatient and two outpatient rehabilitation clinics only to relapse. We’re all here to help you. Just help us help you what is it that you need in order to kick your habit?”
Darwins bloodshot eyes glared around the room, but there was a hollow look to them, the kind of look that the eyes of soldiers get after spending too long and seeing too much in combat. He then spoke the five words that would be burned into the memories of every single person present in that room for the remainder of their lives.
“I need to be dead.”
| |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | Cast:
Tom, an alcoholic
Frank, Tom's younger brother by a year
Amy, Tom's wife
Jake, a friend that got them into D&D
Michelle, a friend
Alan, a friend
The cast's D&D characters:
Tom - Level 10 Cleric (Lawful Good)
Frank - Level 9 Paladin (Lawful Good)
Amy - Level 11 Sorceress (Chaotic Good)
Jake - GM
Michelle - Level 9 Ranger (Chaotic Neutral)
Alan - Level 10 Rogue (True Neutral)
And so our story begins....
Jake: "...and so your party continues their journey through the forest. You suddenly come to a fork in the road. Everyone roll 1 d20 for Perception."
Tom: "I got a 12."
Frank: "15."
Amy: "14."
Michelle: "12."
Alan: "Natural 20!"
*general sounds of congratulations*
Jake: "Ok, you can all hear the sound of running water coming from the path on the right. The path on the left is shrouded in shadow, but Alan, your character sees several fallen branches and footprints that indicate a large group of bandits, at least two score strong, waiting to ambush anyone who takes the left path. Your character can also tell that the path to the right is devoid of traps, and by the sound of the water, there is a bridge leading across the river. Which path would you like to take?"
Tom, Frank, Amy, Michelle, Alan simultaneously: "Right."
*pause, then laughter*
Jake, still chuckling: "Heh, alright, right it is then. Your party heads to the right and comes across a bridge crossing the river. Barring the way past is an enormous 3-headed troll."
Alan: "Hey, come on! How come I could sense an ambush from 40 bandits but couldn't detect the troll?!"
Jake: "Well, the troll wasn't moving, so he didn't make any sounds."
Alan: "Whatever."
Jake: "Anyway, what do you do?"
Amy: "I attempt to engage the troll in simple conversation."
Jake: "Roll for Charisma."
Amy: "7. Uh-oh...."
Jake: "You begin speaking too fast and 2 of the troll's heads look really annoyed. The left one is sleeping, but as you keep talking, he wakes up and glares at you with pure fury. The left head roars in anger and tries to charge, but only moves half the body and the troll winds up falling. This gets the other two heads just as mad as the left one, and they all get up and charge at you."
Amy: "I hide behind Frank!"
Frank: "Hey!"
Jake: "The troll swings an enormous hand at Frank's character. Frank, roll for Strength."
Frank: "Strength? Why not Dexterity?"
Jake "Because if you dodge then Amy will get hit."
Frank: "So?"
Amy: "Frank!"
Frank: "Ok, fine. I roll... 13."
Jake: "The troll swats you out of the way like you were a bug. You fly several feet into a tree, losing 4 health and getting dazed for a turn. Everyone else?"
Michelle: "I shoot at the troll's head."
Jake: "Which one?"
Michelle: "Oh, yeah. Ummm... the middle one."
Jake: "Roll for Dexterity."
Michelle: "17."
Jake: "Your arrow pierces the troll's middle skull, causing the head to die instantly. The rest of the body gets pushed back a little, but quickly regains its balance. The other two heads realize their middle head is dead and get even angrier than before. Other than the middle head, they seem to have full control of the body."
Tom: "Well, shit."
Alan: "Hey, don't I still have that sludge grenade from the last village?"
Jake: "Why, yes you do."
Alan: "I throw it at the troll."
Jake: "Roll for Dexterity."
Alan: "16."
Jake: "Your sludge bomb explodes all around the troll, sticking it to the ground. The troll immediately begins to struggle and you can tell it won't be stuck for long."
Tom: "I cast a spell to buff the rest of the party and heal everyone up to 2 points."
Jake: "Roll for Wisdom."
*At this point, Jake exchanges significant looks with everyone except Tom. They all nod in acknowledgement, but Tom is too busy rolling his dice to notice.*
Tom: "I got a 13."
Jake: "You attempt to cast a spell, hoping it will make you feel better, but instead it winds up hurting everyone around you. All your friends and family lose 2 health."
Tom: "Wait, what?"
Frank: "None of them say anything for a long time, because they know that you've been really down since our-- I mean, your character's dad died."
Amy: "They know you're not trying to hurt them, so they bear the pain as long as they can, hoping it'll just be a phase, and after a while you'll be back to normal."
Alan: "But after 2 years, they realize you've come to rely on your spells. You're not in control anymore. You're turning into a different person."
Michelle: "Your friends and family want to help you, but every time they try to talk about it you run away, saying you're busy. But they know you're just going to the bar-- I mean, to study your spellbook again."
Amy: "They understand you're in pain, and want to help you through it, but that can only happen if you let them in."
*There is a long pause while Tom looks at all of them in astonishment. Then his eyes fall on the bottle of vodka on the shelf behind them. His eyes fill with tears and he starts sobbing. Amy hugs him and Frank puts his hand on his brother's shoulder. Then they all come together for a group hug.*
Tom, still sobbing: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you guys. I promise I'll stop. i just... I just need some help."
Michelle: "We'll get you that help. You don't need to go through this alone."
Alan: "That's right. Whatever happens, we're here for you, man."
Jake: "No matter what." | *You wake suddenly, parched and disheveled, and sit up quickly to take in your surroundings. Dusk has just fallen, and the crescent moon illuminates a dense forest opening in front of you. Crickets chirp and owls hoot in the distance. What do you do?*
"Well, I see a small lake in front of me, so I will go drink from it."
*Your Stamina is too low from the previous night's ale binge. You fail to get up. Would you like to roll a saving throw against the fatigue?*
"Um, sure. There, an 18."
*18 minus 10 from the alcohol's physical toll is an 8. You fail the save and slump back into your own filth.*
"What the fuck, man? Fine. I'll cast Invigor to replenish Stamina and Cure Light Wounds to keep my health up."
*Your Invigor spell fizzles due to vital brain cells screaming their last synaptic touch as the ethanol's caustic waves destroy their homes and families. Your Cure Light Wounds spell only heals your superficial scars, leaving you still an empty husk of a man.*
"Enough of this shit, Robbie. Your new "enhanced" version of Dungeons & Dragons is retarded."
*Your verbal outburst has drained you of your last bit of Will. You try to salvage your pride but soil yourself instead. Though the warmth of your bowels provides brief comfort, you find yourself descending ever more into the depths of despair.*
"That's it. I'm done. You're not just an idiot, Robbie, you're fucking crazy as well. Wait, how the hell is your door locked from the inside?"
*You stand trapped in your own depravity, unable to escape its vicious hold on your life.*
"Open the door, dude. I'm not fucking around. This isn't a joke. I want to leave."
*A divine spirit appears in front of you and offers his auspices: 'Lo, troubled one. I am Soberenius Abstaintus, Guardian of the Righteous. If thou art to escape this hole of hell, thou must be strong and true!'*
"I'll call the cops, Robbie. I don't have time for this shit. Hey, where the fuck is my phone?"
*A wise man once said...*
"Shit, come on man. Let me out. Give me my phone. Please, dude. I can't do this. I need to go. Please."
*...the road to salvation is paved with good intentions. If you are to redeem yourself, you must surrender your will to a higher power.*
"Fine. Whatever. What is it? What do you want me to do, Robbie?"
*The last remaining spell in your arsenal, the only one that has not been trampled by the rampaging effects of alcohol and sin, is Intervention.*
"Okay! I cast 'Intervention!' Please, please, I give up. Just stop this. Just make it stop."
*Great! I have the local rehab center on standby. Let's go! We can even bring the board.* | |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | *Ding.*
The hot pockets were done. Andrew pushed his chair back from the table, rose, and headed over to the microwave. While transferring them to the plate, he gasped suddenly. A hot pocket burn was one of the most common injuries for a DND player. He ran off to the bathroom for a bandage, and Marston groaned loudly. Like most DMs, he was more interested in getting to the campaign than in the wellbeing of his friends. Eventually, Andrew returned, and Marston cleared his throat.
“Everyone ready?”, he grumbled impatiently. At this, Andrew and Carl exchanged glances, before Andrew spoke up.
“Listen, bud, we were thinking of maybe doing something else tonight anyways. I don’t think I can focus with my hand hurting this badly, and a movie sounds like more fun any-“
“Are you kidding?” His attempt at persuasion had failed. “You’re trying to get out of this with a feigned hand wound?” Marston dismissively waved off Andrew’s attempt at showing that the hot pocket had, in fact, singed his fingers. “This is going to be so cool, guys, come on! I’ve been prepping this campaign forever.”
Kelly nervously joined in. “Look, Marston, it’s just that the rest of us have been thinking, and, well…we don’t really think this obsession with Dungeons and Dragons is healthy for you.”
“Also, this idea sounds really boring”, offered Carl, before a trio of angry glances quieted him.
Marston gave it one last shot, hoping that their willpower would crack and they could all enjoy what he thought would be a unique, fun session. “I’ve worked so hard on this, Carl. And Kelly, I may be obsessed with this game, but-“
“No, Marston. I’m sorry, but we thought this would be the best way to tell you. We think that you need to take a break from Dungeons and Dragons”, Kelly said with a sad smile. “We’re here for you, and we can play tons of other games in the meantime.”
As the others opened their mouths to echo her sentiments, a rumble shook the room. Cracks appeared in the ceiling, and three heads looked upwards as one. Marston stayed, unmoving, in his Dungeon Master throne. The largest crack split, and a boulder tumbled down, crushing Carl before anyone could react. Kelly and Andrew dove under the table as Marston slowly stood up and began to walk out of the room. The inexplicable torrent of stone continued, and the table was rent asunder. Kelly and Andrew, with nowhere left to hide, were crushed beneath an ever-increasing deluge of rock and-
--
“Marston, this is bullshit. Rocks fall, everyone dies? Utter bullshit. Also, a game-within-a-game isn’t unique, fun, or interesting.”
Kelly, Andrew, and Carl glared at Marston as one. An ear-to-ear smile betrayed his glee.
Sighing, he relented. “Okay, fire up Rocket League. Doesn’t feel like a night for DND anyways. Also, let’s make some hot pockets.”
| *You wake suddenly, parched and disheveled, and sit up quickly to take in your surroundings. Dusk has just fallen, and the crescent moon illuminates a dense forest opening in front of you. Crickets chirp and owls hoot in the distance. What do you do?*
"Well, I see a small lake in front of me, so I will go drink from it."
*Your Stamina is too low from the previous night's ale binge. You fail to get up. Would you like to roll a saving throw against the fatigue?*
"Um, sure. There, an 18."
*18 minus 10 from the alcohol's physical toll is an 8. You fail the save and slump back into your own filth.*
"What the fuck, man? Fine. I'll cast Invigor to replenish Stamina and Cure Light Wounds to keep my health up."
*Your Invigor spell fizzles due to vital brain cells screaming their last synaptic touch as the ethanol's caustic waves destroy their homes and families. Your Cure Light Wounds spell only heals your superficial scars, leaving you still an empty husk of a man.*
"Enough of this shit, Robbie. Your new "enhanced" version of Dungeons & Dragons is retarded."
*Your verbal outburst has drained you of your last bit of Will. You try to salvage your pride but soil yourself instead. Though the warmth of your bowels provides brief comfort, you find yourself descending ever more into the depths of despair.*
"That's it. I'm done. You're not just an idiot, Robbie, you're fucking crazy as well. Wait, how the hell is your door locked from the inside?"
*You stand trapped in your own depravity, unable to escape its vicious hold on your life.*
"Open the door, dude. I'm not fucking around. This isn't a joke. I want to leave."
*A divine spirit appears in front of you and offers his auspices: 'Lo, troubled one. I am Soberenius Abstaintus, Guardian of the Righteous. If thou art to escape this hole of hell, thou must be strong and true!'*
"I'll call the cops, Robbie. I don't have time for this shit. Hey, where the fuck is my phone?"
*A wise man once said...*
"Shit, come on man. Let me out. Give me my phone. Please, dude. I can't do this. I need to go. Please."
*...the road to salvation is paved with good intentions. If you are to redeem yourself, you must surrender your will to a higher power.*
"Fine. Whatever. What is it? What do you want me to do, Robbie?"
*The last remaining spell in your arsenal, the only one that has not been trampled by the rampaging effects of alcohol and sin, is Intervention.*
"Okay! I cast 'Intervention!' Please, please, I give up. Just stop this. Just make it stop."
*Great! I have the local rehab center on standby. Let's go! We can even bring the board.* | |
[WP] A group of friends playing Dungeons & Dragons attempt to use the game to subtly stage an intervention for one of the players. | The four friends sat around the large table. Chris, the dungeon master, was one side. Tim, Catherine and Zak sat across from him.
"You find yourselves in a tiny village." he crooned. "It is dark and you are the only people on the street. You are engulfed by a troubled silence. There is a house in ramshackle condition across the street from where you stand. Candles flicker worryingly behind the old wooden shutters. A toxic stench exudes from the house. There is also a path to the North that leads into the wavering forest. What would you like to do?"
Tim, who had a rolled a half orc warrior named Gorggash spoke first "Friends, I think we should head into the wavering forest. In the forest we.."
"No!" Catherine and Zak shouted simultaneously as they shared a nervous glance.
Zak, or Barrymanalow, the groups cleric elaborated "I mean," he stammered "the house is suspicious, is it not? I think we might find demons to fight inside."
"Yes!" agreed Queen Murik, the elven Sorceress "We would be remiss to ignore such a curious establishment. Lucifer himself might wait for us in the buildings bowels."
Tim looked surprised. "I am sure this is a distraction to our quest" he said, as he stuffed a handful of cheetos into his mouth, "but if you are both insistent..."
Chris continued his narrative.
"You walk up to the front of the run down building. You realise its state of disrepair is far worse than you first thought. The door is hanging off the hinge and you notice a new smell emanating from the buildings innards. You approach the door. *knock* *knock* *knock*. There is no answer so Gorggash walks forward and pushes it open. A wave of nausea hits you as you step inside.
The inside of the slum-like house looks somewhat burned out. There are large pots on the stove bubbling fiercely. Bodies lie strewn around the room. They look unconscious but are perhaps dead. You wonder what could have caused such havoc.
You are deeply shocked as you notice the body of a legendary adventurer, Severinus Branson. He is alive but in a stupor! Gorggash kneels down beside him and shakes him gently...
'Am I alive? Is that you Gorggash? Come forward..' he asks, his voice as gentle as a midnight whisper."
".. what's going on guys? Why isn't Barrymanalow treating him" Tim asked, putting down his glass of mountain dew.
"He asked for you.. perhaps it is his last wish that you go on a mighty errand for him." Barrymanalow encouraged.
"Besides" joined in Queen Murik "you have the highest resistance. I think that is the most valuable of all stats". There was a murmur of agreement.
"*sigh*.. Hello brave adventurer, how did you come to be in such a state?" enquired Gorggash
"Severinus Branson began his tale. 'Ah my friend, it is a sad tale or at least a sad ending. How I came to end up in this den of vileness. But alas, now I am here I can never leave! It began after I had slain the Great Groomed Dragon of Ozerath. I had riches, oh such riches! I bought women,I bought drink and I bought friends. But I also bought something far more deadly. Something once I tried I could not ever be without. *Crack cocaine*. And it.."
"For fucks sake guys. It was just a bit of weed. WEED. Holy shit what is wrong with you all. How many times!?" Tim said as he stood up and stormed out of the room in a fury.
"Nice going DM, real subtle" stabbed Catherine.
"Oh I don't know" replied Chris "I think we are really starting to get through to him."
| "Alright, I need to use the restroom." Sam said. Every moment of silence felt strained. Subtly wasn't one of our strong suits. At that moment I wished we had decided not to follow through with our plan.
Ron folded his arms on the table. I cringe expectantly. We had all agreed to do it. "If you spend more than five minutes in there, it's negative five intelligence." He said flatly.
Sam scoffed, "I just have to piss."
"Sure. That doesn't take five minutes." Ron replied.
Mary palmed beneath her right eye and avoided making eye contact with Sam who stood over the table, lips tightly pressed together.
"It's the rule." I manage to croak.
"Are you guys fucking serious?" Sam says. We all sit silently for a moment, another painful silence.
"Yeah." Ron finally says. "We are."
"If Mike takes a piss, does he get penalized too?" He asked, pointing towards me.
"You know it's not about the fucking piss, Sam." Ron says, his voice shaking.
Sam licked his lips nodded his head. He wasn't going to say it. He wasn't going to admit it on his own. We all knew what he was going to say. We all knew he didn't think it was a problem. It was just for a little while, to cope. I eyed the empty chair to Sam's left. The empty spot at the table with the full shot of whiskey placed there.
"It's the fucking drugs!" Mary finally blurted, tears streaming down her cheek.
Sam guffawed, "What drugs? So what I did some coke at Danny's party, so did you."
"It's not the coke." Ron said.
"We know you bought shit from Frank." I add.
Sam shook his head.
"Frank sold that same shit to Brendan, I know-" Ron started. I eye the shot of whisky and feel a lump in my throat.
"Don't use Brendan against me, you piece of shit. You don't know anything!" Sam snapped.
I wished we would just play the game. I wished the plan had worked, we thought we'd avoid yelling if we just did it all in the game. It felt pathetic now. But it was too late, we had tipped over the edge.
Sam scoffed again, "I'm gone. Fuck you." He stormed over to the basement door. Ron jumped from the table, Mary screamed. Ron was a big guy, I'd never seen him move so quick. He seemed to be the only one committed to this, the rest of us were too afraid. Ron tackled Sam to the ground, Sam threw a punch that sent Ron's glasses skittering across the basements concrete floor. I stood up, my face was hot but I wasn't sure what to do as Ron and Sam rolled around on the floor.
"Stop! Stop!" Sam finally shouted, unable to push Ron's weight off of him.
Ron got up and knelt, his back to the exit.
"Jesus, Ron." Sam said, then he noticed Ron's missing glasses and bright red cheek. He reached to his left and picked the glasses off the floor and handed them back. "I'm sorry I punched you." He muttered quietly.
"It didn't crit." Ron said.
Sam huffed a laugh, and then started to cry. | |
[WP] This year you went all out on your Demon Halloween costume. While bar hopping downtown another guy in a very realistic demon costume invites you to a private demon themed party, you soon come to realize they are not costumes. | "Hey bub, this way," whispered a short and rather portly man dressed in an impeccable demon costume. The material was so well made that it glistened under the streetlamp as if it was legitimately sweaty skin. Maybe it was just body paint. The tail was also a nice touch.
I really enjoyed dressing up for Halloween. Last year I went as a Cardassian alien from Star Trek. My friend Jenny helped me with the makeup because she was a veteran at cosplays. And the year before that I went as the Headless Horseman. This year I decided to have a bit of fun, so I went as a character from Adventure Time. They must have really appreciated my costume to be inviting me to their themed party.
As we got to the top of the staircase, I tightened my red tie and adjusted the buttons on my suit. It was a 3-button, black suit. So I took care to remember the 'sometimes, always, never' rule and kept just the middle button fastened. I then made sure my hair was slicked back properly and that my pointy ears hadn't fallen off on the way here from the last pub that I was at. Don't tell anyone, but the ears that I were using were actually just plastic Spock ears that I got at the last minute at the costume shop. Jenny helped make them the same blue colour as my body paint. She did a fine good job.
"Heeeey! You found a straggler!" bellowed a tall man at a booth down the back of the room. His devil costume was also very convincing. This one was bright green and almost alien-like, complete with scales that had a metallic glisten to them. His horns were curved like a ram's and ended at about the level of his chin.
"I know, right? And check out his suit, 'ey?" said my short demon escort. "It's very *chk-chk*. Top stuff."
I beamed at their compliments. This suit was the same one that I wore to my junior prom that I had gotten for sale at the department store. And the tie was Dad's. So I was pretty happy that my makeshift costume was impressing a lot of people. Sounds like they were fans of Adventure Time too. I looked around the bar. There were over fifty people in this section. All of them had weird and wonderful demon costumes on. Some were tall, some short, some fat, some thin. The ladies had gotten really creative with theirs. Some of them had six breasts, some had leathery wings and some had really life-like looking tusks. I wonder which shop they got them at. I was suddenly conscious of my lame plastic Spock ears.
"So, what's your name?" asked the tall man at the booth from before. "I'm Zaxxakan."
"I'm Blockus," added the short demon the next to me.
"No one asked you, you little shit," said Zaxxakan and threw a peanut at Blockus.
"I'm..." I paused for a second. "I'm Hunson Abadeer."
"Abadeer, huh," replied Zaxxakan. "And where you from, Abadeer?"
"I've pretty much just been living in the Bay Area for most of my life. You know, around San Jose," I said.
"Hmm... Don't know that one," said Zaxxakan. He gestured for me to take a seat across from him. I sat down and helped myself to a peanut. "I'm from Antenora. This little shit's from Dis." Zaxxakan slapped Blockus on the back as the short demon tried to squeeze himself into the booth. It seemed like these guys were really into the whole roleplay thing. I had no qualms with that actually. In fact, a couple of my friends and I occasionally meet up to play a Dungeons & Dragons campaign every now and then. I was no stranger to roleplaying so I decided to play along.
"Actually what I meant to say is that I'm now living in the Nightosphere," I said. "I suck out souls and stomp on ants. You know. Demony things."
Zaxxakan and Blockus both gasped simultaneously. Blockus even dropped the pint that he was drinking. The glass shattered on the ground. "He's a soul consumer!" whispered Blockus inside one of Zaxxakan's four ears.
"Shh! He'll hear you and drain your soul essence!" whispered Zaxxakan back to Blockus.
"So, you guys like Adventure Time?" I asked, breaking out of character. The two demons didn't respond. They just continued to stare at me as if they'd seen a ghost or something. I took it to mean that they actually weren't familiar with the show. I didn't blame them. After all, it is marketed as a children's cartoon but it did explore many interesting themes. I took out my phone to show them an episode where my character Hunson Abadeer turns into a horrific monster with a frightening visage complete with tentacles and horns and a gaping mouth resembling a toothed vagina. Zaxxakan and Blockus were glued to the phone screen. They let out gasps and squeals of horror as the episode played.
"That's it! I'm out!" screamed Zaxxakan. "You'll never find me! That name I gave you was fake. Fuck this!" The tall green demon snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of grey smoke that had the stench of brimstone.
"I'm noping the fuck outta here too. Pleasedon'teatmysoul," muttered Blockus. He too snapped his fingers and was engulfed by a puff of smoke. I was confused yet impressed by their party tricks. When I looked up from my table at the rest of the bar patrons, I noticed that they had all been watching my interactions with Zaxxakan and Blockus the entire time. They all had looks of fear stamped across their faces. And within a span of five seconds, all the patrons had snapped their fingers and disappeared into a cloud of smoke.
"What... the... fuck..." I murmured under my breath. I must have had too much to drink. I loosened my tie and carefully walked back downstairs to go home. It was getting late and the forecast said that there was a high chance of rain in the middle of the night, so I'd better get home before the rain washes off all of my body paint and stains my suit. As I walked down one of the alleyways that was a shortcut to my house, a shady looking guy at the front of a pub entrance waved at me.
"Hey, buddy!" he called out. He was dressed in a fairly impressive looking Dracula outfit. It was very sophisticated looking and even had a silky red waistcoat and a flowing black cape. "Come on up. The party's just about to start!"
| A costume of contumely, demon pacts;
A circle used for summoning with hell
At center, dressed in black and purple tracts,
In midst of being pulled from other realm.
Apparently, my suit is more convincing
Than first I thought, because a shade has bought
A drink for me and then pressed on inviting
Me to a party filled with sin and drought.
The offer was too tempting to refuse
And so I followed him through phantom gates
Into a realm I'd not imagined was so close
Behind a shadow veil a hell awaits.
My first impression was of evil covenant
With all my terror, discover Hell's a discotheque. | |
[WP] This year you went all out on your Demon Halloween costume. While bar hopping downtown another guy in a very realistic demon costume invites you to a private demon themed party, you soon come to realize they are not costumes. | *WOW. And here I was thinking that MY costume was impressive! These guys went ALL OUT!* I thought to myself as I wove through the crowd of scales and wings. Red, black, blue, eyestalks, horns, tails...every different body type imaginable was packed together like sardines in a can.
*This is FANTASTIC!* I grinned from ear to ear as I walked toward the refreshment table. *I thought only* I *was this into demons! They got everything right!* I admired a low slung-costume that looked like a human-faced slug supported by thousands of spindly legs. *Man, how do they even MOVE that one?*
I tightened the ties that held my wings and tail to my body, making sure that they were not trampled on. I wore short horns in my hair - better to not get caught on something - and had a face full of awesome facepaint and prosthetic scales that almost looked like the real thing. *HA! My costume is wayyyy better than some of these chumps.* I thought. *Heck, that guy looks like he is just wearing red facepaint and little plastic devil horns!* Finally, after spending so long feeling like a freak, I could let out my inner monster this Halloween with people just like me!
"Hey babe." I winked at a woman wearing what looked to be nothing more than luminous orange body paint and a set of rams horns. She smiled back, revealing dozens of pointed fangs in the same hue as her body. *MAN! There are even hot chicks here!*
I grabbed a gummy that someone had cleverly shaped to look like a rat's heart and popped it into my mouth. Instantly I spat it out again, blood dribbling down my chin.
"Holy shit, these are real!?" I stammered.
Suddenly, I noticed that the party had gone very quiet. The music, that had once been playing my favorite heavy metal band, was completely shut off. And every eye - even the ones that looked like they were suspended a few feet away from their owner's skulls - was on me.
"Um. Hi." I said. *You know what? That mask looks awfully realistic.* "I will just be...going now."
"Going?" Said a man wearing a simple tuxedo - the very man who had guided me to this party earlier tonight. "Why would we want you to do that?" He laughed, throwing his head back with false mirth.
"After all...you are the main course."
***
*Like it? Read more on /r/TimeSyncs!* | A costume of contumely, demon pacts;
A circle used for summoning with hell
At center, dressed in black and purple tracts,
In midst of being pulled from other realm.
Apparently, my suit is more convincing
Than first I thought, because a shade has bought
A drink for me and then pressed on inviting
Me to a party filled with sin and drought.
The offer was too tempting to refuse
And so I followed him through phantom gates
Into a realm I'd not imagined was so close
Behind a shadow veil a hell awaits.
My first impression was of evil covenant
With all my terror, discover Hell's a discotheque. | |
[WP] To your surprise, she's crying. | She chatters away aimlessly and you listen half-heartedly, her words going in one ear, out the other. Your foot taps against the floor nervously, your hands shake in your lap, you can feel the sweat running down the back of your neck-
Pause.
You take a breath.
Then, you place a shaky hand on her thigh and she stops mid-sentence to peer at you curiously. Your mouth moves but no sound comes out, her eyes have torn the air from your lungs and the words from tongue.
She takes your hand into her’s, carefully weaving her fingers into the spaces between yours. She smiles, the whole world stops and you want to empty your stomach, retch your guts out and disappear into nothingness, but instead, you smile back.
The show is a blur of lines and laughter. You can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard, the last time your palms were this sweaty from nervousness, the last time you smiled so hard it made your face hurt.
But as the curtains close, reality settles in.
Your stomach is making waves, your hands are shaky and something- *something* is caught in your throat. It makes it hard to breathe, it makes it even harder when she smiles at you under the moonlight as you walk her home.
The stars sparkle in her eyes and you wonder how you could have let this happen.
You lead her up the final step of her porch and carefully pull your hand from her’s. She chatters again, but you’re not listening, your eyes are focused on her the curve of her lips, the way it moves as she talks and your stomach churns, your sweaty hands find their way to your pockets and suddenly, the words are pouring out of your mouth.
Her mouth stops moving in that moment, and she just stares at you, letting the words sink in. You can see the tears forming in her eyes, you can tell it’s coming, the wave of regret that will wash over you when they start streaming down her face.
Except they don’t come, because her face is fierce and her eyes are determined and for as sure as you were that she would cry, she’s not.
She’s smiling.
It makes your chest hurt, makes your stomach knot itself over and over, makes your knees weak and your throat tighten up.
Her hand comes up, brushes gently across your cheek to flick away the tears you had no idea were falling. A sob breaks through your lips along with a chant of apologies. Your knees give way and you’re on the ground begging for forgiveness you know you don’t deserve.
| "*Hey, hey...*what's wrong?"
He squeezed her briefly and her wet eyes peeked out from between her fingers,
"I don't know."
He pulled her closer, and she closed her eyes when he kissed them; he felt her squeeze back a little, seeming to relax.
There was a long quiet moment spent in each other's arms, until he spoke,
"...You've had a rough time, haven't you?"
She sobbed loudly and buried her face in her hands and his chest. |
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