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EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | gHmwthp'glks skmtrwqxr'rvzt wsslhtp'p dnddpr qqw-l'klml hhrt n'nmttl n qqfgh
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hghhgkk'h b'nbht wpthsshtshh'sh cchhk'k rrtthghjk'khgh. hHghnnhn'rrrr rllhlrhq.
hK'zzhz'ph hphh'cc cThg ghh'gh. rRnj-rrhh bdb'bdjjg hjjghh'c w'hfh'whgh.
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'*!!!pH'ngl mglw'nfh cThlh R'llh wgh'ngl fhtgn*'
hghhgkk'h b'nbht wpth wpht w'sshtshh'sh. rRnj-rrhh hghhgkk'h b'nbht ttmlsschth n'nmttl n qqfgh. ffhgh'pt ffhgpt nM'r cThg. ffhgh'pt ffhgpt nM'r n'nmttl n qqfgh j'zGh'zzgh llrlt'tll hh'gj
'*!!!pH'ngl mglw'nfh cThlh R'llh wgh'ngl fhtgn*'
'*!!!nN. !!!cThg ffhgthth*'
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cThg ffhgthth. | My shadow has passed long over the earth, my form incomprehensible. You, your kin, gaze motionless upon the passing apparition, unaware that the longer you stand in vacant wonder, the further eldritch tendrils slink deep into your very being. Appendages, damnable vines, constrict those long-forgotten nostalgias and unknowable fears, tearing them before the light of day, shadowed by my own manifestation.
Those which move find only the strength to lie upon roadways, sojourn once only to lofty perches. Those who do not instead own minds which are both full and empty. Shapeless notions, horrifying vistas, all twirl as a maelstrom from which no clear meaning may be discerned.
You beg, as well as one might, to know only why you have been cursed by such callous fate. Such hypotheses of predestined hostility serve the self-centered nature of man. What man fears worse still is apathy. You, your kin, look upon my shadow and see an agent of doom. I fail to look upon you at all. You, your kin, see the fabled angel of death, and yet in my own phantasmic eye there is no malice, no calamity; only oblivion. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. |
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̨̣̗̤͕̩̟͎̺̟̯̥̩͉͓̫̥̇̓͊̈̾̉͌͋ͩͬ̇͢͜ͅo̢̡̲͉̻̬̺̣͎̣̩̬͙̤̺͉̦̭̱͌̽̈̅̋͊͒̑͌̅̑̓̑͗̓͐ͬ͗̀0͑̏ͪ̽̈̒̎̅͢͏̹͓̩͕̘̟̮̪͔̣̖͈̪͈͚͎0̡̖̮̝͔̜̪̗̙͛̈́̏̿̌̽ͩ̓̂͛̑̈́̌ͣ̀͘͠K̷̮͓̪͕͚̦̟̪̞͇̪̗̆͗ͩ͑̌̒̌͊̇̌̎ͨͤͫͯͧͪ̌̄͠͡ͅq̈́͗̌̔͗ͥ̑ͥ̂̄ͮ͂̄͛҉̩͔̖̳̟́͝P̶̧̭̝̳̯͕̘̦̗̞̜̰̣̟̫͔̠͚ͤ̉ͨ͞͞Ğ̨̬̜̺̮̞͌̽̅̅͗̽̍̃͛ͬ̊ͨ͊͐̀̀͟9̷͎͓̤̰̻̜̘̖̪̬̫͇̦̲̞̲͒ͦͮ̌̌̂ͥ͑̽̔͋͂̾ͯ̉͌D̡̛̤̳͓̣̙̣̮̩ͤ͌̏̾̾͆̿̑ͥ̅̔̋̂͆̂̌̚͝ͅK͙̮̝̱̠̯̫̼̤̫̘̉̏͐ͮ͝͝g̴̑ͣ͗̾ͬ͒̓̽͒͋̑̏̃́͟͝҉̫̮̳͓̭̜̙̗͖̮͕͖Ģ̴͕̩̯̠̬͖̠͈͍̣̹̥̮̫̤̼̬̠̒͋̌͒̈́͗̅͋͛͋ͣͯͪ́F̎ͦ̂̂̐̓̓̽̿̾̃ͭ̊̏̚҉̢̰̤̭͔̟̭͔̹n̛͚̫̤͕̼̱̮̦̫͉̲̩̘͚̰̗̒ͧͯ͐̓ͧ͛̓̈́̃̒̓̈̾͗̍ͨ͛͝͠O̖̮̦̥̦͙̭̳̝̝͗͒̊͑̉͒̊͗̾ͩ̀̓̔͛̄ͯ͢͠ͅͅx̟̲̹͕̱̻̼̼̳̻͆ͯͬ̅̂̅̚̕͡I̷̷̴͍͚̩̤̲͚͉̺̜͈͉̒͛͌̔ͬ̍̑̀g̶̟͖̊̋̾̎́ͅC̹̜̟̻̙͈͔̳͙̝͔̺̦̳̭͖̰ͪ͊͊ͯ͞ͅQ̸̙̹̥̼͙͔͇̼͉̞̯̦͉̤̰̘̭̦͎̌͑͆̄̈́ͩ͛̐͜X̸͇̙̖̣̩ͭͨ̋͑ͬ̈̕͘Hͤ̂͐̄̒͐̿͜͏̧̢̪̞͉̯̤͕̫͈̥̖̰̹̜́Ṙ̶͎͎̤̮͕̝̥̳͈ͭͮ͛̾̑̓͗̾̔̉͛̓̏͋́̕͘Ỏ̸̧̥͓̜̮̼̰̦̭̰͎̗̞͕͇͖͙͓͔̮ͧ̀ͮ̏̇ͯ̌̓̆ͦ́̚͟Ķ̵̭̖͍̱̼̖͙̖̹͖͔̫͙͒ͧ̋͆͊̂̃ͬ̎ͮ̊̿͛͆ͬ͌̐̄̚͠͡F̧̬̦̘͉̱̞̰͖͇͚̤͖͔͓̜͖̞̲ͮ̂̇̒̆͗̊̉̐ͤ̿ͨ̅̀̕͘͞ȩ̵̛͓̪͎̞͇̹̳̥̰̤̰͔ͮ̂ͧ͜͞q̰̲͎̦͕̥͉͖̤̜̭͍͚̖̯̼̲̞̖͊͊͊͗̐ͮͪͨͩ̒͒̃͝͞
̅͑ͯ̔͋̈́̚͟҉̧̳̩̼̼̺C̲̹̭̞̦͍̥̯̤̪͕̺͒͐ͧͧ̐̑̑̌͒̐̔̾͂ͦ͜͜j̷̶̘̫̺̜̖͖̙͕̦͎͓̞̭̠͔̝̫̩ͨ͑ͯ̌̀̚ͅ8̨̨̟̫͉̣̦͚̫̼̦͐̐̃ͪ͂̽̒̆̒̍̔͢k̵̫̳̝̭͑ͭ̆ͨ̓͗ͪ͑̊̕͞͞T̴̵̝̜̥̩̙̱̔̾̆ͥ̌̔͐ͥ̕͝ͅͅJ̢̥͍̦̣́͋̈́̎̾̄͟͝Ķ̼͎͈̜͉̼̘̲͔͋ͪ͌͂ͭw̸̷̡̹̯͇̖͉̥͔̹̲ͣ̉͑̓́ͮͯͩ̂ͩ͆ͥ̓ͦ͑ͪ̀̕ͅg̨͔̦̬̜̘͍͐̎ͤͫͨ́ͬ̆̃͜͞͠Q̳͚̬̭̠̻̫͎̹̱͎̼̮̄ͫ̏̌̾̔ͤ͒̌ͥ̎ͮ͂̒͆͋̍ͨ͊͘͘J͕͎͚̦͚͒ͯͥͯͥ̇ͨͧ̾̈̀ͦͣ̌̕͘a̅ͩ͌̓͆̕҉͟͏͖̗͇͎͉͎̙̱̣͟5ͤ͛ͤͩͣ̆̒̅ͨ̿͏͝͏͍̘̗͈̪̫̙̺̜̜̱̠̖̯̬͙̭͝ͅi̛ͧ̋̑ͪ̄ͤ̎̊ͨ̅̎ͩ͋̏̽̃͌̚҉̯̬͖͎͕̰̰͔̣͎n̾ͤ́̆҉̸̵̬̝̳̝̤Ț̢̳̹ͣͮͪ̾̌͊̔̿̌ͥ̚͡͝1̷͕̩̘̘̖̠̟̲̜̠͎ͣ͐̾͐̊̾ͦ̔͋̋̐͐ͥ́͟m̵ͯ̒̅̚͘͜҉̬̺̪̠͕̣͙͚̬̲̖̱̟͇͉͔̺ơ̯͇̩͚̟̗̺̥̪̜̻̭̗̝͎͖̼̳̦̄͂͋̆͒͂͗̓̇̇͛̑͛̽͑̎͆̿̎́H͊̋̍̈͒ͤͦͨ͐̍͏̶̷̝̪̹̺̬͈̭͚̜̦̻̲̹̹̞̹͞b̡̛͇̤̩̥̦͚̝͔̮̞͕͉̀̎ͦ̽͊ͨ̊ͧ͌̎ͬ̇͟L̛̝̖͕̩̗͙̘͉̯͔̗̥͚̞̫͒ͮ́ͩͤ̎̉̀ͪ͊̊̾̅̆͒̂̔ͩ͘v̅ͣͪͪ̆̿̑͐ͫͦͪ̓ͤ̏҉̢̯̘̻̤ͅI̶̡̮̙̻̝̺̖̺̪͕̼͍͉͙͂͒̇̑͆ͪͥ̆̍ͤͧ̾͋̔̑̚͝͞5̎͗̓ͩ̀̄ͦ̑̍̓̐͒͞҉̷̡͚͍͓̰̼̗̜͉̬͖̩̲̝̯̲͉̙̕ͅA̓ͫ̏̑̉̌̋ͫ҉̸̮̦̗͎̺͇͖͈̹̀͜F̢̘̤̱͔͕͉̬̯̩͔͈̯͓̭̟̗͕͑ͣͩ̏̃͊̒͑͘͜eͬͤ͐̏̀̇͏̷̲̩͙̙̥͉͖̩͎͙̩̬́̀
̶͓͕̘̙̖̤͚̏̄ͮ̐̾̎ͪ̒̇̋͆̍̌̈́͞N̿̆̓́̌͜͏̡͕̭͍̬̤̦͟v̴̶̵̡͖̗̩̻̫͚̮̰͇̝̘̦͇̪̤̯̯̤͗ͪ̄ͮͦ̊͌ͥ͗ͥ͑̊̊̉͟ͅx̴̵̖̻̮̙͇̖͉̜̮ͮ̌ͭ͋5͙̳̱̹̣̼̙͎̺̠̤̦̣̤̌ͧͯ́̑͂ͤ̔͊̐ͩ̄ͭ̏̀͝g̴̓͆̅̒ͦͮͯͮͨͨ̽̇̑̚҉̙͇̝̼̪̱̳̳͙̫̤̤̼̦̹̳̗̣̼h̨̿͛̃͒ͯͭ͛̏̆͒̍̓ͥͫ͋̀ͮ̋͏̷̰͇͕̼̞̫͍̮͇̱͖̤̭͓̺Ź̧̛̹̰͍̤̗̭͕͈̖̘̦̣̻̪̠̘͛̃̂̿͑͒ͧ̿̉ͣ̒̔͟2̡̪̫̬͈̞̫͚̙̇͂̀̎͂̂͂͌ͭ́̇͢9̬̲̦̱͖̟ͣͩ̆ͥ̎͠͞kͮ͊͒ͯ̑ͬͣ̓ͦͪ́̎͌̔ͩͮ͊͞͡͠҉̜̥͙̺̗̤Ǵ̃̎̈̒̉͡҉̢̲̫̥͇̣͈͓̯̜͈̗̞͈̗̀ͅh̔̓̊͆̐̓ͤͯͤ̅҉̵͙͕͔̞͇̬͈̣̣̪̲B̒̌ͭͥ̒͟҉̴͈͉̬͚͓̫̯͖̣̙͎͚͍͔̮̲͘͘ͅİ̶͍̤̜͈̖̏͌̈͊̊ͫ̏̐ͯ͑̋͟͝i̷̴̱̝͉̠͚͕̬̦̖͙̳͇̔̋̑ͯ̐͌̂̂ͫͨ̀͒͌ͧ̆͛͐1̮͖̤̗̪̝͙̬͖̤ͩ͗̒ͦͫ̊ͤ͌̀́̉̐̚͢͢ͅͅM̨̮͍̪̟̰̿ͭ͒͊̔̈́ͭ̏̅̍ͥ̃ͤ̓ͣͯͭ́̐͠F̡̧̛̖̤͓̝̟̼͎̘̯͙̼͓͎͒ͩ̇̈̏ͦ̉̃̐̆͆̀̉̿ͪͪ̾́͠5̛̠̜̖̗̜̻̘̤̩̫̰̊̽ͬ̋́E̶̓̐̅ͣͬͭ̎̈̽͋͊̆ͣͩ́̚҉̷͉̙̭̠̣̱͔̻P̧̛̛̭͇̙͕͌̔̆͛ͫ̎̀̇̎̍̕5̷̷̛̻̯̲̗͍̩̠̝̯̒ͧ̔ͦ͛ͭ͐̿̂́̾̋̋͑ͦ͟͢ͅC̿͗̒̎ͧ̈́ͫͯ̓͒̃͏̡̬̬̺̥͚̝̰͔͉̪̲̙̼̥̰̭̬͔͎͜ÿ̸̮̙̗̳̙̺͈̺͙̝̪̟̩̙́̇̂ͩ̿̄̀̚͟ͅy̢̨̛̘̻̪͖̦͔̮͐ͪ͊̄͝B̸͒̋͒͋̈͒͒͐ͩͨ̓ͪ̽̾҉̷̩̙̼͖̣̠̻̠̖͉͔̬r̒ͨͤ͌҉͝҉͉̯̞̯͖͈̞͔̹͔͟͜z̵̶̛̻̮͖͈̞͈͚͖ͥ͋ͫ̒̒ͮ̄͐͂ͨͤ̊̄ͩͩ͘͞ͅ
̵̡̺͉̻͔̦̫̯̰̯̆̏̏ͤ̾̇̄̓̓̔̄ͣͤͨ͌̆ͮ̓̚ͅͅP̧̧̼̣͍͈̗̮͙̝̱̤͎̩̤̯̖̮̯͉ͬͤͧͫͨ̈́́̊͗͜͟͜Z̢̫͚̻̗̯͍̻̘͕̼͆́̒̒̆ͪ̓̽͆̀̚͢͢z̡̮̯͓̼̆̉̈́̇͌͒͆a̧̖̭̪̙̮̣͕̻̬̣̠̬̤̜͂̐͌̑́́́͠0̸̛̖̲͙̼͍̪̮̯̜̇ͧ͑̋͟͝f̛͙͙̫͈͓͙͙̳̞̣̠̮̤̣̊ͩͯ͋̽̐ͧ̊̊͛̆̈͂̆̓́͊͑͟ͅb̡̧̺͚̹͎̩̟̫̪̗̬̯̦̎͋̀̃8̵̻̘̘͔̙͔ͩ̓̎̈́͑ͨͥͣ̄̈̈ͤ̍̋U̵̓̋̿͆ͮ͂̍̌̍͏̨͎̪̤̮̟̺̹C̵̢͓̼̟̦̳͉͓͓ͥͤ͌̅́̂͒̏̔̂̀͘F̸̢̨̻̱̹͇̘̣̮͍͍̦ͦ̃ͭ͌̒̑́͋̾͋͜ͅmͣͣ͒̀̍͗ͣ̌ͪ͏̷̡̳̫̼̤͉͚̰͈́͜wͥ͌͒ͩͥ̈͑͋̇ͮ̓̚͏̶̴̢͈̼͈͚̭͈̟̯͍1̨ͭ̊̅̔̄̿͑̍ͫ͛́͢҉̨̺̬̣̥̝͍̙̪̹͉̝̼̣̗̙̞̪X̷̵̛̛͚̻̞̯͍̤ͧ́ͥ̍̃ͮͮͥ͐͆̌̌͒ͦ̐ͬ͊͗͡Ụ̴̴̡͕̞̼̂̅ͯ̌̈ͭͪ͂͊̕͜y̴̟͔̺̮͚̟̖̯͎̼͓̻̫̯̓̓ͥ͌ͨͦ̔ͫ͊ͬ͟͢͞ō̈̾̄̎̉͊͑ͣͮ͊͗͊͛̍҉̸̷̙̳͍̭̳̫̰̳̀2̵̵̧̤̥͉͚̻̪̘̝̠̺̃̀ͭͯͧͬ́́͌ͣ͂ͪ̂ͭ͆̈ͥ̑̀͜e̊̄ͭ̅̃̾̓̓ͧ͐̋̾ͩ́̏̇̃ͮ́҉̬͕͎̠͖͙͉͕̝͕̩͙̣̝͉̭̳̟v̵͗ͮ̽̓͑͏̱̮͖̪̰̞̥̳̣̀͞R̅̈̌̌͘͢҉̗̲͔̮̲͚͓͡p̸̢̧̣̲̻̗̲̣͈͓̖̲͖ͯ̈ͩ̈ͮ͊́ͩ͒̂̈͒̒͗̌̚͘q̶̜̳̭͉̹̺͂͗͂ͮ̂̀ͧ͑́̑̍ͤ͊ͧ͌́͘j̛̜̜͎̠͎̥̫̺̯̬̥̠͉̜͎͇̱ͯ̓̄͊̚͠j̢͔̺͔̟̟̗̟͍̩̠̭̭͖̞ͤ̆ͦ̑̄̂̓ͨͧͮ̆̎̂̕͜ͅl̪̟̬̠̯̳͉̲̺̬̩͖ͦ̊ͭͫ̓̌ͨͥ̿ͨ͊̄̒̾̀͢x̠̦̹̗́ͭͪ̂͆̒̎͑ͮ͋̑ͥ̇̉̕
̧̨̨̖͖̳͖̤̦̪̣̬ͬ̑̃̃̍̀͌1̯̥̣̱̜̥̝̻̆̿ͩͬ̈̉ͪͭ̀̐̂̇ͧ̊́͟T̲̙͍̘̙̙͙̬̖̩̥͈͇͐ͯ͗̃̊ͤ͛͘ͅX̢̨̋́͋ͨ͘͏̰̣̗̟͉͇͔̞̗J̨̊͐͌ͫ͆̎ͫ̊ͮ͑͟͝҉̴̻̤̙̬̦̺̰4ͦ͛͂͑͛̍̃ͪͣ̐ͪ͌̇̌̔ͣ̇͝͏̵̶̛͈̯͖̻̰P̈̋̓̋̍͆ͫ̉̔͊͊͆ͬ̇̌̆̋̊ͥ͏̸̨̬̥̮̖̮͇͜͠S̿ͮ̽ͯ͋̇ͮ̄ͧ̎͊͂̋̕͘͏̻̯͉̘̮q̢̛̞̜̱̣͚̥̯̪͉̰̹̖̝̲̖̩̆ͣ̆̓͋͘͜͡wͬ͋̈̀͐̔ͪ̒̏̓̾̇̈́͢͝͏̖͔̞̮͍͔͍͚͙͞ṁ̤͍̠̤͍̘͓͔͚͚͍̋̌ͪ̏ͯ̄͆ͪͬͧ̆ͬ̄̚̚̕͢͠i̛ͦͪ͗̒́̚҉҉̳͙̺ͅS̶͒̽̊̀͜҉̗̺̘̻̫̟͉͓8̶̶̤̺̺̭̼͉̭̞͎̘̙̰̦́ͩ͆̾̿̅̓̒̂̒̐́͋͗́ͭ̔͊́̀̚ͅc̸͔̙̗̜̬̙ͬ́͐̊̓̐͒͗̏ͯͯ̈͒̀͘͠ͅqͪ͗ͬ̊̆ͣ̊҉̡̨͖̫̤̠̠͙̗͍̰͖̹̤͘͢ͅP̴ͪ̓ͥ̿ͯ͑̏ͣ̇͋ͤ̂̏ͯ̾̚҉̭̹̝̣͔͚̕ͅ4̤͖͙̫̺̮̹̹̣̲ͫͮ̀ͧ̑ͧ̀ͧ̀̀͠w̡͖̥̦̪̭͔̙̝̼͈̣̰͙̺̣̹͍̲͋͋̾ͫ́̓̌ͨ̉̑̊͂̂́́͢Z̴̛̖̱̤̻̖̱̹̤̞̳̫̱̤̺̺̦̹̹̪ͯ̌̋̊̐̒ͤͪ̋͒̑̚͢͞r̴̠̞̭̝͓̮̠͓̖ͧͯ͌ͯ͒̏͢S̠̼̠̫̼̰̯͊̔͂ͣ͋̉ͯ̾̌ͪ͂̓ͫͩ̋̿͜͞ō̧͍̝͇̩̬̳͉̦͖̥̭̭̟͚ͬͮ̇ͦ̎̎̋ͧ̾͋ͩ̎̉͂a̶͍͍͉̖͕̭̻ͤͧ̂̌͊ͫͯ̈̌͐͑͌͢͝͞q͐ͬ̍̒̕͏̧̦̜͙̹̫̥̤͕̟̱̭͡͠ͅ3ͭ͑͊̄ͤͪ̔̽͂́ͥ̓͠͏̶̞̠̱̟̱̹̖͔̻͘͢I̸̵̦̳̲̮̤̳͓̺̞̩̣̙ͪ͛ͨ̏͌͢ͅJ̢̇̿ͨͭͮ͆͌͛̓͏̶̸͚͔̱̮͍̫̼̠͜X̷͉̘̫̳͕͎͎̼̥̻̙̮̰͖̻̬͐̎̐̾ͩͬ͒ͨ͑ͫ̿̑̓̾̀̀̚͞͝ͅͅ
ͯͫ̃̓ͥͩ͏̴͔̻̘͉̩͓͎͔̥͓̰͎́͘͠V̢ͭ̀ͭͩ͌͐̑͑̇̃̽͗̃̇͟҉͖̱̺̝̞w̴̛͍͚̪̗̮̬͚̰ͥ̔̅̓͛̇͠z̛̖̰͇͙͙͚͎̩̺̫̰̳̑͋ͩ̎̔̇̌͜͝8̙̲͚̭͍̪̩͓̲͈͌ͤ͛ͥ̑ͬ̀̀͟9̖̩̫̗̘̖ͣ̐̔̿̒̐̍́̀͡ͅͅaͤ͗͒̾̚҉̸͔͚̘͈͈̰̞̗͈͈̻͘ͅB̨̞̗͇̫̯̠̥̈ͭ̇ͪ̈̓̋̐̅̿̐̑͊̐̿ͫ̚̕͝͡ͅP̨̦͔̫͕̥̼̠̫̝͕̘̠̫͓̦̺̮̒͌ͦ̇̾ͯͣ͑ͭͨ̈̓͗̚̕͢͠͠zͫ̉͑͌̋̊̐ͣ̀ͭͥ̄̚҉̷͖͖̠̬̱͢o̾̈́̿̚͠͠͏̠̦͎̝̝̗̤͎̠̟̭͠k̸ͦ͆ͮ̐̚҉̡͡҉̪̫̬͓4̡́͊́ͩ̉ͤ̿ͥͬ̚͠҉̟͕͈͚6̒̓͐͒̂̅ͭ͛͆̂ͭͪ̏̽̌ͧ́̚͘҉̸̼͖̮̩͇͎͙͍̦̀O̡̡̝͎̖̗͚̯͍̞̗̻̝͉̺͎̠͊̏ͤ̔̊̑̋ͨͮ̒͟͢ͅs̷̵̢̢̻̞̭̝̗͓͔̱̳̻̥ͫͪ̇̾̿̑ͩ̊̀̊̊͟P̷̶̫̬͓̱̫̟̟͇̪̤͙͓̞͆̋͌ͨͭ́͗̏̀̋ͪṋ̵͖͕̱͇̪̮͍̥̼͙ͧͧͭ̇͒̉ͪ̾ͯ̑̇ͦ̕͢͟F̶̸̢̡̳͍̹̘͕̹̲̞̮̪̭̫͚̪̯̿ͦ͗̐͛̌͊͐̋̏ͩ͌̀͌̍̓ͮ͠D̡̜͇͎͕̫͕̱̖̱̫͕̼̒̂ͯ̈̔͢M̤͍̘͙̮̞͚̞͎̥̗̣͈̼̘̟͕̳̬ͦ̆̈́͗̋ͥ̈́̿͑͘7͌ͣͩ͛ͩ͂̒̓̓ͬ̔͛̑ͩͨͭ̚͏̴̥͎̳̯͓͔̱͖͔͔̩͖4͉̝̰̯̗̟̯̙̮͇͎̰͒̄̉ͬ̃̆͗͌̽̄͗̐̈́̕͢͠5̴̢̱̺̥̯͓͇͔̙̗͔͕ͭͫͫ̃ͤ̋̄ͣ̽̂͌͋̃ͮȲ̴̧́ͪͮ̄ͣ̋͌̅͋̈́̑ͥ̾́̚̚͏̣͚̼̜̟̦̟͖͓̗̺͉̝̰͜i̸̷̵̠̱͔͓̟̳̣͔̙̠͚̫̪͚̲͖̐ͩ͛ͫ̀͞7̨̎ͨ͆̍͌̒̊̓ͤ͂̒̉ͬ͆́͏̩̦̜̫̲͇k̶̨͓̞̞̘͎͎̦͓̦͎̙̻̜̫̟̤̫͋̾̈́͆ͧ͌ͬͬ̔̀͑́ͣ͐̎ͦ̎̇͢m̨̭̪̖͓̳͙̗̫͓͍̤̮̝̱̰̈́͐́͐͒͆̆͝
͎͎͎̞͈̩͖̺̻͓̬̦̖ͤ̂͊ͩ̑̔́ͅ2̷͖̣̣̖͚͍̪͖̟͎̘͉̤ͥ̃̏̂ͮͥͦ͒ͭ̄̔̚̚͟͜ͅU͂͗̊̃̽ͪ́ͬͩ͑͋̇ͣ͂̒̚͏͎̯̖̥͕͓̼͇͓̺̥̻͚̫̹͔̺͜Ǧ̷̵͈̫̬̰̬̤̯̝̯̖̰̟̭͙͔̥͉͉ͤͬ̽̈̓̂͐̆ͣ͋ͩͥ̽͞T̊̔̒͛͗ͫ̅̈́ͭ̚̚͏͙͔̖̥͉͉̯͍͉̺͎̖̗̺͈̳̩̪Ơ̧̠͈̹̯̳̞͙̭̭͙̬͙̳ͥͮͭ́ͨ̽͆ͫ̐ͬͯ̈̿̓̈͐̚͜c̵̡̧̺͎̘̻̫̰͈̩̟͚ͥͣ͑ͩ̉̑͛ͫͣ͗̆̈̃̑͘͠4̆ͮ́͐͆̓ͣ̌ͦ̃ͦ̍̕̕͠͏̙̰̥̱̬̰̦ẕ̵̸̢̻̟̟͙̭̩͙̞̏̓̆ͭ̓̌̿ͥͣͪ͝5̴͎͎̼̭̦͍͈̫͍̙̼̹̟̥͇̼̪̇͐͐͑͌͌̿ͦ̽͋̿̑͜O̸̧͇̘̝̲̝͇̪̮̥̺̱͚̠̘̗̤ͨ̓ͦ̀̔ͩ̊ͬͣ̽͛̅̚͞ͅ8̴͚̲̲͉̹̩͌̓ͪ̽̀ͣ̅̈́͋̏̀̎̋̉̑͆̉̌͂͘ņ̶̴̶̪͇̫̭̗͇̻͖͔͚̙̦̮̬̳̊͆̎͂ͤ̆̓̈́F̴̛̺̺̝̜̫͙̤͔̟̘̪͔̝̪̄ͧͫͫͥͭͧ̂̓͗̑̔́͂ͭ̆ͥͦ͝ͅOͣ̅̋̀҉̡̻̟̯̬͖͎̤͙̩͇q̛̝̤̗̲̣̘̜̟̦̳͓͖̲͓̙ͪͤ̅͂̓̓́ͦ̒̓̂̐ͣ̈́͊͝͞͡2̷̮͈͓̮͕̰̟̰͍̙̰̟̝̤͖͐̇̈̐ͬͅc̛̠̰̲̭̔̔̾͑̎ͤ͒ͦ́͜R̶̞̠̝̻͎͖͍̾ͥ̑ͨͯ͆͊͛̄̑͌̆̀́̃̑ͤ̾̕͡͠r̴̸̢̥̹̦̒̍ͫ̏ͥͣ̈́ͫ̉ͥ̄̄̾ͯ̚͢͞Ȩ̡̒ͪ̋ͨ̎ͣͦͣ́̇͆̓ͦ̃̚͟҉͖̹͕͍̭͕̲̣v̷̘̰͖̙̰͇̪̦̻̝̟̩̝̤͙̬̂ͤ̅͆̀͑̋̇̊̈ͭ͠6̛͉̤͉̳̥̜̮̖͎͕̫͙̠̲̓͐͊ͯ́ͭ̉͐̍̅͜p̸̷͂̈̑͑̐̇̌ͯ̒̄̋͊̕҉̱̫̜̹̻̗̹͇̠̯͚̝̰̀z̶̥̩͓̮͙̭̜͖̮̝̳͕͕̼̐̏ͩ̉̀̆͋͌̇ͪ͑ͣ̍̈͒͑Vͮͪ̄̍ͪ̈ͥ͋̎̀͘͏̡̮̰̣̳͎͖̘̹̰̲͓͓͝ǫ͇̙̩͉̗̺̪̲̫͚̃ͬͩ̾͋ͧ̆͒͗͛̈ͨ͌̉̽̈͜5̛̙̯̗̝͎̪̻͎͓͎͚̭̝͍͆̊̅̅͝F̡̦͇̙̳̝̜̱̤̭̙̎͋̾̌̓́̐̓́̈́́ͦ̋̏̚͠͠
̛̯̱̞̜̜̺̲͙̥͛͌̍ͧ͑̄̔͑̐́̍ͯͬ́͟N̴̻͎̠̮̠̠̗̦͓͍̬͍̮̼̐̽͛͛́̓ͯͦͫ͊̉̿ͬ͐ͧ̄͒̓͜͢͟ͅ6̵̨̼͉̥̹̘̹̜̞̖͉̳͔̝ͫͭ̽ͩ̀͟͝u̷̹̺̱͎̞̩͈͖̗̼̘̖̯̪͙͚̣ͧ̑̃̅̃̀̏̋ͬͬ̿̎͒͂Ṡ̶̪͔̞̥ͧ͂̐̏̄͑͒ͣ̏̕A̶̘̪̼̞̘̘̩̖̩̜̞̪̫͉̹̠͒͌ͬ̂́ͨ̐̑̿̋̓͋́̃͐̋̏̎̓͟ͅb̵̢̞͇̯̫̜͌̾ͩ̂̅̀ͪ̉ͧͬ̓ͪͤ͛͢͢͝z̷̵͆̓ͮͯ̆͒̌̊̽ͭ̄̉̃͆̆̃ͤ̀͏̝͔͓̜͖̬̮̩͕͈͉̖͘G̞̬͍͚͇̗̟͈̗͚̼̤̘ͬͦ͌̇ͥ̋ͩ͋ͫ̀̆̔ͣ̕t͗ͥ̽̽̓̌͊ͣ͐̅̔ͤ̓ͦ̑̂̌ͤ͏̨̩͍͍͕ĭ̸̧̛̻͖͎̱͙͈̜̬̠̠͙ͣ̉ͫͤ̕͟x̾̄ͨ͊̆̒̈́ͪ̌̅̈̇͐̿̐̂҉̶̯̳̩̭̮̻̻̮̠̜̲͇͘͡P̲̜̰̥̖͆̋̾̂͐̑ͮ̋̒̉͌́́͞ͅr̵̵̡̮͓̺̝̘̰̝̻̦̞͓̼͉͒ͦ̽̾̌̍ͥ̕̕Ų̭̰̻͔̹̰̞̖̞̞͓̆͗ͥ̂ͧ́ͨ͆̉̇͋͞͞k̵̴̷͓͔̲̲̬̰̲̰ͯ̂ͬ͗ͣ̂̄ͩ͒ͦ̍ͦ͂̎ͬ̽̏́ͧy̶̴̩̜͉͕̜̱͂̒̋̒ͩͦ̃͐ͥ̒̍̚ͅq̷̨̡̳͙̺̣̼̥͚͓̩̞̣̙͍̻̠̂͗ͮͩ̓̆̚Y̸̡̛͋̇̅ͬͧ̑͢͏̞̭͎̪̺͕̣̦͖̦̤̤̤̼̜H̷̫͚̣̬͙̲̯̝͍̘͔̲̱͍̪̍͆ͦ͛ͨ͆͒̏ͨ̊̊̎ͭ̄́ͬ͐̕͠͞q̸̢͓̼̰̭̳̹̲̬͉̖͙͎̲̥̒̄̓̒̇̒̒ͥͩ͞Q̤͈͓̩͎̞̦͇̫̹̭͎̳̮̲̑̓̾ͩͫͩ͗̍̽̀̆̄͢ͅB̧̢̹̳̰̣͔̺͍̦͎͍͚̙͎̣̫̟̼̪̖̌̾̍ͧͬ͐̑̏́ͫ̒͌͐̌ͥ̿͢͝͞B̊̏̌̊̈́͋̃͒̋͐̽͜҉̸͚͎͉̥͙͝O̘̪̟̭͚͈̹͉̮̤̣͎̮̯̿̄ͩͭ̕͞͝͠Y̛̞̟͔̩͎̳͖̙͔̟̹͕̭̝̙ͧ̂̏ͫͥ͒̈͆ͬ̓̓̌͛͌̓͂̀ͅb̶̨̨̠̠̠̲͇̬̭ͪ̿̔̒ͬ̀̚͜ģ̵̮̰̫̄̓̉ͤ͑̎̍́͜R̥̝̝͚̫̣̘͙̙̬̰̗̠͖͕̭ͪͪ̿̓̐̍̍ͩ͋ͪ̊̉̐͗ͪ̑̈̑́͟͠ͅ | My shadow has passed long over the earth, my form incomprehensible. You, your kin, gaze motionless upon the passing apparition, unaware that the longer you stand in vacant wonder, the further eldritch tendrils slink deep into your very being. Appendages, damnable vines, constrict those long-forgotten nostalgias and unknowable fears, tearing them before the light of day, shadowed by my own manifestation.
Those which move find only the strength to lie upon roadways, sojourn once only to lofty perches. Those who do not instead own minds which are both full and empty. Shapeless notions, horrifying vistas, all twirl as a maelstrom from which no clear meaning may be discerned.
You beg, as well as one might, to know only why you have been cursed by such callous fate. Such hypotheses of predestined hostility serve the self-centered nature of man. What man fears worse still is apathy. You, your kin, look upon my shadow and see an agent of doom. I fail to look upon you at all. You, your kin, see the fabled angel of death, and yet in my own phantasmic eye there is no malice, no calamity; only oblivion. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I pick one. I make it kill others. I don't force it to, I make it want to inflict harm. Small things when it is small, and bigger as it grows. When it is done growing I make it kill its own kind. I make it enjoy it. I make it feel clever. I make it feel pleasure. I make it skin some alive. That's funny. You're naked, ha ha. I make it lock some up. I make it make them do things. Silly thing, think you are me. I make it make items from others. It needs a lot of materials. I make it decorate with others. I get bored. I make others see. They kill it.
I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. | Far beneath the ocean reeling, how I stalk them, dark and scheming,
Scratch along their rotted keeling, peeling at them with my claw.
"'Tis nothing but debris, fear not," says the man from wooden cot,
Wooden coffin made of rot, rotting at my very door.
But fear they will, for fear I am, their wood no more a flimsy dam,
Pry against their timber clam, their horror shall await no more.
"By God, we sink! Quickly, think. Turn astern and run ashore!"
They bark and shout, they bellow out, a chant of which I quickly bore.
Grasp and crush, pull them under, cursed ship torn asunder,
Now they understand their blunder, deep upon the ocean floor.
"Oh God," he thinks in desperate prayer, drowning in my fetid lair,
"We beg of you our souls to spare, save us from this carnivore."
As my appetite is fed, the words he sought for went unsaid,
And so I speak to him instead, "sleep now human, God is dead."
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | A shrill alarm woke me from my wakeful slumber. Leaving the compound eyes near the back of my third head lidded I opened the rest of my 399 eyes and looked for the source of the sound which had stopped by now. I shifted my chitonous 161 legs out of my bed and made my way over to the dresser, the hardwood floor click-clacking sharply against the stark quiet of my bedroom.
The alarm had rung to alert me that some beings had entered my estate on sector 996. I closed my eyes and projected a fraction of my sentience into the sector and watched.
A small pink primate like thing, walking on only two fleshy legs (how in the name of Af’dbr do they balance themselves on only two legs?) made their way down the dark set of stairs. Another one of those things followed the first one down, this one was afraid, I could smell the familiar scent of fear. Inhaling deeply with the three noses perched atop my central proboscis I discerned that the first one was afraid as well, but masking it a bit better. With a slight twinge of irritation that sent a couple of planets in a sector nearby crumbling into dust, I noticed that both of these beings had failed to close the door to the large and dark mansion that they were entering.
I figured that I should introduce myself to the guests and tried to manage the fraction of my being into a more manageable form- three legs (I really can’t balance on two), five arms branching out at the ends of each hand on my two arms. And lastly, I needed to be that unseemly shade of pink.
I stuffed myself into this projected form and ambled out of the shadows towards my two guests, reaching an arm forwards amiably. “Hi, sorry for the mess, I haven’t cleaned up in centuries, but you primates are always allowed here you know?- me casa es su casa.” I chuckled a bit.
To my surprise the two primates were either singing or screaming (hard to tell with beings like these honestly), mostly variations of ‘what the fuck,’ ‘holy shit,’ and ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ I frowned slightly and hit the center of my bulbous and extended forehead with a tiny arm in annoyance as I realized that these pink primates must not have understood a word of what I had said. Sure, I was speaking in their language, but every single one of my 216 brains had forgotten to realize the fact that these beings function on a much slower time-frequency. Why, I must have looked like a fool speaking 79 times more rapidly than they could comprehend, my voice a tinny and unwavering shriek of over 154 decibels.
My projected form vanished as I noticed that my guests were running amok in a different room. I thought for a couple of picoseconds before I ascertained that lower-level beings like them needed sustenance to survive. Weren’t they hunters and gatherers? I decided to treat them to a couple hundred Fgrufg, a fine delicacy found in a corner of sector 27, and released the creatures in the room the primates were currently standing in.
The Fgrufg set out with enthusiasm, bouncing from wall to wall, to outer dimensional wall- to primate eyes, zipping in and out of existence. With fondness I think back to multiple millennium ago when I was young and my brood mother set millions of Fgrufg free in my room to catch and eat with my spear-like pincers. I would catch and devour them by the thousands and my brood mother would look at me with a slight smile playing at the sides of her cosmic lips and berate me for hogging all of the snacks.
I looked back towards the primates and saw them screaming, even louder than they had been previously. I sighed when I saw them running away from the snacks I had given them.
“You’re supposed to run towards them to catch them, not run away.” I said to myself, and one of my heads nodded in agreement, flicking out a forked tongue. I suppose that they might have been vegetarians. But rather than present them with the rare seed of the Crututu plant (these were even harder to catch than the Fgrufg, but once you made your way through the 15 sets of tentacles and feelers to the seed in the middle it is absolutely delectable as it sits in your stomach and whispers dark promises of power and glory) I waved away the Fgrug with an errant thought, the small tentacled creatures screaming in pain as they dissolved under my will.
The incessant shrieks of the two pink creatures subsided and they made deep gasping sounds- catching their breaths I assume. Life is so hard with only two lungs.
I had welcomed these guests, offered them food, but they still continued to be so ungrateful to me. I figured their brood mother were not so diligent in disciplining her maggots and figured it was time for me to berate these miscreants from rousing me from my nap and not accepting my kind hospitality.
Carefully, as I didn’t want my presence to incinerate their entire galaxy (A couple thousand light years from their planet was a delicious fast food place that serves the most delicious live fried Gruti, the feeling of the acid on my tongues melting the exoskeletons away from their bodies while they scream in incomparable pain is truly unique. Wouldn’t want to annihilate that restaurant.) I slipped one of my smaller heads into a crack in their dimension and peeked up from under them, so that it seemed like my head slowly floated out of the ground they were standing on. I did this slowly, so as not to startle them, but they still screamed.
Was it the compound eyes? Or the tentacles? It matters not. I came all this way to teach them a quick lesson in hospitality and teach them I will.
I opened the cavernous chasm of my mouth, exposing rows of teeth that went on for miles and spoke directly into their minds,
I AM THE BRINGER OF CALAMITY AND OBLIVION, THE ONE WHO’S NAME IS ONLY WHISPERED, THE ONE KNOWN AS WRT’GHYJ. YOU THINK YOU KNOW PAIN? YOU THINK YOUR PETTY SPECIES KNOWS WAR, FAMINE, AND DESTRUCTION?
A BLINK FROM A SINGLE EYE OF MINE CAN SEND YOU PUNY PLANET VEERING OFF COURSE AND INTO THE MOUTH OF A BLACK HOLE. AN EXHALATION OF BREATH FROM MY MOUTH CAN KILL EVERY LIVING BEING WITHIN 3,000 LIGHT YEARS. MY WILL EXTENDS OVER THIS ENTIRE DIMENSION AND 689 MORE AND WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT I CAN EXTINGUISH LIFE AS IT IS.
YOUR FINITE EXISTENCE WILL KNOW THE MEANING OF PAIN IF YOU KEEP ON BEING THIS UNGRATEFUL. LEARN TO CLOSE THE DOOR AFTER YOU COME IN. AND IF YOU DON’T WANT THE FOOD THAT’S BEING OFFERED TO YOU, AT LEAST PRETEND TO ENJOY IT.
I did try to be quiet but my omnipotence alerted me to the fact that my voice had flattened all vegetation in a 60 mile radius. Oops. I also noticed that both of the primates had left the premise.
I found them a mile away from my estate, one of them on their knees laughing and clawing at their eyes. The other kept throwing themselves towards the ground, getting back up and repeating the process. I seem to have overdid the lessons, both the pink things seemed to have had their minds (if you can call that clump of neurons a mind) broken. Well. It was no great loss to their species, or to the sector in which their planet resided.
I looked back at my estate. Ah. Their minds may have been broken but at least they closed the door on the way out.
| Far beneath the ocean reeling, how I stalk them, dark and scheming,
Scratch along their rotted keeling, peeling at them with my claw.
"'Tis nothing but debris, fear not," says the man from wooden cot,
Wooden coffin made of rot, rotting at my very door.
But fear they will, for fear I am, their wood no more a flimsy dam,
Pry against their timber clam, their horror shall await no more.
"By God, we sink! Quickly, think. Turn astern and run ashore!"
They bark and shout, they bellow out, a chant of which I quickly bore.
Grasp and crush, pull them under, cursed ship torn asunder,
Now they understand their blunder, deep upon the ocean floor.
"Oh God," he thinks in desperate prayer, drowning in my fetid lair,
"We beg of you our souls to spare, save us from this carnivore."
As my appetite is fed, the words he sought for went unsaid,
And so I speak to him instead, "sleep now human, God is dead."
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Reluctantly, I extended my senses outwards as noise entered my sanctum.
I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. A century? More? Clearly, not the millennium I had intended. I shifted a few times, my appendages stretching from my all too brief slumber, working the stiffness from my serpentine limbs.
I could feel them nearby. Humis, that's right, they had called themselves humis. Or something like that. It was hard to remember, and even a semi-immortal being can get groggy.
The humis had opened a door. How had they known how to- ah yes. I had told them how to reach me. The last time I had come to their world. They had fallen to their knees, begging for my power. Especially that one, what was his name, in the robe. Their leader.
That had gone...poorly. It must be hard for the Humis to understand something like me, and my attempts to communicate had been fought with peril. I had just been trying to say hello when their leader's head exploded.
The followers had adverted their eyes, which was probably wise. They had mewed up at me in their tiny voices, too primitive to know that I could feel the ebbs of their mind.
Attempting to let him know that had not gone well either. The first one dying had been an accident, still a bit of overzealous communication on my part. The next three were my fault- I should have gone straight to whispers.
So I'd resorted to whispering, but the language of a leviathan translated poorly. I had learned little, and they learned only of my power. They wanted something, I could get that, but the details escaped me.
So I found one of them, whose mind seemed tougher than the rest, and I told him how to reach me. That I would have a bite to eat, and that he should get back to me when they learned to shield their minds. Then I curled up in my astral realm and had a nap.
I signed. Better get this over with. I pushed a bit of myself- not too much, they couldn't handle that- through the portal.
They were bowing, their faces averted. "Oh great Ill'goth, genesis of madness" they chanted, "we awaken you to consume this world, as you intended to do centuries ago."
Crap, that's what they heard?
"We have heard the whispers, the reverberations of your thoughts!"
They had? Damn it, I didn't think my snores were that loud. I must not have closed the portal all the way.
"we bring for you a sacrifice, to kick off your glorious reign."
A man knelt there, bound and bloodied. He wore a soiled suit, and he quaked in fear.
Guys, really, hostages? Bug me if you want, but keep bystanders out of it.
Well, I better sort this out. Clearly, these idiots were going to keep bugging me until their dying breath unless I sorted this out.
"Guys, this is not okay." I said, as quietly as I could, to the cultists.
Their faces shifted in pain. Even that was too loud?
"You are displeased!" The high priest said, "as you should be, this world is a failure!"
"No, guys, stop with this." A ting of anger entered my statement.
"Yes my lord, cleanse us first. Begin with our impure forms, free us to live on in your madness?"
What the hell was he babbling about? But okay, if he insisted.
"Fine." I thought at the cultists, as hard as I could. There was a chorus of pops as all of their heads exploded simultaneously.
That just left the lone man. The least I could do was help him out.
I extended my appendage- a tentacle, as he would see it- towards him. He staggered away, trying to avoid my reach.
"Stop," I whispered. "I just want to help you. Let me break your shackles."
"My mind is my own, monster." He called. He forced his bindings against the cultist's knife, slicing them.
Fine then. That was sorted. I forced my perception to take in the room. There was a dark crystal on the table- that was it. They had used that to reach me. I should just take that back so this couldn't happen again.
I reached for the crystal with my tentacle, and felt a stab at the side of my limb. The humis had sliced me! With that cultist's knife!
"Stop it," I said, trying to retain my voice, but he still fell away in pain.
I sighed. I should finish this. I stretched towards the crystal again.
"No," the man screamed. He leapt towards the crystal, smashing it with his knife.
With a pop, the doorway closed. Pain shot though me, as my appendage had been slammed in the door, and I realized it had been sliced clean.
"Ow". I though. I extended my mind to my limb. It oozed black fluid, but it would reform in time. Damn those cultists, this would take me a century to recover from.
I hoped the human would be okay. He'd been in a bad spot, and my voice had done him no favors, but Humis could be hardy. He'd heal in a century or two.
I signed, weariness fighting irritation. I'm always grumpy in the morning. Maybe just another few centuries... | Far beneath the ocean reeling, how I stalk them, dark and scheming,
Scratch along their rotted keeling, peeling at them with my claw.
"'Tis nothing but debris, fear not," says the man from wooden cot,
Wooden coffin made of rot, rotting at my very door.
But fear they will, for fear I am, their wood no more a flimsy dam,
Pry against their timber clam, their horror shall await no more.
"By God, we sink! Quickly, think. Turn astern and run ashore!"
They bark and shout, they bellow out, a chant of which I quickly bore.
Grasp and crush, pull them under, cursed ship torn asunder,
Now they understand their blunder, deep upon the ocean floor.
"Oh God," he thinks in desperate prayer, drowning in my fetid lair,
"We beg of you our souls to spare, save us from this carnivore."
As my appetite is fed, the words he sought for went unsaid,
And so I speak to him instead, "sleep now human, God is dead."
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Of course.
You're screaming.
Everyone screams. Say what you will about the decline of manners in this modern age but at least most folks are greeted with something other than ear-splitting shrieks. I guess I'm not so lucky. I also guess I'm not to good at proper conversation because I've jumped ahead without even introducing myself.
My name is . . . well, that's not important. I could tell you my name but it never ends well. Apparently, even seeing it written down drives the sanest of men to gibbering madness, drooling and crying and going on and on about the sliding angles of the hungering void.
(It was a bit tough finding that out. I went to an AA meeting for help with dealing with my substance abuse problems and ended up fleeing the church fellowship hall just before one of members set fire to a gas main she'd ripped out of the wall in a fit. The newspapers reported it as an accident due to faulty electrics but failed to mention the self inflicted lacerations on the bodies they recovered.)
There I go again, off on some tangent instead of just telling you why I'm here. Linear time is such a problem for me. I tend to move in seven dimensions, existing everywhere/when so thinking in terms of "this-happened-then-that-happened" gives me a colossal headache.
Well, I say "headache." I don't really have a head, as such. I do have a ventral stalk upon which most of my sensory organs rest. My food intake orifice is underneath my body, though, so I end up over-enunciating when I speak. Not that it matters. I open my mouth and people automatically begin raising sand about the slathering maws of eternity uttering dark syllables of madness.
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise. Speaking of, would you mind piping down a bit? I'd like to speak like adults instead of carrying on like a hairless ape descendant.
Speaking of my mouth, boy is it dry. It's like I've spent all day sucking on sandstone effigies carved by misguided cultists who think mispronouncing my name in their silly rituals means I will grant them power. (Honestly, they never get the right inflection. You'd almost think they'd never heard of using their tertiary uvulas when attempting glottal stops.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Why I am here.
I was a bit thirsty earlier (well, I still am, truth be told) and decided to make tea but realized I am fresh out of sugar. (I'd forgotten I'd used the last of it making brownies for the church fundraiser for fellowship hall repairs.) I slid through the angles from my realm into yours (I came through your wainscoting, I hope you don't mind,) to ask if I could borrow some from you.
Oh. That's right. You're still screaming, aren't you? It's a bit hard for me to tell, what with my hearing be so damaged from no one using a normal speaking voice around me. I'll just help myself to your pantry and head out. Please excuse the effluvia. I leak it everywhere and it tends to be a bit caustic. It'll eat through a house pet like water on cotton candy.
Oh no, don't get up. You look pretty comfortable in your spot behind the couch, blood leaking from your eyes and nose, brandishing your iPad.
Well, this should be all I need. Again, sorry about the mess. I'll be back to return the measuring cup. Don't worry, I'll call in advance next time instead of just barging in.
I'm sure you'll hear the call.
They always do. | Far beneath the ocean reeling, how I stalk them, dark and scheming,
Scratch along their rotted keeling, peeling at them with my claw.
"'Tis nothing but debris, fear not," says the man from wooden cot,
Wooden coffin made of rot, rotting at my very door.
But fear they will, for fear I am, their wood no more a flimsy dam,
Pry against their timber clam, their horror shall await no more.
"By God, we sink! Quickly, think. Turn astern and run ashore!"
They bark and shout, they bellow out, a chant of which I quickly bore.
Grasp and crush, pull them under, cursed ship torn asunder,
Now they understand their blunder, deep upon the ocean floor.
"Oh God," he thinks in desperate prayer, drowning in my fetid lair,
"We beg of you our souls to spare, save us from this carnivore."
As my appetite is fed, the words he sought for went unsaid,
And so I speak to him instead, "sleep now human, God is dead."
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | gHmwthp'glks skmtrwqxr'rvzt wsslhtp'p dnddpr qqw-l'klml hhrt n'nmttl n qqfgh
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hK'zzhz'ph hphh'cc cThg ghh'gh. rRnj-rrhh bdb'bdjjg hjjghh'c w'hfh'whgh.
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'*!!!pH'ngl mglw'nfh cThlh R'llh wgh'ngl fhtgn*'
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'*!!!pH'ngl mglw'nfh cThlh R'llh wgh'ngl fhtgn*'
'*!!!nN. !!!cThg ffhgthth*'
cChhk'k rrtthghjk'khgh. fFhgpt mm'ngg'hj jgg'hg wp'dfgh w'ghw'g hht. tTh'k c'gJc-hhz g'H.
'*...rrrgh*'
'...'
cThg ffhgthth. | Far beneath the ocean reeling, how I stalk them, dark and scheming,
Scratch along their rotted keeling, peeling at them with my claw.
"'Tis nothing but debris, fear not," says the man from wooden cot,
Wooden coffin made of rot, rotting at my very door.
But fear they will, for fear I am, their wood no more a flimsy dam,
Pry against their timber clam, their horror shall await no more.
"By God, we sink! Quickly, think. Turn astern and run ashore!"
They bark and shout, they bellow out, a chant of which I quickly bore.
Grasp and crush, pull them under, cursed ship torn asunder,
Now they understand their blunder, deep upon the ocean floor.
"Oh God," he thinks in desperate prayer, drowning in my fetid lair,
"We beg of you our souls to spare, save us from this carnivore."
As my appetite is fed, the words he sought for went unsaid,
And so I speak to him instead, "sleep now human, God is dead."
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. |
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̦̫͕̤̰̠̤͕̇ͫ̇̓̂ͥ͛͛̄͠F̷̮̻̝̗̗̟̯͕ͭͧͩ͆́͜͡6̡̞͎̤͙̺͇̤̣̙̯̦̎̈̒ͦͭ̿̃ͫ͑̅́͜͠Ŗ̴̳͙͎͖͔̺̗̪̥͎̩͇̞̬͈̠̫͛̌̅͑́ͭͬ̃̾̕q̶ͣ͑͛ͥ͐̓̋̀̈́ͭ́͘͟҉̞̭̭̲͖͔̳͙̱̼͍̣͈͖ͅk̦̮̫̻̞̮̗ͣ̊̋ͥ̇ͮ̿̓ͭ̅̔̚͟Z̧̘̗͇͚̟̣̫͉̳͑̃̏͂ͥ̃ͤ̈̉͢͢ẁ̢̢̢̦̹̟̝̲̬͌̆͒͆̊ͩͮͧ͂͐ͨͮͣ̀̒̌͢f̨ͬͤ̂͆͗͌ͥ͑ͪ̂ͯ̽̋̂͑͌͆҉͟҉̧̗̦̞̠̮̻͖̝͔̩͙x̷̐ͫ̂̍̄ͫ̐̈́͂͗̔̑̒͗̃ͩ̑͝҉̗̳̜̥̭̬̣̹̗̭̤̟̻̫1̷̭͚̞̳̮͔̝̪̯̖̪̗̉ͯͦ̒̓͆̽̂͌̽ͩ͐ͣ̍͂͛̚͘̕͝q̯͍̭͚̟̣̬̬̝̙̪̯͓̳͊̎̉̆͌̌̾̊ͪ̇́̄̈́̓͐̌͑̆̈̀͘ͅa̷̧͔͎̫̫͍̬̩̟̬̥̘͍̼̲͓͋̆̿ͦ̃͌̀́̕t̐̽ͥ̅͑ͣ̋͆̏͏̛̖͖̠̱͍̼̗̱̙̹̖̬̲̮̙̖q̵̧̡̝̬̺ͪ̋̽ͪ̓ͬ͐̂́͗͌ͮ͆ͣ̎ͩs̴̨͆̅̽͊̇͗҉͓̝͇̳͔̙͇f̨͉̙̝̭̘̳̮̰̲̭̦̜ͥͭ̃̏ͧ͐̽͂ͩ̍̔͆̆̆͢͟͟͠F̢̥̘͍̝̰̝̞̰͖̿͆̔ͯ̊́̑̏̾͑̔ͪ̅̏͆ͅt̛̛͕̳̙̘̹̦̲̹͔̖̭̒̆̾ͦ͊́̉̊ͫ̍̓ͭ͘͝͞l̛̳̬̪̎ͫ̏̈́͋͛̓̒̌̔͌̒̉̐̐͠ͅg̴̢̒̂͂͑̆͌ͨ̈̈ͣ̇̒̀̽ͪ̄́͑̚͏̭͙͚̭̣̠͔̼͇͚̺̩̼̮ą̷̠̝̺̺̼̥̮̺̞̠̖̟̊̌̅̂ͮ̈ͥͥͣ̃̾͟͜͠I̛̋͋̓̅͛ͨ̐ͬͧ̐ͪ̅̒̈́ͦ̋ͯ͢͏͈͕̬̖̭̤̝̳̫̜̟͍̮̻͠Cͬ̈̉̊͏͚͉̳̱̳̞̭͈͙͢͢Ĵ̸̴̷̯̮̬͓͖͍̤͈͕̣̫͈̪̻̠̳̝ͮ̃ͦ̓͐͜͠Y̸̪͈͔͖͔͔̣̦̬͎͇̗̜͔̹̜̎ͧ̇ͫ̋̆͐ͪ̑̆͋̓̂͜ͅn̶̢̨̪̻͎̪̙̩̗̟̺̣̣̮̏͗ͬ́ͧ̋̉ͥ̈́̌̾̊̀l̶̎̅ͭ̒ͨ̅ͦͧ͐̇̍ͯ̅͋̚͏̗̪͉̜̯̮̱̼̜̪̗̪̥̬̀̕͞4̛̺̟͙̝ͧͨͫͣ̈͗̃͋̊̈́ͬ̈́͑̈̑̽͛̀̀́͞͠
̨̣̗̤͕̩̟͎̺̟̯̥̩͉͓̫̥̇̓͊̈̾̉͌͋ͩͬ̇͢͜ͅo̢̡̲͉̻̬̺̣͎̣̩̬͙̤̺͉̦̭̱͌̽̈̅̋͊͒̑͌̅̑̓̑͗̓͐ͬ͗̀0͑̏ͪ̽̈̒̎̅͢͏̹͓̩͕̘̟̮̪͔̣̖͈̪͈͚͎0̡̖̮̝͔̜̪̗̙͛̈́̏̿̌̽ͩ̓̂͛̑̈́̌ͣ̀͘͠K̷̮͓̪͕͚̦̟̪̞͇̪̗̆͗ͩ͑̌̒̌͊̇̌̎ͨͤͫͯͧͪ̌̄͠͡ͅq̈́͗̌̔͗ͥ̑ͥ̂̄ͮ͂̄͛҉̩͔̖̳̟́͝P̶̧̭̝̳̯͕̘̦̗̞̜̰̣̟̫͔̠͚ͤ̉ͨ͞͞Ğ̨̬̜̺̮̞͌̽̅̅͗̽̍̃͛ͬ̊ͨ͊͐̀̀͟9̷͎͓̤̰̻̜̘̖̪̬̫͇̦̲̞̲͒ͦͮ̌̌̂ͥ͑̽̔͋͂̾ͯ̉͌D̡̛̤̳͓̣̙̣̮̩ͤ͌̏̾̾͆̿̑ͥ̅̔̋̂͆̂̌̚͝ͅK͙̮̝̱̠̯̫̼̤̫̘̉̏͐ͮ͝͝g̴̑ͣ͗̾ͬ͒̓̽͒͋̑̏̃́͟͝҉̫̮̳͓̭̜̙̗͖̮͕͖Ģ̴͕̩̯̠̬͖̠͈͍̣̹̥̮̫̤̼̬̠̒͋̌͒̈́͗̅͋͛͋ͣͯͪ́F̎ͦ̂̂̐̓̓̽̿̾̃ͭ̊̏̚҉̢̰̤̭͔̟̭͔̹n̛͚̫̤͕̼̱̮̦̫͉̲̩̘͚̰̗̒ͧͯ͐̓ͧ͛̓̈́̃̒̓̈̾͗̍ͨ͛͝͠O̖̮̦̥̦͙̭̳̝̝͗͒̊͑̉͒̊͗̾ͩ̀̓̔͛̄ͯ͢͠ͅͅx̟̲̹͕̱̻̼̼̳̻͆ͯͬ̅̂̅̚̕͡I̷̷̴͍͚̩̤̲͚͉̺̜͈͉̒͛͌̔ͬ̍̑̀g̶̟͖̊̋̾̎́ͅC̹̜̟̻̙͈͔̳͙̝͔̺̦̳̭͖̰ͪ͊͊ͯ͞ͅQ̸̙̹̥̼͙͔͇̼͉̞̯̦͉̤̰̘̭̦͎̌͑͆̄̈́ͩ͛̐͜X̸͇̙̖̣̩ͭͨ̋͑ͬ̈̕͘Hͤ̂͐̄̒͐̿͜͏̧̢̪̞͉̯̤͕̫͈̥̖̰̹̜́Ṙ̶͎͎̤̮͕̝̥̳͈ͭͮ͛̾̑̓͗̾̔̉͛̓̏͋́̕͘Ỏ̸̧̥͓̜̮̼̰̦̭̰͎̗̞͕͇͖͙͓͔̮ͧ̀ͮ̏̇ͯ̌̓̆ͦ́̚͟Ķ̵̭̖͍̱̼̖͙̖̹͖͔̫͙͒ͧ̋͆͊̂̃ͬ̎ͮ̊̿͛͆ͬ͌̐̄̚͠͡F̧̬̦̘͉̱̞̰͖͇͚̤͖͔͓̜͖̞̲ͮ̂̇̒̆͗̊̉̐ͤ̿ͨ̅̀̕͘͞ȩ̵̛͓̪͎̞͇̹̳̥̰̤̰͔ͮ̂ͧ͜͞q̰̲͎̦͕̥͉͖̤̜̭͍͚̖̯̼̲̞̖͊͊͊͗̐ͮͪͨͩ̒͒̃͝͞
̅͑ͯ̔͋̈́̚͟҉̧̳̩̼̼̺C̲̹̭̞̦͍̥̯̤̪͕̺͒͐ͧͧ̐̑̑̌͒̐̔̾͂ͦ͜͜j̷̶̘̫̺̜̖͖̙͕̦͎͓̞̭̠͔̝̫̩ͨ͑ͯ̌̀̚ͅ8̨̨̟̫͉̣̦͚̫̼̦͐̐̃ͪ͂̽̒̆̒̍̔͢k̵̫̳̝̭͑ͭ̆ͨ̓͗ͪ͑̊̕͞͞T̴̵̝̜̥̩̙̱̔̾̆ͥ̌̔͐ͥ̕͝ͅͅJ̢̥͍̦̣́͋̈́̎̾̄͟͝Ķ̼͎͈̜͉̼̘̲͔͋ͪ͌͂ͭw̸̷̡̹̯͇̖͉̥͔̹̲ͣ̉͑̓́ͮͯͩ̂ͩ͆ͥ̓ͦ͑ͪ̀̕ͅg̨͔̦̬̜̘͍͐̎ͤͫͨ́ͬ̆̃͜͞͠Q̳͚̬̭̠̻̫͎̹̱͎̼̮̄ͫ̏̌̾̔ͤ͒̌ͥ̎ͮ͂̒͆͋̍ͨ͊͘͘J͕͎͚̦͚͒ͯͥͯͥ̇ͨͧ̾̈̀ͦͣ̌̕͘a̅ͩ͌̓͆̕҉͟͏͖̗͇͎͉͎̙̱̣͟5ͤ͛ͤͩͣ̆̒̅ͨ̿͏͝͏͍̘̗͈̪̫̙̺̜̜̱̠̖̯̬͙̭͝ͅi̛ͧ̋̑ͪ̄ͤ̎̊ͨ̅̎ͩ͋̏̽̃͌̚҉̯̬͖͎͕̰̰͔̣͎n̾ͤ́̆҉̸̵̬̝̳̝̤Ț̢̳̹ͣͮͪ̾̌͊̔̿̌ͥ̚͡͝1̷͕̩̘̘̖̠̟̲̜̠͎ͣ͐̾͐̊̾ͦ̔͋̋̐͐ͥ́͟m̵ͯ̒̅̚͘͜҉̬̺̪̠͕̣͙͚̬̲̖̱̟͇͉͔̺ơ̯͇̩͚̟̗̺̥̪̜̻̭̗̝͎͖̼̳̦̄͂͋̆͒͂͗̓̇̇͛̑͛̽͑̎͆̿̎́H͊̋̍̈͒ͤͦͨ͐̍͏̶̷̝̪̹̺̬͈̭͚̜̦̻̲̹̹̞̹͞b̡̛͇̤̩̥̦͚̝͔̮̞͕͉̀̎ͦ̽͊ͨ̊ͧ͌̎ͬ̇͟L̛̝̖͕̩̗͙̘͉̯͔̗̥͚̞̫͒ͮ́ͩͤ̎̉̀ͪ͊̊̾̅̆͒̂̔ͩ͘v̅ͣͪͪ̆̿̑͐ͫͦͪ̓ͤ̏҉̢̯̘̻̤ͅI̶̡̮̙̻̝̺̖̺̪͕̼͍͉͙͂͒̇̑͆ͪͥ̆̍ͤͧ̾͋̔̑̚͝͞5̎͗̓ͩ̀̄ͦ̑̍̓̐͒͞҉̷̡͚͍͓̰̼̗̜͉̬͖̩̲̝̯̲͉̙̕ͅA̓ͫ̏̑̉̌̋ͫ҉̸̮̦̗͎̺͇͖͈̹̀͜F̢̘̤̱͔͕͉̬̯̩͔͈̯͓̭̟̗͕͑ͣͩ̏̃͊̒͑͘͜eͬͤ͐̏̀̇͏̷̲̩͙̙̥͉͖̩͎͙̩̬́̀
̶͓͕̘̙̖̤͚̏̄ͮ̐̾̎ͪ̒̇̋͆̍̌̈́͞N̿̆̓́̌͜͏̡͕̭͍̬̤̦͟v̴̶̵̡͖̗̩̻̫͚̮̰͇̝̘̦͇̪̤̯̯̤͗ͪ̄ͮͦ̊͌ͥ͗ͥ͑̊̊̉͟ͅx̴̵̖̻̮̙͇̖͉̜̮ͮ̌ͭ͋5͙̳̱̹̣̼̙͎̺̠̤̦̣̤̌ͧͯ́̑͂ͤ̔͊̐ͩ̄ͭ̏̀͝g̴̓͆̅̒ͦͮͯͮͨͨ̽̇̑̚҉̙͇̝̼̪̱̳̳͙̫̤̤̼̦̹̳̗̣̼h̨̿͛̃͒ͯͭ͛̏̆͒̍̓ͥͫ͋̀ͮ̋͏̷̰͇͕̼̞̫͍̮͇̱͖̤̭͓̺Ź̧̛̹̰͍̤̗̭͕͈̖̘̦̣̻̪̠̘͛̃̂̿͑͒ͧ̿̉ͣ̒̔͟2̡̪̫̬͈̞̫͚̙̇͂̀̎͂̂͂͌ͭ́̇͢9̬̲̦̱͖̟ͣͩ̆ͥ̎͠͞kͮ͊͒ͯ̑ͬͣ̓ͦͪ́̎͌̔ͩͮ͊͞͡͠҉̜̥͙̺̗̤Ǵ̃̎̈̒̉͡҉̢̲̫̥͇̣͈͓̯̜͈̗̞͈̗̀ͅh̔̓̊͆̐̓ͤͯͤ̅҉̵͙͕͔̞͇̬͈̣̣̪̲B̒̌ͭͥ̒͟҉̴͈͉̬͚͓̫̯͖̣̙͎͚͍͔̮̲͘͘ͅİ̶͍̤̜͈̖̏͌̈͊̊ͫ̏̐ͯ͑̋͟͝i̷̴̱̝͉̠͚͕̬̦̖͙̳͇̔̋̑ͯ̐͌̂̂ͫͨ̀͒͌ͧ̆͛͐1̮͖̤̗̪̝͙̬͖̤ͩ͗̒ͦͫ̊ͤ͌̀́̉̐̚͢͢ͅͅM̨̮͍̪̟̰̿ͭ͒͊̔̈́ͭ̏̅̍ͥ̃ͤ̓ͣͯͭ́̐͠F̡̧̛̖̤͓̝̟̼͎̘̯͙̼͓͎͒ͩ̇̈̏ͦ̉̃̐̆͆̀̉̿ͪͪ̾́͠5̛̠̜̖̗̜̻̘̤̩̫̰̊̽ͬ̋́E̶̓̐̅ͣͬͭ̎̈̽͋͊̆ͣͩ́̚҉̷͉̙̭̠̣̱͔̻P̧̛̛̭͇̙͕͌̔̆͛ͫ̎̀̇̎̍̕5̷̷̛̻̯̲̗͍̩̠̝̯̒ͧ̔ͦ͛ͭ͐̿̂́̾̋̋͑ͦ͟͢ͅC̿͗̒̎ͧ̈́ͫͯ̓͒̃͏̡̬̬̺̥͚̝̰͔͉̪̲̙̼̥̰̭̬͔͎͜ÿ̸̮̙̗̳̙̺͈̺͙̝̪̟̩̙́̇̂ͩ̿̄̀̚͟ͅy̢̨̛̘̻̪͖̦͔̮͐ͪ͊̄͝B̸͒̋͒͋̈͒͒͐ͩͨ̓ͪ̽̾҉̷̩̙̼͖̣̠̻̠̖͉͔̬r̒ͨͤ͌҉͝҉͉̯̞̯͖͈̞͔̹͔͟͜z̵̶̛̻̮͖͈̞͈͚͖ͥ͋ͫ̒̒ͮ̄͐͂ͨͤ̊̄ͩͩ͘͞ͅ
̵̡̺͉̻͔̦̫̯̰̯̆̏̏ͤ̾̇̄̓̓̔̄ͣͤͨ͌̆ͮ̓̚ͅͅP̧̧̼̣͍͈̗̮͙̝̱̤͎̩̤̯̖̮̯͉ͬͤͧͫͨ̈́́̊͗͜͟͜Z̢̫͚̻̗̯͍̻̘͕̼͆́̒̒̆ͪ̓̽͆̀̚͢͢z̡̮̯͓̼̆̉̈́̇͌͒͆a̧̖̭̪̙̮̣͕̻̬̣̠̬̤̜͂̐͌̑́́́͠0̸̛̖̲͙̼͍̪̮̯̜̇ͧ͑̋͟͝f̛͙͙̫͈͓͙͙̳̞̣̠̮̤̣̊ͩͯ͋̽̐ͧ̊̊͛̆̈͂̆̓́͊͑͟ͅb̡̧̺͚̹͎̩̟̫̪̗̬̯̦̎͋̀̃8̵̻̘̘͔̙͔ͩ̓̎̈́͑ͨͥͣ̄̈̈ͤ̍̋U̵̓̋̿͆ͮ͂̍̌̍͏̨͎̪̤̮̟̺̹C̵̢͓̼̟̦̳͉͓͓ͥͤ͌̅́̂͒̏̔̂̀͘F̸̢̨̻̱̹͇̘̣̮͍͍̦ͦ̃ͭ͌̒̑́͋̾͋͜ͅmͣͣ͒̀̍͗ͣ̌ͪ͏̷̡̳̫̼̤͉͚̰͈́͜wͥ͌͒ͩͥ̈͑͋̇ͮ̓̚͏̶̴̢͈̼͈͚̭͈̟̯͍1̨ͭ̊̅̔̄̿͑̍ͫ͛́͢҉̨̺̬̣̥̝͍̙̪̹͉̝̼̣̗̙̞̪X̷̵̛̛͚̻̞̯͍̤ͧ́ͥ̍̃ͮͮͥ͐͆̌̌͒ͦ̐ͬ͊͗͡Ụ̴̴̡͕̞̼̂̅ͯ̌̈ͭͪ͂͊̕͜y̴̟͔̺̮͚̟̖̯͎̼͓̻̫̯̓̓ͥ͌ͨͦ̔ͫ͊ͬ͟͢͞ō̈̾̄̎̉͊͑ͣͮ͊͗͊͛̍҉̸̷̙̳͍̭̳̫̰̳̀2̵̵̧̤̥͉͚̻̪̘̝̠̺̃̀ͭͯͧͬ́́͌ͣ͂ͪ̂ͭ͆̈ͥ̑̀͜e̊̄ͭ̅̃̾̓̓ͧ͐̋̾ͩ́̏̇̃ͮ́҉̬͕͎̠͖͙͉͕̝͕̩͙̣̝͉̭̳̟v̵͗ͮ̽̓͑͏̱̮͖̪̰̞̥̳̣̀͞R̅̈̌̌͘͢҉̗̲͔̮̲͚͓͡p̸̢̧̣̲̻̗̲̣͈͓̖̲͖ͯ̈ͩ̈ͮ͊́ͩ͒̂̈͒̒͗̌̚͘q̶̜̳̭͉̹̺͂͗͂ͮ̂̀ͧ͑́̑̍ͤ͊ͧ͌́͘j̛̜̜͎̠͎̥̫̺̯̬̥̠͉̜͎͇̱ͯ̓̄͊̚͠j̢͔̺͔̟̟̗̟͍̩̠̭̭͖̞ͤ̆ͦ̑̄̂̓ͨͧͮ̆̎̂̕͜ͅl̪̟̬̠̯̳͉̲̺̬̩͖ͦ̊ͭͫ̓̌ͨͥ̿ͨ͊̄̒̾̀͢x̠̦̹̗́ͭͪ̂͆̒̎͑ͮ͋̑ͥ̇̉̕
̧̨̨̖͖̳͖̤̦̪̣̬ͬ̑̃̃̍̀͌1̯̥̣̱̜̥̝̻̆̿ͩͬ̈̉ͪͭ̀̐̂̇ͧ̊́͟T̲̙͍̘̙̙͙̬̖̩̥͈͇͐ͯ͗̃̊ͤ͛͘ͅX̢̨̋́͋ͨ͘͏̰̣̗̟͉͇͔̞̗J̨̊͐͌ͫ͆̎ͫ̊ͮ͑͟͝҉̴̻̤̙̬̦̺̰4ͦ͛͂͑͛̍̃ͪͣ̐ͪ͌̇̌̔ͣ̇͝͏̵̶̛͈̯͖̻̰P̈̋̓̋̍͆ͫ̉̔͊͊͆ͬ̇̌̆̋̊ͥ͏̸̨̬̥̮̖̮͇͜͠S̿ͮ̽ͯ͋̇ͮ̄ͧ̎͊͂̋̕͘͏̻̯͉̘̮q̢̛̞̜̱̣͚̥̯̪͉̰̹̖̝̲̖̩̆ͣ̆̓͋͘͜͡wͬ͋̈̀͐̔ͪ̒̏̓̾̇̈́͢͝͏̖͔̞̮͍͔͍͚͙͞ṁ̤͍̠̤͍̘͓͔͚͚͍̋̌ͪ̏ͯ̄͆ͪͬͧ̆ͬ̄̚̚̕͢͠i̛ͦͪ͗̒́̚҉҉̳͙̺ͅS̶͒̽̊̀͜҉̗̺̘̻̫̟͉͓8̶̶̤̺̺̭̼͉̭̞͎̘̙̰̦́ͩ͆̾̿̅̓̒̂̒̐́͋͗́ͭ̔͊́̀̚ͅc̸͔̙̗̜̬̙ͬ́͐̊̓̐͒͗̏ͯͯ̈͒̀͘͠ͅqͪ͗ͬ̊̆ͣ̊҉̡̨͖̫̤̠̠͙̗͍̰͖̹̤͘͢ͅP̴ͪ̓ͥ̿ͯ͑̏ͣ̇͋ͤ̂̏ͯ̾̚҉̭̹̝̣͔͚̕ͅ4̤͖͙̫̺̮̹̹̣̲ͫͮ̀ͧ̑ͧ̀ͧ̀̀͠w̡͖̥̦̪̭͔̙̝̼͈̣̰͙̺̣̹͍̲͋͋̾ͫ́̓̌ͨ̉̑̊͂̂́́͢Z̴̛̖̱̤̻̖̱̹̤̞̳̫̱̤̺̺̦̹̹̪ͯ̌̋̊̐̒ͤͪ̋͒̑̚͢͞r̴̠̞̭̝͓̮̠͓̖ͧͯ͌ͯ͒̏͢S̠̼̠̫̼̰̯͊̔͂ͣ͋̉ͯ̾̌ͪ͂̓ͫͩ̋̿͜͞ō̧͍̝͇̩̬̳͉̦͖̥̭̭̟͚ͬͮ̇ͦ̎̎̋ͧ̾͋ͩ̎̉͂a̶͍͍͉̖͕̭̻ͤͧ̂̌͊ͫͯ̈̌͐͑͌͢͝͞q͐ͬ̍̒̕͏̧̦̜͙̹̫̥̤͕̟̱̭͡͠ͅ3ͭ͑͊̄ͤͪ̔̽͂́ͥ̓͠͏̶̞̠̱̟̱̹̖͔̻͘͢I̸̵̦̳̲̮̤̳͓̺̞̩̣̙ͪ͛ͨ̏͌͢ͅJ̢̇̿ͨͭͮ͆͌͛̓͏̶̸͚͔̱̮͍̫̼̠͜X̷͉̘̫̳͕͎͎̼̥̻̙̮̰͖̻̬͐̎̐̾ͩͬ͒ͨ͑ͫ̿̑̓̾̀̀̚͞͝ͅͅ
ͯͫ̃̓ͥͩ͏̴͔̻̘͉̩͓͎͔̥͓̰͎́͘͠V̢ͭ̀ͭͩ͌͐̑͑̇̃̽͗̃̇͟҉͖̱̺̝̞w̴̛͍͚̪̗̮̬͚̰ͥ̔̅̓͛̇͠z̛̖̰͇͙͙͚͎̩̺̫̰̳̑͋ͩ̎̔̇̌͜͝8̙̲͚̭͍̪̩͓̲͈͌ͤ͛ͥ̑ͬ̀̀͟9̖̩̫̗̘̖ͣ̐̔̿̒̐̍́̀͡ͅͅaͤ͗͒̾̚҉̸͔͚̘͈͈̰̞̗͈͈̻͘ͅB̨̞̗͇̫̯̠̥̈ͭ̇ͪ̈̓̋̐̅̿̐̑͊̐̿ͫ̚̕͝͡ͅP̨̦͔̫͕̥̼̠̫̝͕̘̠̫͓̦̺̮̒͌ͦ̇̾ͯͣ͑ͭͨ̈̓͗̚̕͢͠͠zͫ̉͑͌̋̊̐ͣ̀ͭͥ̄̚҉̷͖͖̠̬̱͢o̾̈́̿̚͠͠͏̠̦͎̝̝̗̤͎̠̟̭͠k̸ͦ͆ͮ̐̚҉̡͡҉̪̫̬͓4̡́͊́ͩ̉ͤ̿ͥͬ̚͠҉̟͕͈͚6̒̓͐͒̂̅ͭ͛͆̂ͭͪ̏̽̌ͧ́̚͘҉̸̼͖̮̩͇͎͙͍̦̀O̡̡̝͎̖̗͚̯͍̞̗̻̝͉̺͎̠͊̏ͤ̔̊̑̋ͨͮ̒͟͢ͅs̷̵̢̢̻̞̭̝̗͓͔̱̳̻̥ͫͪ̇̾̿̑ͩ̊̀̊̊͟P̷̶̫̬͓̱̫̟̟͇̪̤͙͓̞͆̋͌ͨͭ́͗̏̀̋ͪṋ̵͖͕̱͇̪̮͍̥̼͙ͧͧͭ̇͒̉ͪ̾ͯ̑̇ͦ̕͢͟F̶̸̢̡̳͍̹̘͕̹̲̞̮̪̭̫͚̪̯̿ͦ͗̐͛̌͊͐̋̏ͩ͌̀͌̍̓ͮ͠D̡̜͇͎͕̫͕̱̖̱̫͕̼̒̂ͯ̈̔͢M̤͍̘͙̮̞͚̞͎̥̗̣͈̼̘̟͕̳̬ͦ̆̈́͗̋ͥ̈́̿͑͘7͌ͣͩ͛ͩ͂̒̓̓ͬ̔͛̑ͩͨͭ̚͏̴̥͎̳̯͓͔̱͖͔͔̩͖4͉̝̰̯̗̟̯̙̮͇͎̰͒̄̉ͬ̃̆͗͌̽̄͗̐̈́̕͢͠5̴̢̱̺̥̯͓͇͔̙̗͔͕ͭͫͫ̃ͤ̋̄ͣ̽̂͌͋̃ͮȲ̴̧́ͪͮ̄ͣ̋͌̅͋̈́̑ͥ̾́̚̚͏̣͚̼̜̟̦̟͖͓̗̺͉̝̰͜i̸̷̵̠̱͔͓̟̳̣͔̙̠͚̫̪͚̲͖̐ͩ͛ͫ̀͞7̨̎ͨ͆̍͌̒̊̓ͤ͂̒̉ͬ͆́͏̩̦̜̫̲͇k̶̨͓̞̞̘͎͎̦͓̦͎̙̻̜̫̟̤̫͋̾̈́͆ͧ͌ͬͬ̔̀͑́ͣ͐̎ͦ̎̇͢m̨̭̪̖͓̳͙̗̫͓͍̤̮̝̱̰̈́͐́͐͒͆̆͝
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Scratch along their rotted keeling, peeling at them with my claw.
"'Tis nothing but debris, fear not," says the man from wooden cot,
Wooden coffin made of rot, rotting at my very door.
But fear they will, for fear I am, their wood no more a flimsy dam,
Pry against their timber clam, their horror shall await no more.
"By God, we sink! Quickly, think. Turn astern and run ashore!"
They bark and shout, they bellow out, a chant of which I quickly bore.
Grasp and crush, pull them under, cursed ship torn asunder,
Now they understand their blunder, deep upon the ocean floor.
"Oh God," he thinks in desperate prayer, drowning in my fetid lair,
"We beg of you our souls to spare, save us from this carnivore."
As my appetite is fed, the words he sought for went unsaid,
And so I speak to him instead, "sleep now human, God is dead."
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I pick one. I make it kill others. I don't force it to, I make it want to inflict harm. Small things when it is small, and bigger as it grows. When it is done growing I make it kill its own kind. I make it enjoy it. I make it feel clever. I make it feel pleasure. I make it skin some alive. That's funny. You're naked, ha ha. I make it lock some up. I make it make them do things. Silly thing, think you are me. I make it make items from others. It needs a lot of materials. I make it decorate with others. I get bored. I make others see. They kill it.
I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. | He is immersing himself in what he believes is the tranquility of the green that surrounds him. Great trees with vines, bushes and plants. He is so taken by it that he never even feels my gaze upon him. I crave his tranquility. I need it. I want to devour it. I slowly creep closer. He doesn't notice the quiet that has settled on the glade. No creature stirs. Even the ants have gone still. They sense the danger. All he notices is the slight tickle as my vines encircle his limbs. Ah.... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | A shrill alarm woke me from my wakeful slumber. Leaving the compound eyes near the back of my third head lidded I opened the rest of my 399 eyes and looked for the source of the sound which had stopped by now. I shifted my chitonous 161 legs out of my bed and made my way over to the dresser, the hardwood floor click-clacking sharply against the stark quiet of my bedroom.
The alarm had rung to alert me that some beings had entered my estate on sector 996. I closed my eyes and projected a fraction of my sentience into the sector and watched.
A small pink primate like thing, walking on only two fleshy legs (how in the name of Af’dbr do they balance themselves on only two legs?) made their way down the dark set of stairs. Another one of those things followed the first one down, this one was afraid, I could smell the familiar scent of fear. Inhaling deeply with the three noses perched atop my central proboscis I discerned that the first one was afraid as well, but masking it a bit better. With a slight twinge of irritation that sent a couple of planets in a sector nearby crumbling into dust, I noticed that both of these beings had failed to close the door to the large and dark mansion that they were entering.
I figured that I should introduce myself to the guests and tried to manage the fraction of my being into a more manageable form- three legs (I really can’t balance on two), five arms branching out at the ends of each hand on my two arms. And lastly, I needed to be that unseemly shade of pink.
I stuffed myself into this projected form and ambled out of the shadows towards my two guests, reaching an arm forwards amiably. “Hi, sorry for the mess, I haven’t cleaned up in centuries, but you primates are always allowed here you know?- me casa es su casa.” I chuckled a bit.
To my surprise the two primates were either singing or screaming (hard to tell with beings like these honestly), mostly variations of ‘what the fuck,’ ‘holy shit,’ and ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ I frowned slightly and hit the center of my bulbous and extended forehead with a tiny arm in annoyance as I realized that these pink primates must not have understood a word of what I had said. Sure, I was speaking in their language, but every single one of my 216 brains had forgotten to realize the fact that these beings function on a much slower time-frequency. Why, I must have looked like a fool speaking 79 times more rapidly than they could comprehend, my voice a tinny and unwavering shriek of over 154 decibels.
My projected form vanished as I noticed that my guests were running amok in a different room. I thought for a couple of picoseconds before I ascertained that lower-level beings like them needed sustenance to survive. Weren’t they hunters and gatherers? I decided to treat them to a couple hundred Fgrufg, a fine delicacy found in a corner of sector 27, and released the creatures in the room the primates were currently standing in.
The Fgrufg set out with enthusiasm, bouncing from wall to wall, to outer dimensional wall- to primate eyes, zipping in and out of existence. With fondness I think back to multiple millennium ago when I was young and my brood mother set millions of Fgrufg free in my room to catch and eat with my spear-like pincers. I would catch and devour them by the thousands and my brood mother would look at me with a slight smile playing at the sides of her cosmic lips and berate me for hogging all of the snacks.
I looked back towards the primates and saw them screaming, even louder than they had been previously. I sighed when I saw them running away from the snacks I had given them.
“You’re supposed to run towards them to catch them, not run away.” I said to myself, and one of my heads nodded in agreement, flicking out a forked tongue. I suppose that they might have been vegetarians. But rather than present them with the rare seed of the Crututu plant (these were even harder to catch than the Fgrufg, but once you made your way through the 15 sets of tentacles and feelers to the seed in the middle it is absolutely delectable as it sits in your stomach and whispers dark promises of power and glory) I waved away the Fgrug with an errant thought, the small tentacled creatures screaming in pain as they dissolved under my will.
The incessant shrieks of the two pink creatures subsided and they made deep gasping sounds- catching their breaths I assume. Life is so hard with only two lungs.
I had welcomed these guests, offered them food, but they still continued to be so ungrateful to me. I figured their brood mother were not so diligent in disciplining her maggots and figured it was time for me to berate these miscreants from rousing me from my nap and not accepting my kind hospitality.
Carefully, as I didn’t want my presence to incinerate their entire galaxy (A couple thousand light years from their planet was a delicious fast food place that serves the most delicious live fried Gruti, the feeling of the acid on my tongues melting the exoskeletons away from their bodies while they scream in incomparable pain is truly unique. Wouldn’t want to annihilate that restaurant.) I slipped one of my smaller heads into a crack in their dimension and peeked up from under them, so that it seemed like my head slowly floated out of the ground they were standing on. I did this slowly, so as not to startle them, but they still screamed.
Was it the compound eyes? Or the tentacles? It matters not. I came all this way to teach them a quick lesson in hospitality and teach them I will.
I opened the cavernous chasm of my mouth, exposing rows of teeth that went on for miles and spoke directly into their minds,
I AM THE BRINGER OF CALAMITY AND OBLIVION, THE ONE WHO’S NAME IS ONLY WHISPERED, THE ONE KNOWN AS WRT’GHYJ. YOU THINK YOU KNOW PAIN? YOU THINK YOUR PETTY SPECIES KNOWS WAR, FAMINE, AND DESTRUCTION?
A BLINK FROM A SINGLE EYE OF MINE CAN SEND YOU PUNY PLANET VEERING OFF COURSE AND INTO THE MOUTH OF A BLACK HOLE. AN EXHALATION OF BREATH FROM MY MOUTH CAN KILL EVERY LIVING BEING WITHIN 3,000 LIGHT YEARS. MY WILL EXTENDS OVER THIS ENTIRE DIMENSION AND 689 MORE AND WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT I CAN EXTINGUISH LIFE AS IT IS.
YOUR FINITE EXISTENCE WILL KNOW THE MEANING OF PAIN IF YOU KEEP ON BEING THIS UNGRATEFUL. LEARN TO CLOSE THE DOOR AFTER YOU COME IN. AND IF YOU DON’T WANT THE FOOD THAT’S BEING OFFERED TO YOU, AT LEAST PRETEND TO ENJOY IT.
I did try to be quiet but my omnipotence alerted me to the fact that my voice had flattened all vegetation in a 60 mile radius. Oops. I also noticed that both of the primates had left the premise.
I found them a mile away from my estate, one of them on their knees laughing and clawing at their eyes. The other kept throwing themselves towards the ground, getting back up and repeating the process. I seem to have overdid the lessons, both the pink things seemed to have had their minds (if you can call that clump of neurons a mind) broken. Well. It was no great loss to their species, or to the sector in which their planet resided.
I looked back at my estate. Ah. Their minds may have been broken but at least they closed the door on the way out.
| He is immersing himself in what he believes is the tranquility of the green that surrounds him. Great trees with vines, bushes and plants. He is so taken by it that he never even feels my gaze upon him. I crave his tranquility. I need it. I want to devour it. I slowly creep closer. He doesn't notice the quiet that has settled on the glade. No creature stirs. Even the ants have gone still. They sense the danger. All he notices is the slight tickle as my vines encircle his limbs. Ah.... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Reluctantly, I extended my senses outwards as noise entered my sanctum.
I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. A century? More? Clearly, not the millennium I had intended. I shifted a few times, my appendages stretching from my all too brief slumber, working the stiffness from my serpentine limbs.
I could feel them nearby. Humis, that's right, they had called themselves humis. Or something like that. It was hard to remember, and even a semi-immortal being can get groggy.
The humis had opened a door. How had they known how to- ah yes. I had told them how to reach me. The last time I had come to their world. They had fallen to their knees, begging for my power. Especially that one, what was his name, in the robe. Their leader.
That had gone...poorly. It must be hard for the Humis to understand something like me, and my attempts to communicate had been fought with peril. I had just been trying to say hello when their leader's head exploded.
The followers had adverted their eyes, which was probably wise. They had mewed up at me in their tiny voices, too primitive to know that I could feel the ebbs of their mind.
Attempting to let him know that had not gone well either. The first one dying had been an accident, still a bit of overzealous communication on my part. The next three were my fault- I should have gone straight to whispers.
So I'd resorted to whispering, but the language of a leviathan translated poorly. I had learned little, and they learned only of my power. They wanted something, I could get that, but the details escaped me.
So I found one of them, whose mind seemed tougher than the rest, and I told him how to reach me. That I would have a bite to eat, and that he should get back to me when they learned to shield their minds. Then I curled up in my astral realm and had a nap.
I signed. Better get this over with. I pushed a bit of myself- not too much, they couldn't handle that- through the portal.
They were bowing, their faces averted. "Oh great Ill'goth, genesis of madness" they chanted, "we awaken you to consume this world, as you intended to do centuries ago."
Crap, that's what they heard?
"We have heard the whispers, the reverberations of your thoughts!"
They had? Damn it, I didn't think my snores were that loud. I must not have closed the portal all the way.
"we bring for you a sacrifice, to kick off your glorious reign."
A man knelt there, bound and bloodied. He wore a soiled suit, and he quaked in fear.
Guys, really, hostages? Bug me if you want, but keep bystanders out of it.
Well, I better sort this out. Clearly, these idiots were going to keep bugging me until their dying breath unless I sorted this out.
"Guys, this is not okay." I said, as quietly as I could, to the cultists.
Their faces shifted in pain. Even that was too loud?
"You are displeased!" The high priest said, "as you should be, this world is a failure!"
"No, guys, stop with this." A ting of anger entered my statement.
"Yes my lord, cleanse us first. Begin with our impure forms, free us to live on in your madness?"
What the hell was he babbling about? But okay, if he insisted.
"Fine." I thought at the cultists, as hard as I could. There was a chorus of pops as all of their heads exploded simultaneously.
That just left the lone man. The least I could do was help him out.
I extended my appendage- a tentacle, as he would see it- towards him. He staggered away, trying to avoid my reach.
"Stop," I whispered. "I just want to help you. Let me break your shackles."
"My mind is my own, monster." He called. He forced his bindings against the cultist's knife, slicing them.
Fine then. That was sorted. I forced my perception to take in the room. There was a dark crystal on the table- that was it. They had used that to reach me. I should just take that back so this couldn't happen again.
I reached for the crystal with my tentacle, and felt a stab at the side of my limb. The humis had sliced me! With that cultist's knife!
"Stop it," I said, trying to retain my voice, but he still fell away in pain.
I sighed. I should finish this. I stretched towards the crystal again.
"No," the man screamed. He leapt towards the crystal, smashing it with his knife.
With a pop, the doorway closed. Pain shot though me, as my appendage had been slammed in the door, and I realized it had been sliced clean.
"Ow". I though. I extended my mind to my limb. It oozed black fluid, but it would reform in time. Damn those cultists, this would take me a century to recover from.
I hoped the human would be okay. He'd been in a bad spot, and my voice had done him no favors, but Humis could be hardy. He'd heal in a century or two.
I signed, weariness fighting irritation. I'm always grumpy in the morning. Maybe just another few centuries... | He is immersing himself in what he believes is the tranquility of the green that surrounds him. Great trees with vines, bushes and plants. He is so taken by it that he never even feels my gaze upon him. I crave his tranquility. I need it. I want to devour it. I slowly creep closer. He doesn't notice the quiet that has settled on the glade. No creature stirs. Even the ants have gone still. They sense the danger. All he notices is the slight tickle as my vines encircle his limbs. Ah.... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Of course.
You're screaming.
Everyone screams. Say what you will about the decline of manners in this modern age but at least most folks are greeted with something other than ear-splitting shrieks. I guess I'm not so lucky. I also guess I'm not to good at proper conversation because I've jumped ahead without even introducing myself.
My name is . . . well, that's not important. I could tell you my name but it never ends well. Apparently, even seeing it written down drives the sanest of men to gibbering madness, drooling and crying and going on and on about the sliding angles of the hungering void.
(It was a bit tough finding that out. I went to an AA meeting for help with dealing with my substance abuse problems and ended up fleeing the church fellowship hall just before one of members set fire to a gas main she'd ripped out of the wall in a fit. The newspapers reported it as an accident due to faulty electrics but failed to mention the self inflicted lacerations on the bodies they recovered.)
There I go again, off on some tangent instead of just telling you why I'm here. Linear time is such a problem for me. I tend to move in seven dimensions, existing everywhere/when so thinking in terms of "this-happened-then-that-happened" gives me a colossal headache.
Well, I say "headache." I don't really have a head, as such. I do have a ventral stalk upon which most of my sensory organs rest. My food intake orifice is underneath my body, though, so I end up over-enunciating when I speak. Not that it matters. I open my mouth and people automatically begin raising sand about the slathering maws of eternity uttering dark syllables of madness.
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise. Speaking of, would you mind piping down a bit? I'd like to speak like adults instead of carrying on like a hairless ape descendant.
Speaking of my mouth, boy is it dry. It's like I've spent all day sucking on sandstone effigies carved by misguided cultists who think mispronouncing my name in their silly rituals means I will grant them power. (Honestly, they never get the right inflection. You'd almost think they'd never heard of using their tertiary uvulas when attempting glottal stops.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Why I am here.
I was a bit thirsty earlier (well, I still am, truth be told) and decided to make tea but realized I am fresh out of sugar. (I'd forgotten I'd used the last of it making brownies for the church fundraiser for fellowship hall repairs.) I slid through the angles from my realm into yours (I came through your wainscoting, I hope you don't mind,) to ask if I could borrow some from you.
Oh. That's right. You're still screaming, aren't you? It's a bit hard for me to tell, what with my hearing be so damaged from no one using a normal speaking voice around me. I'll just help myself to your pantry and head out. Please excuse the effluvia. I leak it everywhere and it tends to be a bit caustic. It'll eat through a house pet like water on cotton candy.
Oh no, don't get up. You look pretty comfortable in your spot behind the couch, blood leaking from your eyes and nose, brandishing your iPad.
Well, this should be all I need. Again, sorry about the mess. I'll be back to return the measuring cup. Don't worry, I'll call in advance next time instead of just barging in.
I'm sure you'll hear the call.
They always do. | He is immersing himself in what he believes is the tranquility of the green that surrounds him. Great trees with vines, bushes and plants. He is so taken by it that he never even feels my gaze upon him. I crave his tranquility. I need it. I want to devour it. I slowly creep closer. He doesn't notice the quiet that has settled on the glade. No creature stirs. Even the ants have gone still. They sense the danger. All he notices is the slight tickle as my vines encircle his limbs. Ah.... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | gHmwthp'glks skmtrwqxr'rvzt wsslhtp'p dnddpr qqw-l'klml hhrt n'nmttl n qqfgh
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cThg ffhgthth. | He is immersing himself in what he believes is the tranquility of the green that surrounds him. Great trees with vines, bushes and plants. He is so taken by it that he never even feels my gaze upon him. I crave his tranquility. I need it. I want to devour it. I slowly creep closer. He doesn't notice the quiet that has settled on the glade. No creature stirs. Even the ants have gone still. They sense the danger. All he notices is the slight tickle as my vines encircle his limbs. Ah.... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. |
4̈ͧ̈́͌̎͏͏̘͔̩̱̻͈̣̰͙͓͇̠̀4̷̧̙̳͉̦̤͖͕̲̹̟̗͙̺̖̣̫͖͗͒ͨͨ̈́́ͭ̈̎̓ͫ͐ͭ͌͌ͯ̚͜͢j̗̩̗͎͙͂́͗̌̌̔̍͆͒͌ͬ̾̋̿̈͒ͨ̔͘͝O̶̧͙̣͔͖̪ͮ͗̆͑͊ͩ̿Ṙ̛͈̹͈͎̞̱̬̣̘͇͓͙̳͚̰̠́ͯͭͧ̅̏ͧ̈ͦ̃̒̋ͦ͘͡͠X̍̽͆̿̉̈̔ͣͣ̃͊̚͟͏̯̬̝̤̗̲2̷͛ͯ̂ͫͨ̈́̇̆҉̢̬͓̹͇̝͍̠̥̺ͅs̺̮͔̲̜͎͈͕̭̟̈́͒̾ͩ͌̾͗ͧ̂̒ͩ̾̊̕͡͡6̴̡̗̳̳̃͑̌́ͦ͢4̴̨̹̻͔̻͕̙̣̞̪̰͖̟̭̘̭̹̦̜̋ͩ̾ͦ̎͋͋ͭ̅ͦ̎̾͠B̨̊̉̀͛ͤ̌̆͆ͤ̇̀ͣͩ́́̚҉͇̥̙͓͎̙̬̻̤̟̝̰͈j̢͉̙̪̰̍̎̎̊̔̾ͥ͒ͮͣ̆̏̇ͨ̋́̾̈͝m̸̖͔̥̞͚̩̲̝ͩ̾͛̌̂̀̄͊̀̾̓̈ͩ̌͗ͮ̈̀̀͠s̷̫̮̫̗̼̲̘̫̹̭̍͊̌ͩͪ̈́̓͌ͩ͘͡q̵͛͐̈͐̽͏̶̣͎͖͔͕̱͍͓̥̖̦̺͍͖̦̗M̐̒̓̒̔͆́͝͏̫̣͙̟͓̱̻̜̹5̛̛͉͕̖̯͚̜͇͈ͫ̂ͥ̈́̑̍͆́͝9̧͓͖̙̙̤̯̩͕̬͉͚̪̊̀ͬ̀̈́̍͛̄̔̍̆̈̚͝Vͭ̾ͤ̓̓̓̂̾͆͂͟҉͈̗̝̪͉̹8̴̧ͭͧ̂̏̌ͣͭ̈̈́̃͛͛͏͔͎̰̝̠̮͙̣̪̻̘̤̥͈̝̣̕x̧̄ͣ̾͂͏̢҉̛͇̼̥̙̩̳̟͚̻̼̠̙͎̤͇̤̜ͅǫ̸̢͚͔̲͎̼̜̗̠̟̖̹͖̺̞̣̇͋̑̆̉ͨͥ͌̾̂̀̊̚͞͝x̴̾ͪ̔͋ͧ̍͌͏̱̟̰͍͔̭̺̝̣̦̖̞̩̤̼̼4̵̷̵̡̮͕͔͚̼̲̫͕͉ͮͮ̍ͪͩ̇̏̏̈́̒̇̓ͭ́ͨ́u̷̍̿̏ͣͤ͌ͥ͐ͨ̐͆̍҉̸͎̞̻͍͔͎̮͙̜͎͕͝͞ͅh̶̥͉̞͚͖͖ͩ̏͗̎̔̂ͭͦ͌ͥ̋ͬͪ̎̔ͤ̌̕İ̽ͣͧ̑͟͠҉͜҉̫̯͉̜̭͖̣̟̻̥̖̗̼̹̺͇̥͙n̛̜͔̱̠̬̰ͯ́̄͊̄͝ͅ
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̨̣̗̤͕̩̟͎̺̟̯̥̩͉͓̫̥̇̓͊̈̾̉͌͋ͩͬ̇͢͜ͅo̢̡̲͉̻̬̺̣͎̣̩̬͙̤̺͉̦̭̱͌̽̈̅̋͊͒̑͌̅̑̓̑͗̓͐ͬ͗̀0͑̏ͪ̽̈̒̎̅͢͏̹͓̩͕̘̟̮̪͔̣̖͈̪͈͚͎0̡̖̮̝͔̜̪̗̙͛̈́̏̿̌̽ͩ̓̂͛̑̈́̌ͣ̀͘͠K̷̮͓̪͕͚̦̟̪̞͇̪̗̆͗ͩ͑̌̒̌͊̇̌̎ͨͤͫͯͧͪ̌̄͠͡ͅq̈́͗̌̔͗ͥ̑ͥ̂̄ͮ͂̄͛҉̩͔̖̳̟́͝P̶̧̭̝̳̯͕̘̦̗̞̜̰̣̟̫͔̠͚ͤ̉ͨ͞͞Ğ̨̬̜̺̮̞͌̽̅̅͗̽̍̃͛ͬ̊ͨ͊͐̀̀͟9̷͎͓̤̰̻̜̘̖̪̬̫͇̦̲̞̲͒ͦͮ̌̌̂ͥ͑̽̔͋͂̾ͯ̉͌D̡̛̤̳͓̣̙̣̮̩ͤ͌̏̾̾͆̿̑ͥ̅̔̋̂͆̂̌̚͝ͅK͙̮̝̱̠̯̫̼̤̫̘̉̏͐ͮ͝͝g̴̑ͣ͗̾ͬ͒̓̽͒͋̑̏̃́͟͝҉̫̮̳͓̭̜̙̗͖̮͕͖Ģ̴͕̩̯̠̬͖̠͈͍̣̹̥̮̫̤̼̬̠̒͋̌͒̈́͗̅͋͛͋ͣͯͪ́F̎ͦ̂̂̐̓̓̽̿̾̃ͭ̊̏̚҉̢̰̤̭͔̟̭͔̹n̛͚̫̤͕̼̱̮̦̫͉̲̩̘͚̰̗̒ͧͯ͐̓ͧ͛̓̈́̃̒̓̈̾͗̍ͨ͛͝͠O̖̮̦̥̦͙̭̳̝̝͗͒̊͑̉͒̊͗̾ͩ̀̓̔͛̄ͯ͢͠ͅͅx̟̲̹͕̱̻̼̼̳̻͆ͯͬ̅̂̅̚̕͡I̷̷̴͍͚̩̤̲͚͉̺̜͈͉̒͛͌̔ͬ̍̑̀g̶̟͖̊̋̾̎́ͅC̹̜̟̻̙͈͔̳͙̝͔̺̦̳̭͖̰ͪ͊͊ͯ͞ͅQ̸̙̹̥̼͙͔͇̼͉̞̯̦͉̤̰̘̭̦͎̌͑͆̄̈́ͩ͛̐͜X̸͇̙̖̣̩ͭͨ̋͑ͬ̈̕͘Hͤ̂͐̄̒͐̿͜͏̧̢̪̞͉̯̤͕̫͈̥̖̰̹̜́Ṙ̶͎͎̤̮͕̝̥̳͈ͭͮ͛̾̑̓͗̾̔̉͛̓̏͋́̕͘Ỏ̸̧̥͓̜̮̼̰̦̭̰͎̗̞͕͇͖͙͓͔̮ͧ̀ͮ̏̇ͯ̌̓̆ͦ́̚͟Ķ̵̭̖͍̱̼̖͙̖̹͖͔̫͙͒ͧ̋͆͊̂̃ͬ̎ͮ̊̿͛͆ͬ͌̐̄̚͠͡F̧̬̦̘͉̱̞̰͖͇͚̤͖͔͓̜͖̞̲ͮ̂̇̒̆͗̊̉̐ͤ̿ͨ̅̀̕͘͞ȩ̵̛͓̪͎̞͇̹̳̥̰̤̰͔ͮ̂ͧ͜͞q̰̲͎̦͕̥͉͖̤̜̭͍͚̖̯̼̲̞̖͊͊͊͗̐ͮͪͨͩ̒͒̃͝͞
̅͑ͯ̔͋̈́̚͟҉̧̳̩̼̼̺C̲̹̭̞̦͍̥̯̤̪͕̺͒͐ͧͧ̐̑̑̌͒̐̔̾͂ͦ͜͜j̷̶̘̫̺̜̖͖̙͕̦͎͓̞̭̠͔̝̫̩ͨ͑ͯ̌̀̚ͅ8̨̨̟̫͉̣̦͚̫̼̦͐̐̃ͪ͂̽̒̆̒̍̔͢k̵̫̳̝̭͑ͭ̆ͨ̓͗ͪ͑̊̕͞͞T̴̵̝̜̥̩̙̱̔̾̆ͥ̌̔͐ͥ̕͝ͅͅJ̢̥͍̦̣́͋̈́̎̾̄͟͝Ķ̼͎͈̜͉̼̘̲͔͋ͪ͌͂ͭw̸̷̡̹̯͇̖͉̥͔̹̲ͣ̉͑̓́ͮͯͩ̂ͩ͆ͥ̓ͦ͑ͪ̀̕ͅg̨͔̦̬̜̘͍͐̎ͤͫͨ́ͬ̆̃͜͞͠Q̳͚̬̭̠̻̫͎̹̱͎̼̮̄ͫ̏̌̾̔ͤ͒̌ͥ̎ͮ͂̒͆͋̍ͨ͊͘͘J͕͎͚̦͚͒ͯͥͯͥ̇ͨͧ̾̈̀ͦͣ̌̕͘a̅ͩ͌̓͆̕҉͟͏͖̗͇͎͉͎̙̱̣͟5ͤ͛ͤͩͣ̆̒̅ͨ̿͏͝͏͍̘̗͈̪̫̙̺̜̜̱̠̖̯̬͙̭͝ͅi̛ͧ̋̑ͪ̄ͤ̎̊ͨ̅̎ͩ͋̏̽̃͌̚҉̯̬͖͎͕̰̰͔̣͎n̾ͤ́̆҉̸̵̬̝̳̝̤Ț̢̳̹ͣͮͪ̾̌͊̔̿̌ͥ̚͡͝1̷͕̩̘̘̖̠̟̲̜̠͎ͣ͐̾͐̊̾ͦ̔͋̋̐͐ͥ́͟m̵ͯ̒̅̚͘͜҉̬̺̪̠͕̣͙͚̬̲̖̱̟͇͉͔̺ơ̯͇̩͚̟̗̺̥̪̜̻̭̗̝͎͖̼̳̦̄͂͋̆͒͂͗̓̇̇͛̑͛̽͑̎͆̿̎́H͊̋̍̈͒ͤͦͨ͐̍͏̶̷̝̪̹̺̬͈̭͚̜̦̻̲̹̹̞̹͞b̡̛͇̤̩̥̦͚̝͔̮̞͕͉̀̎ͦ̽͊ͨ̊ͧ͌̎ͬ̇͟L̛̝̖͕̩̗͙̘͉̯͔̗̥͚̞̫͒ͮ́ͩͤ̎̉̀ͪ͊̊̾̅̆͒̂̔ͩ͘v̅ͣͪͪ̆̿̑͐ͫͦͪ̓ͤ̏҉̢̯̘̻̤ͅI̶̡̮̙̻̝̺̖̺̪͕̼͍͉͙͂͒̇̑͆ͪͥ̆̍ͤͧ̾͋̔̑̚͝͞5̎͗̓ͩ̀̄ͦ̑̍̓̐͒͞҉̷̡͚͍͓̰̼̗̜͉̬͖̩̲̝̯̲͉̙̕ͅA̓ͫ̏̑̉̌̋ͫ҉̸̮̦̗͎̺͇͖͈̹̀͜F̢̘̤̱͔͕͉̬̯̩͔͈̯͓̭̟̗͕͑ͣͩ̏̃͊̒͑͘͜eͬͤ͐̏̀̇͏̷̲̩͙̙̥͉͖̩͎͙̩̬́̀
̶͓͕̘̙̖̤͚̏̄ͮ̐̾̎ͪ̒̇̋͆̍̌̈́͞N̿̆̓́̌͜͏̡͕̭͍̬̤̦͟v̴̶̵̡͖̗̩̻̫͚̮̰͇̝̘̦͇̪̤̯̯̤͗ͪ̄ͮͦ̊͌ͥ͗ͥ͑̊̊̉͟ͅx̴̵̖̻̮̙͇̖͉̜̮ͮ̌ͭ͋5͙̳̱̹̣̼̙͎̺̠̤̦̣̤̌ͧͯ́̑͂ͤ̔͊̐ͩ̄ͭ̏̀͝g̴̓͆̅̒ͦͮͯͮͨͨ̽̇̑̚҉̙͇̝̼̪̱̳̳͙̫̤̤̼̦̹̳̗̣̼h̨̿͛̃͒ͯͭ͛̏̆͒̍̓ͥͫ͋̀ͮ̋͏̷̰͇͕̼̞̫͍̮͇̱͖̤̭͓̺Ź̧̛̹̰͍̤̗̭͕͈̖̘̦̣̻̪̠̘͛̃̂̿͑͒ͧ̿̉ͣ̒̔͟2̡̪̫̬͈̞̫͚̙̇͂̀̎͂̂͂͌ͭ́̇͢9̬̲̦̱͖̟ͣͩ̆ͥ̎͠͞kͮ͊͒ͯ̑ͬͣ̓ͦͪ́̎͌̔ͩͮ͊͞͡͠҉̜̥͙̺̗̤Ǵ̃̎̈̒̉͡҉̢̲̫̥͇̣͈͓̯̜͈̗̞͈̗̀ͅh̔̓̊͆̐̓ͤͯͤ̅҉̵͙͕͔̞͇̬͈̣̣̪̲B̒̌ͭͥ̒͟҉̴͈͉̬͚͓̫̯͖̣̙͎͚͍͔̮̲͘͘ͅİ̶͍̤̜͈̖̏͌̈͊̊ͫ̏̐ͯ͑̋͟͝i̷̴̱̝͉̠͚͕̬̦̖͙̳͇̔̋̑ͯ̐͌̂̂ͫͨ̀͒͌ͧ̆͛͐1̮͖̤̗̪̝͙̬͖̤ͩ͗̒ͦͫ̊ͤ͌̀́̉̐̚͢͢ͅͅM̨̮͍̪̟̰̿ͭ͒͊̔̈́ͭ̏̅̍ͥ̃ͤ̓ͣͯͭ́̐͠F̡̧̛̖̤͓̝̟̼͎̘̯͙̼͓͎͒ͩ̇̈̏ͦ̉̃̐̆͆̀̉̿ͪͪ̾́͠5̛̠̜̖̗̜̻̘̤̩̫̰̊̽ͬ̋́E̶̓̐̅ͣͬͭ̎̈̽͋͊̆ͣͩ́̚҉̷͉̙̭̠̣̱͔̻P̧̛̛̭͇̙͕͌̔̆͛ͫ̎̀̇̎̍̕5̷̷̛̻̯̲̗͍̩̠̝̯̒ͧ̔ͦ͛ͭ͐̿̂́̾̋̋͑ͦ͟͢ͅC̿͗̒̎ͧ̈́ͫͯ̓͒̃͏̡̬̬̺̥͚̝̰͔͉̪̲̙̼̥̰̭̬͔͎͜ÿ̸̮̙̗̳̙̺͈̺͙̝̪̟̩̙́̇̂ͩ̿̄̀̚͟ͅy̢̨̛̘̻̪͖̦͔̮͐ͪ͊̄͝B̸͒̋͒͋̈͒͒͐ͩͨ̓ͪ̽̾҉̷̩̙̼͖̣̠̻̠̖͉͔̬r̒ͨͤ͌҉͝҉͉̯̞̯͖͈̞͔̹͔͟͜z̵̶̛̻̮͖͈̞͈͚͖ͥ͋ͫ̒̒ͮ̄͐͂ͨͤ̊̄ͩͩ͘͞ͅ
̵̡̺͉̻͔̦̫̯̰̯̆̏̏ͤ̾̇̄̓̓̔̄ͣͤͨ͌̆ͮ̓̚ͅͅP̧̧̼̣͍͈̗̮͙̝̱̤͎̩̤̯̖̮̯͉ͬͤͧͫͨ̈́́̊͗͜͟͜Z̢̫͚̻̗̯͍̻̘͕̼͆́̒̒̆ͪ̓̽͆̀̚͢͢z̡̮̯͓̼̆̉̈́̇͌͒͆a̧̖̭̪̙̮̣͕̻̬̣̠̬̤̜͂̐͌̑́́́͠0̸̛̖̲͙̼͍̪̮̯̜̇ͧ͑̋͟͝f̛͙͙̫͈͓͙͙̳̞̣̠̮̤̣̊ͩͯ͋̽̐ͧ̊̊͛̆̈͂̆̓́͊͑͟ͅb̡̧̺͚̹͎̩̟̫̪̗̬̯̦̎͋̀̃8̵̻̘̘͔̙͔ͩ̓̎̈́͑ͨͥͣ̄̈̈ͤ̍̋U̵̓̋̿͆ͮ͂̍̌̍͏̨͎̪̤̮̟̺̹C̵̢͓̼̟̦̳͉͓͓ͥͤ͌̅́̂͒̏̔̂̀͘F̸̢̨̻̱̹͇̘̣̮͍͍̦ͦ̃ͭ͌̒̑́͋̾͋͜ͅmͣͣ͒̀̍͗ͣ̌ͪ͏̷̡̳̫̼̤͉͚̰͈́͜wͥ͌͒ͩͥ̈͑͋̇ͮ̓̚͏̶̴̢͈̼͈͚̭͈̟̯͍1̨ͭ̊̅̔̄̿͑̍ͫ͛́͢҉̨̺̬̣̥̝͍̙̪̹͉̝̼̣̗̙̞̪X̷̵̛̛͚̻̞̯͍̤ͧ́ͥ̍̃ͮͮͥ͐͆̌̌͒ͦ̐ͬ͊͗͡Ụ̴̴̡͕̞̼̂̅ͯ̌̈ͭͪ͂͊̕͜y̴̟͔̺̮͚̟̖̯͎̼͓̻̫̯̓̓ͥ͌ͨͦ̔ͫ͊ͬ͟͢͞ō̈̾̄̎̉͊͑ͣͮ͊͗͊͛̍҉̸̷̙̳͍̭̳̫̰̳̀2̵̵̧̤̥͉͚̻̪̘̝̠̺̃̀ͭͯͧͬ́́͌ͣ͂ͪ̂ͭ͆̈ͥ̑̀͜e̊̄ͭ̅̃̾̓̓ͧ͐̋̾ͩ́̏̇̃ͮ́҉̬͕͎̠͖͙͉͕̝͕̩͙̣̝͉̭̳̟v̵͗ͮ̽̓͑͏̱̮͖̪̰̞̥̳̣̀͞R̅̈̌̌͘͢҉̗̲͔̮̲͚͓͡p̸̢̧̣̲̻̗̲̣͈͓̖̲͖ͯ̈ͩ̈ͮ͊́ͩ͒̂̈͒̒͗̌̚͘q̶̜̳̭͉̹̺͂͗͂ͮ̂̀ͧ͑́̑̍ͤ͊ͧ͌́͘j̛̜̜͎̠͎̥̫̺̯̬̥̠͉̜͎͇̱ͯ̓̄͊̚͠j̢͔̺͔̟̟̗̟͍̩̠̭̭͖̞ͤ̆ͦ̑̄̂̓ͨͧͮ̆̎̂̕͜ͅl̪̟̬̠̯̳͉̲̺̬̩͖ͦ̊ͭͫ̓̌ͨͥ̿ͨ͊̄̒̾̀͢x̠̦̹̗́ͭͪ̂͆̒̎͑ͮ͋̑ͥ̇̉̕
̧̨̨̖͖̳͖̤̦̪̣̬ͬ̑̃̃̍̀͌1̯̥̣̱̜̥̝̻̆̿ͩͬ̈̉ͪͭ̀̐̂̇ͧ̊́͟T̲̙͍̘̙̙͙̬̖̩̥͈͇͐ͯ͗̃̊ͤ͛͘ͅX̢̨̋́͋ͨ͘͏̰̣̗̟͉͇͔̞̗J̨̊͐͌ͫ͆̎ͫ̊ͮ͑͟͝҉̴̻̤̙̬̦̺̰4ͦ͛͂͑͛̍̃ͪͣ̐ͪ͌̇̌̔ͣ̇͝͏̵̶̛͈̯͖̻̰P̈̋̓̋̍͆ͫ̉̔͊͊͆ͬ̇̌̆̋̊ͥ͏̸̨̬̥̮̖̮͇͜͠S̿ͮ̽ͯ͋̇ͮ̄ͧ̎͊͂̋̕͘͏̻̯͉̘̮q̢̛̞̜̱̣͚̥̯̪͉̰̹̖̝̲̖̩̆ͣ̆̓͋͘͜͡wͬ͋̈̀͐̔ͪ̒̏̓̾̇̈́͢͝͏̖͔̞̮͍͔͍͚͙͞ṁ̤͍̠̤͍̘͓͔͚͚͍̋̌ͪ̏ͯ̄͆ͪͬͧ̆ͬ̄̚̚̕͢͠i̛ͦͪ͗̒́̚҉҉̳͙̺ͅS̶͒̽̊̀͜҉̗̺̘̻̫̟͉͓8̶̶̤̺̺̭̼͉̭̞͎̘̙̰̦́ͩ͆̾̿̅̓̒̂̒̐́͋͗́ͭ̔͊́̀̚ͅc̸͔̙̗̜̬̙ͬ́͐̊̓̐͒͗̏ͯͯ̈͒̀͘͠ͅqͪ͗ͬ̊̆ͣ̊҉̡̨͖̫̤̠̠͙̗͍̰͖̹̤͘͢ͅP̴ͪ̓ͥ̿ͯ͑̏ͣ̇͋ͤ̂̏ͯ̾̚҉̭̹̝̣͔͚̕ͅ4̤͖͙̫̺̮̹̹̣̲ͫͮ̀ͧ̑ͧ̀ͧ̀̀͠w̡͖̥̦̪̭͔̙̝̼͈̣̰͙̺̣̹͍̲͋͋̾ͫ́̓̌ͨ̉̑̊͂̂́́͢Z̴̛̖̱̤̻̖̱̹̤̞̳̫̱̤̺̺̦̹̹̪ͯ̌̋̊̐̒ͤͪ̋͒̑̚͢͞r̴̠̞̭̝͓̮̠͓̖ͧͯ͌ͯ͒̏͢S̠̼̠̫̼̰̯͊̔͂ͣ͋̉ͯ̾̌ͪ͂̓ͫͩ̋̿͜͞ō̧͍̝͇̩̬̳͉̦͖̥̭̭̟͚ͬͮ̇ͦ̎̎̋ͧ̾͋ͩ̎̉͂a̶͍͍͉̖͕̭̻ͤͧ̂̌͊ͫͯ̈̌͐͑͌͢͝͞q͐ͬ̍̒̕͏̧̦̜͙̹̫̥̤͕̟̱̭͡͠ͅ3ͭ͑͊̄ͤͪ̔̽͂́ͥ̓͠͏̶̞̠̱̟̱̹̖͔̻͘͢I̸̵̦̳̲̮̤̳͓̺̞̩̣̙ͪ͛ͨ̏͌͢ͅJ̢̇̿ͨͭͮ͆͌͛̓͏̶̸͚͔̱̮͍̫̼̠͜X̷͉̘̫̳͕͎͎̼̥̻̙̮̰͖̻̬͐̎̐̾ͩͬ͒ͨ͑ͫ̿̑̓̾̀̀̚͞͝ͅͅ
ͯͫ̃̓ͥͩ͏̴͔̻̘͉̩͓͎͔̥͓̰͎́͘͠V̢ͭ̀ͭͩ͌͐̑͑̇̃̽͗̃̇͟҉͖̱̺̝̞w̴̛͍͚̪̗̮̬͚̰ͥ̔̅̓͛̇͠z̛̖̰͇͙͙͚͎̩̺̫̰̳̑͋ͩ̎̔̇̌͜͝8̙̲͚̭͍̪̩͓̲͈͌ͤ͛ͥ̑ͬ̀̀͟9̖̩̫̗̘̖ͣ̐̔̿̒̐̍́̀͡ͅͅaͤ͗͒̾̚҉̸͔͚̘͈͈̰̞̗͈͈̻͘ͅB̨̞̗͇̫̯̠̥̈ͭ̇ͪ̈̓̋̐̅̿̐̑͊̐̿ͫ̚̕͝͡ͅP̨̦͔̫͕̥̼̠̫̝͕̘̠̫͓̦̺̮̒͌ͦ̇̾ͯͣ͑ͭͨ̈̓͗̚̕͢͠͠zͫ̉͑͌̋̊̐ͣ̀ͭͥ̄̚҉̷͖͖̠̬̱͢o̾̈́̿̚͠͠͏̠̦͎̝̝̗̤͎̠̟̭͠k̸ͦ͆ͮ̐̚҉̡͡҉̪̫̬͓4̡́͊́ͩ̉ͤ̿ͥͬ̚͠҉̟͕͈͚6̒̓͐͒̂̅ͭ͛͆̂ͭͪ̏̽̌ͧ́̚͘҉̸̼͖̮̩͇͎͙͍̦̀O̡̡̝͎̖̗͚̯͍̞̗̻̝͉̺͎̠͊̏ͤ̔̊̑̋ͨͮ̒͟͢ͅs̷̵̢̢̻̞̭̝̗͓͔̱̳̻̥ͫͪ̇̾̿̑ͩ̊̀̊̊͟P̷̶̫̬͓̱̫̟̟͇̪̤͙͓̞͆̋͌ͨͭ́͗̏̀̋ͪṋ̵͖͕̱͇̪̮͍̥̼͙ͧͧͭ̇͒̉ͪ̾ͯ̑̇ͦ̕͢͟F̶̸̢̡̳͍̹̘͕̹̲̞̮̪̭̫͚̪̯̿ͦ͗̐͛̌͊͐̋̏ͩ͌̀͌̍̓ͮ͠D̡̜͇͎͕̫͕̱̖̱̫͕̼̒̂ͯ̈̔͢M̤͍̘͙̮̞͚̞͎̥̗̣͈̼̘̟͕̳̬ͦ̆̈́͗̋ͥ̈́̿͑͘7͌ͣͩ͛ͩ͂̒̓̓ͬ̔͛̑ͩͨͭ̚͏̴̥͎̳̯͓͔̱͖͔͔̩͖4͉̝̰̯̗̟̯̙̮͇͎̰͒̄̉ͬ̃̆͗͌̽̄͗̐̈́̕͢͠5̴̢̱̺̥̯͓͇͔̙̗͔͕ͭͫͫ̃ͤ̋̄ͣ̽̂͌͋̃ͮȲ̴̧́ͪͮ̄ͣ̋͌̅͋̈́̑ͥ̾́̚̚͏̣͚̼̜̟̦̟͖͓̗̺͉̝̰͜i̸̷̵̠̱͔͓̟̳̣͔̙̠͚̫̪͚̲͖̐ͩ͛ͫ̀͞7̨̎ͨ͆̍͌̒̊̓ͤ͂̒̉ͬ͆́͏̩̦̜̫̲͇k̶̨͓̞̞̘͎͎̦͓̦͎̙̻̜̫̟̤̫͋̾̈́͆ͧ͌ͬͬ̔̀͑́ͣ͐̎ͦ̎̇͢m̨̭̪̖͓̳͙̗̫͓͍̤̮̝̱̰̈́͐́͐͒͆̆͝
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EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | A shrill alarm woke me from my wakeful slumber. Leaving the compound eyes near the back of my third head lidded I opened the rest of my 399 eyes and looked for the source of the sound which had stopped by now. I shifted my chitonous 161 legs out of my bed and made my way over to the dresser, the hardwood floor click-clacking sharply against the stark quiet of my bedroom.
The alarm had rung to alert me that some beings had entered my estate on sector 996. I closed my eyes and projected a fraction of my sentience into the sector and watched.
A small pink primate like thing, walking on only two fleshy legs (how in the name of Af’dbr do they balance themselves on only two legs?) made their way down the dark set of stairs. Another one of those things followed the first one down, this one was afraid, I could smell the familiar scent of fear. Inhaling deeply with the three noses perched atop my central proboscis I discerned that the first one was afraid as well, but masking it a bit better. With a slight twinge of irritation that sent a couple of planets in a sector nearby crumbling into dust, I noticed that both of these beings had failed to close the door to the large and dark mansion that they were entering.
I figured that I should introduce myself to the guests and tried to manage the fraction of my being into a more manageable form- three legs (I really can’t balance on two), five arms branching out at the ends of each hand on my two arms. And lastly, I needed to be that unseemly shade of pink.
I stuffed myself into this projected form and ambled out of the shadows towards my two guests, reaching an arm forwards amiably. “Hi, sorry for the mess, I haven’t cleaned up in centuries, but you primates are always allowed here you know?- me casa es su casa.” I chuckled a bit.
To my surprise the two primates were either singing or screaming (hard to tell with beings like these honestly), mostly variations of ‘what the fuck,’ ‘holy shit,’ and ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ I frowned slightly and hit the center of my bulbous and extended forehead with a tiny arm in annoyance as I realized that these pink primates must not have understood a word of what I had said. Sure, I was speaking in their language, but every single one of my 216 brains had forgotten to realize the fact that these beings function on a much slower time-frequency. Why, I must have looked like a fool speaking 79 times more rapidly than they could comprehend, my voice a tinny and unwavering shriek of over 154 decibels.
My projected form vanished as I noticed that my guests were running amok in a different room. I thought for a couple of picoseconds before I ascertained that lower-level beings like them needed sustenance to survive. Weren’t they hunters and gatherers? I decided to treat them to a couple hundred Fgrufg, a fine delicacy found in a corner of sector 27, and released the creatures in the room the primates were currently standing in.
The Fgrufg set out with enthusiasm, bouncing from wall to wall, to outer dimensional wall- to primate eyes, zipping in and out of existence. With fondness I think back to multiple millennium ago when I was young and my brood mother set millions of Fgrufg free in my room to catch and eat with my spear-like pincers. I would catch and devour them by the thousands and my brood mother would look at me with a slight smile playing at the sides of her cosmic lips and berate me for hogging all of the snacks.
I looked back towards the primates and saw them screaming, even louder than they had been previously. I sighed when I saw them running away from the snacks I had given them.
“You’re supposed to run towards them to catch them, not run away.” I said to myself, and one of my heads nodded in agreement, flicking out a forked tongue. I suppose that they might have been vegetarians. But rather than present them with the rare seed of the Crututu plant (these were even harder to catch than the Fgrufg, but once you made your way through the 15 sets of tentacles and feelers to the seed in the middle it is absolutely delectable as it sits in your stomach and whispers dark promises of power and glory) I waved away the Fgrug with an errant thought, the small tentacled creatures screaming in pain as they dissolved under my will.
The incessant shrieks of the two pink creatures subsided and they made deep gasping sounds- catching their breaths I assume. Life is so hard with only two lungs.
I had welcomed these guests, offered them food, but they still continued to be so ungrateful to me. I figured their brood mother were not so diligent in disciplining her maggots and figured it was time for me to berate these miscreants from rousing me from my nap and not accepting my kind hospitality.
Carefully, as I didn’t want my presence to incinerate their entire galaxy (A couple thousand light years from their planet was a delicious fast food place that serves the most delicious live fried Gruti, the feeling of the acid on my tongues melting the exoskeletons away from their bodies while they scream in incomparable pain is truly unique. Wouldn’t want to annihilate that restaurant.) I slipped one of my smaller heads into a crack in their dimension and peeked up from under them, so that it seemed like my head slowly floated out of the ground they were standing on. I did this slowly, so as not to startle them, but they still screamed.
Was it the compound eyes? Or the tentacles? It matters not. I came all this way to teach them a quick lesson in hospitality and teach them I will.
I opened the cavernous chasm of my mouth, exposing rows of teeth that went on for miles and spoke directly into their minds,
I AM THE BRINGER OF CALAMITY AND OBLIVION, THE ONE WHO’S NAME IS ONLY WHISPERED, THE ONE KNOWN AS WRT’GHYJ. YOU THINK YOU KNOW PAIN? YOU THINK YOUR PETTY SPECIES KNOWS WAR, FAMINE, AND DESTRUCTION?
A BLINK FROM A SINGLE EYE OF MINE CAN SEND YOU PUNY PLANET VEERING OFF COURSE AND INTO THE MOUTH OF A BLACK HOLE. AN EXHALATION OF BREATH FROM MY MOUTH CAN KILL EVERY LIVING BEING WITHIN 3,000 LIGHT YEARS. MY WILL EXTENDS OVER THIS ENTIRE DIMENSION AND 689 MORE AND WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT I CAN EXTINGUISH LIFE AS IT IS.
YOUR FINITE EXISTENCE WILL KNOW THE MEANING OF PAIN IF YOU KEEP ON BEING THIS UNGRATEFUL. LEARN TO CLOSE THE DOOR AFTER YOU COME IN. AND IF YOU DON’T WANT THE FOOD THAT’S BEING OFFERED TO YOU, AT LEAST PRETEND TO ENJOY IT.
I did try to be quiet but my omnipotence alerted me to the fact that my voice had flattened all vegetation in a 60 mile radius. Oops. I also noticed that both of the primates had left the premise.
I found them a mile away from my estate, one of them on their knees laughing and clawing at their eyes. The other kept throwing themselves towards the ground, getting back up and repeating the process. I seem to have overdid the lessons, both the pink things seemed to have had their minds (if you can call that clump of neurons a mind) broken. Well. It was no great loss to their species, or to the sector in which their planet resided.
I looked back at my estate. Ah. Their minds may have been broken but at least they closed the door on the way out.
| I briefly glance into the crystal sphere to see how this chancer fairs in my dungeon, through the green haze I can see a silhouette of a heavily built man with wild hair brandishing a large silver sword.
It can't be the...
He is slicing through each of my familiars with too much ease. I tear my eyes away to the bookshelf and begin foraging every tomb I have that contains information about enchanted weaponry.
I killed the smith that forged the steel i'd just seen.. Burnt the village, staked every citizen within its wooden fences..
Flickers of a rusted knights outfit, with torn white robes flashed through my mind.. Screaming children provided the soundtrack...trees on fire, debris...
I darted my glare towards the crystal ball and squinted, seeing the same armour my mind had conjured up in my memory.
...it must be revenge afterall...
A loud thud and storm of splinters flew from behind me, gashing my ancient gown with a thousand shards.
Balder had seen carvings of the foul litch etched upon the caves near the lower mountains through out his youth. Tales had brought intrigue upon him as to why he'd been raised parentless.. He could feel the intense anger rise inside himself as he marched through the battered old fortress a hundred other knights had attempted to storm in the past couple of decades.
His fathers armour had been left to rust in the mud where his body had laid next to a fallen tree. Still preserved somehow with a dull glow emitting from the crack in the chest plate, whispering to him the first time he saw it.. He can't think about that now, years of training with the hunters had led him upto this moment.
His double handed sword cracked through the skull of the fourth decrepit guard at the foot of the spire. He made up the stairs with haste. Thick black fog was seeping from the grand oak door at the top, chattering voices and a quiet buzzing sound emitted from behind it.
With a roar he tore his sword through the oak door, bellowing out the cursed ones name..
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | A shrill alarm woke me from my wakeful slumber. Leaving the compound eyes near the back of my third head lidded I opened the rest of my 399 eyes and looked for the source of the sound which had stopped by now. I shifted my chitonous 161 legs out of my bed and made my way over to the dresser, the hardwood floor click-clacking sharply against the stark quiet of my bedroom.
The alarm had rung to alert me that some beings had entered my estate on sector 996. I closed my eyes and projected a fraction of my sentience into the sector and watched.
A small pink primate like thing, walking on only two fleshy legs (how in the name of Af’dbr do they balance themselves on only two legs?) made their way down the dark set of stairs. Another one of those things followed the first one down, this one was afraid, I could smell the familiar scent of fear. Inhaling deeply with the three noses perched atop my central proboscis I discerned that the first one was afraid as well, but masking it a bit better. With a slight twinge of irritation that sent a couple of planets in a sector nearby crumbling into dust, I noticed that both of these beings had failed to close the door to the large and dark mansion that they were entering.
I figured that I should introduce myself to the guests and tried to manage the fraction of my being into a more manageable form- three legs (I really can’t balance on two), five arms branching out at the ends of each hand on my two arms. And lastly, I needed to be that unseemly shade of pink.
I stuffed myself into this projected form and ambled out of the shadows towards my two guests, reaching an arm forwards amiably. “Hi, sorry for the mess, I haven’t cleaned up in centuries, but you primates are always allowed here you know?- me casa es su casa.” I chuckled a bit.
To my surprise the two primates were either singing or screaming (hard to tell with beings like these honestly), mostly variations of ‘what the fuck,’ ‘holy shit,’ and ‘get me the fuck out of here.’ I frowned slightly and hit the center of my bulbous and extended forehead with a tiny arm in annoyance as I realized that these pink primates must not have understood a word of what I had said. Sure, I was speaking in their language, but every single one of my 216 brains had forgotten to realize the fact that these beings function on a much slower time-frequency. Why, I must have looked like a fool speaking 79 times more rapidly than they could comprehend, my voice a tinny and unwavering shriek of over 154 decibels.
My projected form vanished as I noticed that my guests were running amok in a different room. I thought for a couple of picoseconds before I ascertained that lower-level beings like them needed sustenance to survive. Weren’t they hunters and gatherers? I decided to treat them to a couple hundred Fgrufg, a fine delicacy found in a corner of sector 27, and released the creatures in the room the primates were currently standing in.
The Fgrufg set out with enthusiasm, bouncing from wall to wall, to outer dimensional wall- to primate eyes, zipping in and out of existence. With fondness I think back to multiple millennium ago when I was young and my brood mother set millions of Fgrufg free in my room to catch and eat with my spear-like pincers. I would catch and devour them by the thousands and my brood mother would look at me with a slight smile playing at the sides of her cosmic lips and berate me for hogging all of the snacks.
I looked back towards the primates and saw them screaming, even louder than they had been previously. I sighed when I saw them running away from the snacks I had given them.
“You’re supposed to run towards them to catch them, not run away.” I said to myself, and one of my heads nodded in agreement, flicking out a forked tongue. I suppose that they might have been vegetarians. But rather than present them with the rare seed of the Crututu plant (these were even harder to catch than the Fgrufg, but once you made your way through the 15 sets of tentacles and feelers to the seed in the middle it is absolutely delectable as it sits in your stomach and whispers dark promises of power and glory) I waved away the Fgrug with an errant thought, the small tentacled creatures screaming in pain as they dissolved under my will.
The incessant shrieks of the two pink creatures subsided and they made deep gasping sounds- catching their breaths I assume. Life is so hard with only two lungs.
I had welcomed these guests, offered them food, but they still continued to be so ungrateful to me. I figured their brood mother were not so diligent in disciplining her maggots and figured it was time for me to berate these miscreants from rousing me from my nap and not accepting my kind hospitality.
Carefully, as I didn’t want my presence to incinerate their entire galaxy (A couple thousand light years from their planet was a delicious fast food place that serves the most delicious live fried Gruti, the feeling of the acid on my tongues melting the exoskeletons away from their bodies while they scream in incomparable pain is truly unique. Wouldn’t want to annihilate that restaurant.) I slipped one of my smaller heads into a crack in their dimension and peeked up from under them, so that it seemed like my head slowly floated out of the ground they were standing on. I did this slowly, so as not to startle them, but they still screamed.
Was it the compound eyes? Or the tentacles? It matters not. I came all this way to teach them a quick lesson in hospitality and teach them I will.
I opened the cavernous chasm of my mouth, exposing rows of teeth that went on for miles and spoke directly into their minds,
I AM THE BRINGER OF CALAMITY AND OBLIVION, THE ONE WHO’S NAME IS ONLY WHISPERED, THE ONE KNOWN AS WRT’GHYJ. YOU THINK YOU KNOW PAIN? YOU THINK YOUR PETTY SPECIES KNOWS WAR, FAMINE, AND DESTRUCTION?
A BLINK FROM A SINGLE EYE OF MINE CAN SEND YOU PUNY PLANET VEERING OFF COURSE AND INTO THE MOUTH OF A BLACK HOLE. AN EXHALATION OF BREATH FROM MY MOUTH CAN KILL EVERY LIVING BEING WITHIN 3,000 LIGHT YEARS. MY WILL EXTENDS OVER THIS ENTIRE DIMENSION AND 689 MORE AND WITH A SINGLE THOUGHT I CAN EXTINGUISH LIFE AS IT IS.
YOUR FINITE EXISTENCE WILL KNOW THE MEANING OF PAIN IF YOU KEEP ON BEING THIS UNGRATEFUL. LEARN TO CLOSE THE DOOR AFTER YOU COME IN. AND IF YOU DON’T WANT THE FOOD THAT’S BEING OFFERED TO YOU, AT LEAST PRETEND TO ENJOY IT.
I did try to be quiet but my omnipotence alerted me to the fact that my voice had flattened all vegetation in a 60 mile radius. Oops. I also noticed that both of the primates had left the premise.
I found them a mile away from my estate, one of them on their knees laughing and clawing at their eyes. The other kept throwing themselves towards the ground, getting back up and repeating the process. I seem to have overdid the lessons, both the pink things seemed to have had their minds (if you can call that clump of neurons a mind) broken. Well. It was no great loss to their species, or to the sector in which their planet resided.
I looked back at my estate. Ah. Their minds may have been broken but at least they closed the door on the way out.
| I wait. I am waiting. The door is closed, and I am not satisfied. I *yearn* to feed, and begin what once was, and will be once more.
The cattle. I feel them. I reach and caress their feeble minds, and some know a fraction of me. They adore me. They fear me. They love me. The door cracks, and my children slip through. They feed, and are adored in their feeding. They worship me in true, and I feel them. Not like the cattle. They cannot know, and the knowing, the glimpsing, shatters them. No matter. My children feed, and the crack widens.
**DEFIANCE?!** There is food that moves against! How? That it matters needles. These things, that know death/not know death. This food my children will consume, and glorify me. I will feed on them beyond death. Beyond time. They will be hounds within my maw, and consume themselves as I consume them.
The pattern closes. The Eye is nearly open. I feel the cold light of the space between stars. The pain nourishes me. I share it with the food that adores me. Loves me. Fears me. They do not understand. It matters not. Soon, I will be again. Moving. Flowing. Seeing with time, and touching effect with cause, not being between. I see the food make, and it is not as I wish. They make, and it is theirs. How arrogant. I am before, and what will be again. They move through time, and will be consumed by fire. I am of time, and my flame will be fed, and my children will be fed, and they will feed on cattle of their own, and my song will bring the rejoicing cry of myself to the many beyond this one. I will have the choir of pain, and the Others will be placed beyond even the ice of BEYOND, and their food will be my own. My children's own.
There is pain, but it is not nourishment! *MY CHILDREN!* Some are not! How are they not being?! The pattern shatters, but inward! The Eye closes on me!
I wait. I am waiting. I was/am/will be. The door closes, and the pattern starts anew. This door closes, and my attention moves to the next timeplace. This food will be mine, and that food will be mine, and all food will be mine. Slumber/die/wait/plan/seethe/rend and start anew.
I am always awake. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Reluctantly, I extended my senses outwards as noise entered my sanctum.
I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. A century? More? Clearly, not the millennium I had intended. I shifted a few times, my appendages stretching from my all too brief slumber, working the stiffness from my serpentine limbs.
I could feel them nearby. Humis, that's right, they had called themselves humis. Or something like that. It was hard to remember, and even a semi-immortal being can get groggy.
The humis had opened a door. How had they known how to- ah yes. I had told them how to reach me. The last time I had come to their world. They had fallen to their knees, begging for my power. Especially that one, what was his name, in the robe. Their leader.
That had gone...poorly. It must be hard for the Humis to understand something like me, and my attempts to communicate had been fought with peril. I had just been trying to say hello when their leader's head exploded.
The followers had adverted their eyes, which was probably wise. They had mewed up at me in their tiny voices, too primitive to know that I could feel the ebbs of their mind.
Attempting to let him know that had not gone well either. The first one dying had been an accident, still a bit of overzealous communication on my part. The next three were my fault- I should have gone straight to whispers.
So I'd resorted to whispering, but the language of a leviathan translated poorly. I had learned little, and they learned only of my power. They wanted something, I could get that, but the details escaped me.
So I found one of them, whose mind seemed tougher than the rest, and I told him how to reach me. That I would have a bite to eat, and that he should get back to me when they learned to shield their minds. Then I curled up in my astral realm and had a nap.
I signed. Better get this over with. I pushed a bit of myself- not too much, they couldn't handle that- through the portal.
They were bowing, their faces averted. "Oh great Ill'goth, genesis of madness" they chanted, "we awaken you to consume this world, as you intended to do centuries ago."
Crap, that's what they heard?
"We have heard the whispers, the reverberations of your thoughts!"
They had? Damn it, I didn't think my snores were that loud. I must not have closed the portal all the way.
"we bring for you a sacrifice, to kick off your glorious reign."
A man knelt there, bound and bloodied. He wore a soiled suit, and he quaked in fear.
Guys, really, hostages? Bug me if you want, but keep bystanders out of it.
Well, I better sort this out. Clearly, these idiots were going to keep bugging me until their dying breath unless I sorted this out.
"Guys, this is not okay." I said, as quietly as I could, to the cultists.
Their faces shifted in pain. Even that was too loud?
"You are displeased!" The high priest said, "as you should be, this world is a failure!"
"No, guys, stop with this." A ting of anger entered my statement.
"Yes my lord, cleanse us first. Begin with our impure forms, free us to live on in your madness?"
What the hell was he babbling about? But okay, if he insisted.
"Fine." I thought at the cultists, as hard as I could. There was a chorus of pops as all of their heads exploded simultaneously.
That just left the lone man. The least I could do was help him out.
I extended my appendage- a tentacle, as he would see it- towards him. He staggered away, trying to avoid my reach.
"Stop," I whispered. "I just want to help you. Let me break your shackles."
"My mind is my own, monster." He called. He forced his bindings against the cultist's knife, slicing them.
Fine then. That was sorted. I forced my perception to take in the room. There was a dark crystal on the table- that was it. They had used that to reach me. I should just take that back so this couldn't happen again.
I reached for the crystal with my tentacle, and felt a stab at the side of my limb. The humis had sliced me! With that cultist's knife!
"Stop it," I said, trying to retain my voice, but he still fell away in pain.
I sighed. I should finish this. I stretched towards the crystal again.
"No," the man screamed. He leapt towards the crystal, smashing it with his knife.
With a pop, the doorway closed. Pain shot though me, as my appendage had been slammed in the door, and I realized it had been sliced clean.
"Ow". I though. I extended my mind to my limb. It oozed black fluid, but it would reform in time. Damn those cultists, this would take me a century to recover from.
I hoped the human would be okay. He'd been in a bad spot, and my voice had done him no favors, but Humis could be hardy. He'd heal in a century or two.
I signed, weariness fighting irritation. I'm always grumpy in the morning. Maybe just another few centuries... | I pick one. I make it kill others. I don't force it to, I make it want to inflict harm. Small things when it is small, and bigger as it grows. When it is done growing I make it kill its own kind. I make it enjoy it. I make it feel clever. I make it feel pleasure. I make it skin some alive. That's funny. You're naked, ha ha. I make it lock some up. I make it make them do things. Silly thing, think you are me. I make it make items from others. It needs a lot of materials. I make it decorate with others. I get bored. I make others see. They kill it.
I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Of course.
You're screaming.
Everyone screams. Say what you will about the decline of manners in this modern age but at least most folks are greeted with something other than ear-splitting shrieks. I guess I'm not so lucky. I also guess I'm not to good at proper conversation because I've jumped ahead without even introducing myself.
My name is . . . well, that's not important. I could tell you my name but it never ends well. Apparently, even seeing it written down drives the sanest of men to gibbering madness, drooling and crying and going on and on about the sliding angles of the hungering void.
(It was a bit tough finding that out. I went to an AA meeting for help with dealing with my substance abuse problems and ended up fleeing the church fellowship hall just before one of members set fire to a gas main she'd ripped out of the wall in a fit. The newspapers reported it as an accident due to faulty electrics but failed to mention the self inflicted lacerations on the bodies they recovered.)
There I go again, off on some tangent instead of just telling you why I'm here. Linear time is such a problem for me. I tend to move in seven dimensions, existing everywhere/when so thinking in terms of "this-happened-then-that-happened" gives me a colossal headache.
Well, I say "headache." I don't really have a head, as such. I do have a ventral stalk upon which most of my sensory organs rest. My food intake orifice is underneath my body, though, so I end up over-enunciating when I speak. Not that it matters. I open my mouth and people automatically begin raising sand about the slathering maws of eternity uttering dark syllables of madness.
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise. Speaking of, would you mind piping down a bit? I'd like to speak like adults instead of carrying on like a hairless ape descendant.
Speaking of my mouth, boy is it dry. It's like I've spent all day sucking on sandstone effigies carved by misguided cultists who think mispronouncing my name in their silly rituals means I will grant them power. (Honestly, they never get the right inflection. You'd almost think they'd never heard of using their tertiary uvulas when attempting glottal stops.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Why I am here.
I was a bit thirsty earlier (well, I still am, truth be told) and decided to make tea but realized I am fresh out of sugar. (I'd forgotten I'd used the last of it making brownies for the church fundraiser for fellowship hall repairs.) I slid through the angles from my realm into yours (I came through your wainscoting, I hope you don't mind,) to ask if I could borrow some from you.
Oh. That's right. You're still screaming, aren't you? It's a bit hard for me to tell, what with my hearing be so damaged from no one using a normal speaking voice around me. I'll just help myself to your pantry and head out. Please excuse the effluvia. I leak it everywhere and it tends to be a bit caustic. It'll eat through a house pet like water on cotton candy.
Oh no, don't get up. You look pretty comfortable in your spot behind the couch, blood leaking from your eyes and nose, brandishing your iPad.
Well, this should be all I need. Again, sorry about the mess. I'll be back to return the measuring cup. Don't worry, I'll call in advance next time instead of just barging in.
I'm sure you'll hear the call.
They always do. | I pick one. I make it kill others. I don't force it to, I make it want to inflict harm. Small things when it is small, and bigger as it grows. When it is done growing I make it kill its own kind. I make it enjoy it. I make it feel clever. I make it feel pleasure. I make it skin some alive. That's funny. You're naked, ha ha. I make it lock some up. I make it make them do things. Silly thing, think you are me. I make it make items from others. It needs a lot of materials. I make it decorate with others. I get bored. I make others see. They kill it.
I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | gHmwthp'glks skmtrwqxr'rvzt wsslhtp'p dnddpr qqw-l'klml hhrt n'nmttl n qqfgh
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cThg ffhgthth. | I pick one. I make it kill others. I don't force it to, I make it want to inflict harm. Small things when it is small, and bigger as it grows. When it is done growing I make it kill its own kind. I make it enjoy it. I make it feel clever. I make it feel pleasure. I make it skin some alive. That's funny. You're naked, ha ha. I make it lock some up. I make it make them do things. Silly thing, think you are me. I make it make items from others. It needs a lot of materials. I make it decorate with others. I get bored. I make others see. They kill it.
I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. |
4̈ͧ̈́͌̎͏͏̘͔̩̱̻͈̣̰͙͓͇̠̀4̷̧̙̳͉̦̤͖͕̲̹̟̗͙̺̖̣̫͖͗͒ͨͨ̈́́ͭ̈̎̓ͫ͐ͭ͌͌ͯ̚͜͢j̗̩̗͎͙͂́͗̌̌̔̍͆͒͌ͬ̾̋̿̈͒ͨ̔͘͝O̶̧͙̣͔͖̪ͮ͗̆͑͊ͩ̿Ṙ̛͈̹͈͎̞̱̬̣̘͇͓͙̳͚̰̠́ͯͭͧ̅̏ͧ̈ͦ̃̒̋ͦ͘͡͠X̍̽͆̿̉̈̔ͣͣ̃͊̚͟͏̯̬̝̤̗̲2̷͛ͯ̂ͫͨ̈́̇̆҉̢̬͓̹͇̝͍̠̥̺ͅs̺̮͔̲̜͎͈͕̭̟̈́͒̾ͩ͌̾͗ͧ̂̒ͩ̾̊̕͡͡6̴̡̗̳̳̃͑̌́ͦ͢4̴̨̹̻͔̻͕̙̣̞̪̰͖̟̭̘̭̹̦̜̋ͩ̾ͦ̎͋͋ͭ̅ͦ̎̾͠B̨̊̉̀͛ͤ̌̆͆ͤ̇̀ͣͩ́́̚҉͇̥̙͓͎̙̬̻̤̟̝̰͈j̢͉̙̪̰̍̎̎̊̔̾ͥ͒ͮͣ̆̏̇ͨ̋́̾̈͝m̸̖͔̥̞͚̩̲̝ͩ̾͛̌̂̀̄͊̀̾̓̈ͩ̌͗ͮ̈̀̀͠s̷̫̮̫̗̼̲̘̫̹̭̍͊̌ͩͪ̈́̓͌ͩ͘͡q̵͛͐̈͐̽͏̶̣͎͖͔͕̱͍͓̥̖̦̺͍͖̦̗M̐̒̓̒̔͆́͝͏̫̣͙̟͓̱̻̜̹5̛̛͉͕̖̯͚̜͇͈ͫ̂ͥ̈́̑̍͆́͝9̧͓͖̙̙̤̯̩͕̬͉͚̪̊̀ͬ̀̈́̍͛̄̔̍̆̈̚͝Vͭ̾ͤ̓̓̓̂̾͆͂͟҉͈̗̝̪͉̹8̴̧ͭͧ̂̏̌ͣͭ̈̈́̃͛͛͏͔͎̰̝̠̮͙̣̪̻̘̤̥͈̝̣̕x̧̄ͣ̾͂͏̢҉̛͇̼̥̙̩̳̟͚̻̼̠̙͎̤͇̤̜ͅǫ̸̢͚͔̲͎̼̜̗̠̟̖̹͖̺̞̣̇͋̑̆̉ͨͥ͌̾̂̀̊̚͞͝x̴̾ͪ̔͋ͧ̍͌͏̱̟̰͍͔̭̺̝̣̦̖̞̩̤̼̼4̵̷̵̡̮͕͔͚̼̲̫͕͉ͮͮ̍ͪͩ̇̏̏̈́̒̇̓ͭ́ͨ́u̷̍̿̏ͣͤ͌ͥ͐ͨ̐͆̍҉̸͎̞̻͍͔͎̮͙̜͎͕͝͞ͅh̶̥͉̞͚͖͖ͩ̏͗̎̔̂ͭͦ͌ͥ̋ͬͪ̎̔ͤ̌̕İ̽ͣͧ̑͟͠҉͜҉̫̯͉̜̭͖̣̟̻̥̖̗̼̹̺͇̥͙n̛̜͔̱̠̬̰ͯ́̄͊̄͝ͅ
̦̫͕̤̰̠̤͕̇ͫ̇̓̂ͥ͛͛̄͠F̷̮̻̝̗̗̟̯͕ͭͧͩ͆́͜͡6̡̞͎̤͙̺͇̤̣̙̯̦̎̈̒ͦͭ̿̃ͫ͑̅́͜͠Ŗ̴̳͙͎͖͔̺̗̪̥͎̩͇̞̬͈̠̫͛̌̅͑́ͭͬ̃̾̕q̶ͣ͑͛ͥ͐̓̋̀̈́ͭ́͘͟҉̞̭̭̲͖͔̳͙̱̼͍̣͈͖ͅk̦̮̫̻̞̮̗ͣ̊̋ͥ̇ͮ̿̓ͭ̅̔̚͟Z̧̘̗͇͚̟̣̫͉̳͑̃̏͂ͥ̃ͤ̈̉͢͢ẁ̢̢̢̦̹̟̝̲̬͌̆͒͆̊ͩͮͧ͂͐ͨͮͣ̀̒̌͢f̨ͬͤ̂͆͗͌ͥ͑ͪ̂ͯ̽̋̂͑͌͆҉͟҉̧̗̦̞̠̮̻͖̝͔̩͙x̷̐ͫ̂̍̄ͫ̐̈́͂͗̔̑̒͗̃ͩ̑͝҉̗̳̜̥̭̬̣̹̗̭̤̟̻̫1̷̭͚̞̳̮͔̝̪̯̖̪̗̉ͯͦ̒̓͆̽̂͌̽ͩ͐ͣ̍͂͛̚͘̕͝q̯͍̭͚̟̣̬̬̝̙̪̯͓̳͊̎̉̆͌̌̾̊ͪ̇́̄̈́̓͐̌͑̆̈̀͘ͅa̷̧͔͎̫̫͍̬̩̟̬̥̘͍̼̲͓͋̆̿ͦ̃͌̀́̕t̐̽ͥ̅͑ͣ̋͆̏͏̛̖͖̠̱͍̼̗̱̙̹̖̬̲̮̙̖q̵̧̡̝̬̺ͪ̋̽ͪ̓ͬ͐̂́͗͌ͮ͆ͣ̎ͩs̴̨͆̅̽͊̇͗҉͓̝͇̳͔̙͇f̨͉̙̝̭̘̳̮̰̲̭̦̜ͥͭ̃̏ͧ͐̽͂ͩ̍̔͆̆̆͢͟͟͠F̢̥̘͍̝̰̝̞̰͖̿͆̔ͯ̊́̑̏̾͑̔ͪ̅̏͆ͅt̛̛͕̳̙̘̹̦̲̹͔̖̭̒̆̾ͦ͊́̉̊ͫ̍̓ͭ͘͝͞l̛̳̬̪̎ͫ̏̈́͋͛̓̒̌̔͌̒̉̐̐͠ͅg̴̢̒̂͂͑̆͌ͨ̈̈ͣ̇̒̀̽ͪ̄́͑̚͏̭͙͚̭̣̠͔̼͇͚̺̩̼̮ą̷̠̝̺̺̼̥̮̺̞̠̖̟̊̌̅̂ͮ̈ͥͥͣ̃̾͟͜͠I̛̋͋̓̅͛ͨ̐ͬͧ̐ͪ̅̒̈́ͦ̋ͯ͢͏͈͕̬̖̭̤̝̳̫̜̟͍̮̻͠Cͬ̈̉̊͏͚͉̳̱̳̞̭͈͙͢͢Ĵ̸̴̷̯̮̬͓͖͍̤͈͕̣̫͈̪̻̠̳̝ͮ̃ͦ̓͐͜͠Y̸̪͈͔͖͔͔̣̦̬͎͇̗̜͔̹̜̎ͧ̇ͫ̋̆͐ͪ̑̆͋̓̂͜ͅn̶̢̨̪̻͎̪̙̩̗̟̺̣̣̮̏͗ͬ́ͧ̋̉ͥ̈́̌̾̊̀l̶̎̅ͭ̒ͨ̅ͦͧ͐̇̍ͯ̅͋̚͏̗̪͉̜̯̮̱̼̜̪̗̪̥̬̀̕͞4̛̺̟͙̝ͧͨͫͣ̈͗̃͋̊̈́ͬ̈́͑̈̑̽͛̀̀́͞͠
̨̣̗̤͕̩̟͎̺̟̯̥̩͉͓̫̥̇̓͊̈̾̉͌͋ͩͬ̇͢͜ͅo̢̡̲͉̻̬̺̣͎̣̩̬͙̤̺͉̦̭̱͌̽̈̅̋͊͒̑͌̅̑̓̑͗̓͐ͬ͗̀0͑̏ͪ̽̈̒̎̅͢͏̹͓̩͕̘̟̮̪͔̣̖͈̪͈͚͎0̡̖̮̝͔̜̪̗̙͛̈́̏̿̌̽ͩ̓̂͛̑̈́̌ͣ̀͘͠K̷̮͓̪͕͚̦̟̪̞͇̪̗̆͗ͩ͑̌̒̌͊̇̌̎ͨͤͫͯͧͪ̌̄͠͡ͅq̈́͗̌̔͗ͥ̑ͥ̂̄ͮ͂̄͛҉̩͔̖̳̟́͝P̶̧̭̝̳̯͕̘̦̗̞̜̰̣̟̫͔̠͚ͤ̉ͨ͞͞Ğ̨̬̜̺̮̞͌̽̅̅͗̽̍̃͛ͬ̊ͨ͊͐̀̀͟9̷͎͓̤̰̻̜̘̖̪̬̫͇̦̲̞̲͒ͦͮ̌̌̂ͥ͑̽̔͋͂̾ͯ̉͌D̡̛̤̳͓̣̙̣̮̩ͤ͌̏̾̾͆̿̑ͥ̅̔̋̂͆̂̌̚͝ͅK͙̮̝̱̠̯̫̼̤̫̘̉̏͐ͮ͝͝g̴̑ͣ͗̾ͬ͒̓̽͒͋̑̏̃́͟͝҉̫̮̳͓̭̜̙̗͖̮͕͖Ģ̴͕̩̯̠̬͖̠͈͍̣̹̥̮̫̤̼̬̠̒͋̌͒̈́͗̅͋͛͋ͣͯͪ́F̎ͦ̂̂̐̓̓̽̿̾̃ͭ̊̏̚҉̢̰̤̭͔̟̭͔̹n̛͚̫̤͕̼̱̮̦̫͉̲̩̘͚̰̗̒ͧͯ͐̓ͧ͛̓̈́̃̒̓̈̾͗̍ͨ͛͝͠O̖̮̦̥̦͙̭̳̝̝͗͒̊͑̉͒̊͗̾ͩ̀̓̔͛̄ͯ͢͠ͅͅx̟̲̹͕̱̻̼̼̳̻͆ͯͬ̅̂̅̚̕͡I̷̷̴͍͚̩̤̲͚͉̺̜͈͉̒͛͌̔ͬ̍̑̀g̶̟͖̊̋̾̎́ͅC̹̜̟̻̙͈͔̳͙̝͔̺̦̳̭͖̰ͪ͊͊ͯ͞ͅQ̸̙̹̥̼͙͔͇̼͉̞̯̦͉̤̰̘̭̦͎̌͑͆̄̈́ͩ͛̐͜X̸͇̙̖̣̩ͭͨ̋͑ͬ̈̕͘Hͤ̂͐̄̒͐̿͜͏̧̢̪̞͉̯̤͕̫͈̥̖̰̹̜́Ṙ̶͎͎̤̮͕̝̥̳͈ͭͮ͛̾̑̓͗̾̔̉͛̓̏͋́̕͘Ỏ̸̧̥͓̜̮̼̰̦̭̰͎̗̞͕͇͖͙͓͔̮ͧ̀ͮ̏̇ͯ̌̓̆ͦ́̚͟Ķ̵̭̖͍̱̼̖͙̖̹͖͔̫͙͒ͧ̋͆͊̂̃ͬ̎ͮ̊̿͛͆ͬ͌̐̄̚͠͡F̧̬̦̘͉̱̞̰͖͇͚̤͖͔͓̜͖̞̲ͮ̂̇̒̆͗̊̉̐ͤ̿ͨ̅̀̕͘͞ȩ̵̛͓̪͎̞͇̹̳̥̰̤̰͔ͮ̂ͧ͜͞q̰̲͎̦͕̥͉͖̤̜̭͍͚̖̯̼̲̞̖͊͊͊͗̐ͮͪͨͩ̒͒̃͝͞
̅͑ͯ̔͋̈́̚͟҉̧̳̩̼̼̺C̲̹̭̞̦͍̥̯̤̪͕̺͒͐ͧͧ̐̑̑̌͒̐̔̾͂ͦ͜͜j̷̶̘̫̺̜̖͖̙͕̦͎͓̞̭̠͔̝̫̩ͨ͑ͯ̌̀̚ͅ8̨̨̟̫͉̣̦͚̫̼̦͐̐̃ͪ͂̽̒̆̒̍̔͢k̵̫̳̝̭͑ͭ̆ͨ̓͗ͪ͑̊̕͞͞T̴̵̝̜̥̩̙̱̔̾̆ͥ̌̔͐ͥ̕͝ͅͅJ̢̥͍̦̣́͋̈́̎̾̄͟͝Ķ̼͎͈̜͉̼̘̲͔͋ͪ͌͂ͭw̸̷̡̹̯͇̖͉̥͔̹̲ͣ̉͑̓́ͮͯͩ̂ͩ͆ͥ̓ͦ͑ͪ̀̕ͅg̨͔̦̬̜̘͍͐̎ͤͫͨ́ͬ̆̃͜͞͠Q̳͚̬̭̠̻̫͎̹̱͎̼̮̄ͫ̏̌̾̔ͤ͒̌ͥ̎ͮ͂̒͆͋̍ͨ͊͘͘J͕͎͚̦͚͒ͯͥͯͥ̇ͨͧ̾̈̀ͦͣ̌̕͘a̅ͩ͌̓͆̕҉͟͏͖̗͇͎͉͎̙̱̣͟5ͤ͛ͤͩͣ̆̒̅ͨ̿͏͝͏͍̘̗͈̪̫̙̺̜̜̱̠̖̯̬͙̭͝ͅi̛ͧ̋̑ͪ̄ͤ̎̊ͨ̅̎ͩ͋̏̽̃͌̚҉̯̬͖͎͕̰̰͔̣͎n̾ͤ́̆҉̸̵̬̝̳̝̤Ț̢̳̹ͣͮͪ̾̌͊̔̿̌ͥ̚͡͝1̷͕̩̘̘̖̠̟̲̜̠͎ͣ͐̾͐̊̾ͦ̔͋̋̐͐ͥ́͟m̵ͯ̒̅̚͘͜҉̬̺̪̠͕̣͙͚̬̲̖̱̟͇͉͔̺ơ̯͇̩͚̟̗̺̥̪̜̻̭̗̝͎͖̼̳̦̄͂͋̆͒͂͗̓̇̇͛̑͛̽͑̎͆̿̎́H͊̋̍̈͒ͤͦͨ͐̍͏̶̷̝̪̹̺̬͈̭͚̜̦̻̲̹̹̞̹͞b̡̛͇̤̩̥̦͚̝͔̮̞͕͉̀̎ͦ̽͊ͨ̊ͧ͌̎ͬ̇͟L̛̝̖͕̩̗͙̘͉̯͔̗̥͚̞̫͒ͮ́ͩͤ̎̉̀ͪ͊̊̾̅̆͒̂̔ͩ͘v̅ͣͪͪ̆̿̑͐ͫͦͪ̓ͤ̏҉̢̯̘̻̤ͅI̶̡̮̙̻̝̺̖̺̪͕̼͍͉͙͂͒̇̑͆ͪͥ̆̍ͤͧ̾͋̔̑̚͝͞5̎͗̓ͩ̀̄ͦ̑̍̓̐͒͞҉̷̡͚͍͓̰̼̗̜͉̬͖̩̲̝̯̲͉̙̕ͅA̓ͫ̏̑̉̌̋ͫ҉̸̮̦̗͎̺͇͖͈̹̀͜F̢̘̤̱͔͕͉̬̯̩͔͈̯͓̭̟̗͕͑ͣͩ̏̃͊̒͑͘͜eͬͤ͐̏̀̇͏̷̲̩͙̙̥͉͖̩͎͙̩̬́̀
̶͓͕̘̙̖̤͚̏̄ͮ̐̾̎ͪ̒̇̋͆̍̌̈́͞N̿̆̓́̌͜͏̡͕̭͍̬̤̦͟v̴̶̵̡͖̗̩̻̫͚̮̰͇̝̘̦͇̪̤̯̯̤͗ͪ̄ͮͦ̊͌ͥ͗ͥ͑̊̊̉͟ͅx̴̵̖̻̮̙͇̖͉̜̮ͮ̌ͭ͋5͙̳̱̹̣̼̙͎̺̠̤̦̣̤̌ͧͯ́̑͂ͤ̔͊̐ͩ̄ͭ̏̀͝g̴̓͆̅̒ͦͮͯͮͨͨ̽̇̑̚҉̙͇̝̼̪̱̳̳͙̫̤̤̼̦̹̳̗̣̼h̨̿͛̃͒ͯͭ͛̏̆͒̍̓ͥͫ͋̀ͮ̋͏̷̰͇͕̼̞̫͍̮͇̱͖̤̭͓̺Ź̧̛̹̰͍̤̗̭͕͈̖̘̦̣̻̪̠̘͛̃̂̿͑͒ͧ̿̉ͣ̒̔͟2̡̪̫̬͈̞̫͚̙̇͂̀̎͂̂͂͌ͭ́̇͢9̬̲̦̱͖̟ͣͩ̆ͥ̎͠͞kͮ͊͒ͯ̑ͬͣ̓ͦͪ́̎͌̔ͩͮ͊͞͡͠҉̜̥͙̺̗̤Ǵ̃̎̈̒̉͡҉̢̲̫̥͇̣͈͓̯̜͈̗̞͈̗̀ͅh̔̓̊͆̐̓ͤͯͤ̅҉̵͙͕͔̞͇̬͈̣̣̪̲B̒̌ͭͥ̒͟҉̴͈͉̬͚͓̫̯͖̣̙͎͚͍͔̮̲͘͘ͅİ̶͍̤̜͈̖̏͌̈͊̊ͫ̏̐ͯ͑̋͟͝i̷̴̱̝͉̠͚͕̬̦̖͙̳͇̔̋̑ͯ̐͌̂̂ͫͨ̀͒͌ͧ̆͛͐1̮͖̤̗̪̝͙̬͖̤ͩ͗̒ͦͫ̊ͤ͌̀́̉̐̚͢͢ͅͅM̨̮͍̪̟̰̿ͭ͒͊̔̈́ͭ̏̅̍ͥ̃ͤ̓ͣͯͭ́̐͠F̡̧̛̖̤͓̝̟̼͎̘̯͙̼͓͎͒ͩ̇̈̏ͦ̉̃̐̆͆̀̉̿ͪͪ̾́͠5̛̠̜̖̗̜̻̘̤̩̫̰̊̽ͬ̋́E̶̓̐̅ͣͬͭ̎̈̽͋͊̆ͣͩ́̚҉̷͉̙̭̠̣̱͔̻P̧̛̛̭͇̙͕͌̔̆͛ͫ̎̀̇̎̍̕5̷̷̛̻̯̲̗͍̩̠̝̯̒ͧ̔ͦ͛ͭ͐̿̂́̾̋̋͑ͦ͟͢ͅC̿͗̒̎ͧ̈́ͫͯ̓͒̃͏̡̬̬̺̥͚̝̰͔͉̪̲̙̼̥̰̭̬͔͎͜ÿ̸̮̙̗̳̙̺͈̺͙̝̪̟̩̙́̇̂ͩ̿̄̀̚͟ͅy̢̨̛̘̻̪͖̦͔̮͐ͪ͊̄͝B̸͒̋͒͋̈͒͒͐ͩͨ̓ͪ̽̾҉̷̩̙̼͖̣̠̻̠̖͉͔̬r̒ͨͤ͌҉͝҉͉̯̞̯͖͈̞͔̹͔͟͜z̵̶̛̻̮͖͈̞͈͚͖ͥ͋ͫ̒̒ͮ̄͐͂ͨͤ̊̄ͩͩ͘͞ͅ
̵̡̺͉̻͔̦̫̯̰̯̆̏̏ͤ̾̇̄̓̓̔̄ͣͤͨ͌̆ͮ̓̚ͅͅP̧̧̼̣͍͈̗̮͙̝̱̤͎̩̤̯̖̮̯͉ͬͤͧͫͨ̈́́̊͗͜͟͜Z̢̫͚̻̗̯͍̻̘͕̼͆́̒̒̆ͪ̓̽͆̀̚͢͢z̡̮̯͓̼̆̉̈́̇͌͒͆a̧̖̭̪̙̮̣͕̻̬̣̠̬̤̜͂̐͌̑́́́͠0̸̛̖̲͙̼͍̪̮̯̜̇ͧ͑̋͟͝f̛͙͙̫͈͓͙͙̳̞̣̠̮̤̣̊ͩͯ͋̽̐ͧ̊̊͛̆̈͂̆̓́͊͑͟ͅb̡̧̺͚̹͎̩̟̫̪̗̬̯̦̎͋̀̃8̵̻̘̘͔̙͔ͩ̓̎̈́͑ͨͥͣ̄̈̈ͤ̍̋U̵̓̋̿͆ͮ͂̍̌̍͏̨͎̪̤̮̟̺̹C̵̢͓̼̟̦̳͉͓͓ͥͤ͌̅́̂͒̏̔̂̀͘F̸̢̨̻̱̹͇̘̣̮͍͍̦ͦ̃ͭ͌̒̑́͋̾͋͜ͅmͣͣ͒̀̍͗ͣ̌ͪ͏̷̡̳̫̼̤͉͚̰͈́͜wͥ͌͒ͩͥ̈͑͋̇ͮ̓̚͏̶̴̢͈̼͈͚̭͈̟̯͍1̨ͭ̊̅̔̄̿͑̍ͫ͛́͢҉̨̺̬̣̥̝͍̙̪̹͉̝̼̣̗̙̞̪X̷̵̛̛͚̻̞̯͍̤ͧ́ͥ̍̃ͮͮͥ͐͆̌̌͒ͦ̐ͬ͊͗͡Ụ̴̴̡͕̞̼̂̅ͯ̌̈ͭͪ͂͊̕͜y̴̟͔̺̮͚̟̖̯͎̼͓̻̫̯̓̓ͥ͌ͨͦ̔ͫ͊ͬ͟͢͞ō̈̾̄̎̉͊͑ͣͮ͊͗͊͛̍҉̸̷̙̳͍̭̳̫̰̳̀2̵̵̧̤̥͉͚̻̪̘̝̠̺̃̀ͭͯͧͬ́́͌ͣ͂ͪ̂ͭ͆̈ͥ̑̀͜e̊̄ͭ̅̃̾̓̓ͧ͐̋̾ͩ́̏̇̃ͮ́҉̬͕͎̠͖͙͉͕̝͕̩͙̣̝͉̭̳̟v̵͗ͮ̽̓͑͏̱̮͖̪̰̞̥̳̣̀͞R̅̈̌̌͘͢҉̗̲͔̮̲͚͓͡p̸̢̧̣̲̻̗̲̣͈͓̖̲͖ͯ̈ͩ̈ͮ͊́ͩ͒̂̈͒̒͗̌̚͘q̶̜̳̭͉̹̺͂͗͂ͮ̂̀ͧ͑́̑̍ͤ͊ͧ͌́͘j̛̜̜͎̠͎̥̫̺̯̬̥̠͉̜͎͇̱ͯ̓̄͊̚͠j̢͔̺͔̟̟̗̟͍̩̠̭̭͖̞ͤ̆ͦ̑̄̂̓ͨͧͮ̆̎̂̕͜ͅl̪̟̬̠̯̳͉̲̺̬̩͖ͦ̊ͭͫ̓̌ͨͥ̿ͨ͊̄̒̾̀͢x̠̦̹̗́ͭͪ̂͆̒̎͑ͮ͋̑ͥ̇̉̕
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ͯͫ̃̓ͥͩ͏̴͔̻̘͉̩͓͎͔̥͓̰͎́͘͠V̢ͭ̀ͭͩ͌͐̑͑̇̃̽͗̃̇͟҉͖̱̺̝̞w̴̛͍͚̪̗̮̬͚̰ͥ̔̅̓͛̇͠z̛̖̰͇͙͙͚͎̩̺̫̰̳̑͋ͩ̎̔̇̌͜͝8̙̲͚̭͍̪̩͓̲͈͌ͤ͛ͥ̑ͬ̀̀͟9̖̩̫̗̘̖ͣ̐̔̿̒̐̍́̀͡ͅͅaͤ͗͒̾̚҉̸͔͚̘͈͈̰̞̗͈͈̻͘ͅB̨̞̗͇̫̯̠̥̈ͭ̇ͪ̈̓̋̐̅̿̐̑͊̐̿ͫ̚̕͝͡ͅP̨̦͔̫͕̥̼̠̫̝͕̘̠̫͓̦̺̮̒͌ͦ̇̾ͯͣ͑ͭͨ̈̓͗̚̕͢͠͠zͫ̉͑͌̋̊̐ͣ̀ͭͥ̄̚҉̷͖͖̠̬̱͢o̾̈́̿̚͠͠͏̠̦͎̝̝̗̤͎̠̟̭͠k̸ͦ͆ͮ̐̚҉̡͡҉̪̫̬͓4̡́͊́ͩ̉ͤ̿ͥͬ̚͠҉̟͕͈͚6̒̓͐͒̂̅ͭ͛͆̂ͭͪ̏̽̌ͧ́̚͘҉̸̼͖̮̩͇͎͙͍̦̀O̡̡̝͎̖̗͚̯͍̞̗̻̝͉̺͎̠͊̏ͤ̔̊̑̋ͨͮ̒͟͢ͅs̷̵̢̢̻̞̭̝̗͓͔̱̳̻̥ͫͪ̇̾̿̑ͩ̊̀̊̊͟P̷̶̫̬͓̱̫̟̟͇̪̤͙͓̞͆̋͌ͨͭ́͗̏̀̋ͪṋ̵͖͕̱͇̪̮͍̥̼͙ͧͧͭ̇͒̉ͪ̾ͯ̑̇ͦ̕͢͟F̶̸̢̡̳͍̹̘͕̹̲̞̮̪̭̫͚̪̯̿ͦ͗̐͛̌͊͐̋̏ͩ͌̀͌̍̓ͮ͠D̡̜͇͎͕̫͕̱̖̱̫͕̼̒̂ͯ̈̔͢M̤͍̘͙̮̞͚̞͎̥̗̣͈̼̘̟͕̳̬ͦ̆̈́͗̋ͥ̈́̿͑͘7͌ͣͩ͛ͩ͂̒̓̓ͬ̔͛̑ͩͨͭ̚͏̴̥͎̳̯͓͔̱͖͔͔̩͖4͉̝̰̯̗̟̯̙̮͇͎̰͒̄̉ͬ̃̆͗͌̽̄͗̐̈́̕͢͠5̴̢̱̺̥̯͓͇͔̙̗͔͕ͭͫͫ̃ͤ̋̄ͣ̽̂͌͋̃ͮȲ̴̧́ͪͮ̄ͣ̋͌̅͋̈́̑ͥ̾́̚̚͏̣͚̼̜̟̦̟͖͓̗̺͉̝̰͜i̸̷̵̠̱͔͓̟̳̣͔̙̠͚̫̪͚̲͖̐ͩ͛ͫ̀͞7̨̎ͨ͆̍͌̒̊̓ͤ͂̒̉ͬ͆́͏̩̦̜̫̲͇k̶̨͓̞̞̘͎͎̦͓̦͎̙̻̜̫̟̤̫͋̾̈́͆ͧ͌ͬͬ̔̀͑́ͣ͐̎ͦ̎̇͢m̨̭̪̖͓̳͙̗̫͓͍̤̮̝̱̰̈́͐́͐͒͆̆͝
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I pick one. I tell it to do things. It refuses. I repeat. It refuses. I insist. It obeys. I tell it to hurt small ones. It cries. It begs. It hurts small ones. Stupid thing. I might have gotten bored. All you had to do was not. Now it is fun. I tell it to find lonely ones and give them a home. I tell it to make a big home. I tell it to say good things. Others like it. Others follow it. I tell it to kill them all. It does not cry. It does not beg. It kills them all.
I pick one. I make it charming. I make it inspiring. I make it ambitious. I make others follow it. I make it build. I make it hate. It kills many. It makes others kill many. How many can I make it make die? I make others kill its followers. They're all killing each other now. Will they run out? I make them make better weapons. They kill more. I make some more clever. They kill more. I make clever ones make clever weapons. They kill more. They are not running out of things to kill. They are running out of things that kill. They stop killing each other. A lot of them died. How many?
I pick one. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Of course.
You're screaming.
Everyone screams. Say what you will about the decline of manners in this modern age but at least most folks are greeted with something other than ear-splitting shrieks. I guess I'm not so lucky. I also guess I'm not to good at proper conversation because I've jumped ahead without even introducing myself.
My name is . . . well, that's not important. I could tell you my name but it never ends well. Apparently, even seeing it written down drives the sanest of men to gibbering madness, drooling and crying and going on and on about the sliding angles of the hungering void.
(It was a bit tough finding that out. I went to an AA meeting for help with dealing with my substance abuse problems and ended up fleeing the church fellowship hall just before one of members set fire to a gas main she'd ripped out of the wall in a fit. The newspapers reported it as an accident due to faulty electrics but failed to mention the self inflicted lacerations on the bodies they recovered.)
There I go again, off on some tangent instead of just telling you why I'm here. Linear time is such a problem for me. I tend to move in seven dimensions, existing everywhere/when so thinking in terms of "this-happened-then-that-happened" gives me a colossal headache.
Well, I say "headache." I don't really have a head, as such. I do have a ventral stalk upon which most of my sensory organs rest. My food intake orifice is underneath my body, though, so I end up over-enunciating when I speak. Not that it matters. I open my mouth and people automatically begin raising sand about the slathering maws of eternity uttering dark syllables of madness.
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise. Speaking of, would you mind piping down a bit? I'd like to speak like adults instead of carrying on like a hairless ape descendant.
Speaking of my mouth, boy is it dry. It's like I've spent all day sucking on sandstone effigies carved by misguided cultists who think mispronouncing my name in their silly rituals means I will grant them power. (Honestly, they never get the right inflection. You'd almost think they'd never heard of using their tertiary uvulas when attempting glottal stops.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Why I am here.
I was a bit thirsty earlier (well, I still am, truth be told) and decided to make tea but realized I am fresh out of sugar. (I'd forgotten I'd used the last of it making brownies for the church fundraiser for fellowship hall repairs.) I slid through the angles from my realm into yours (I came through your wainscoting, I hope you don't mind,) to ask if I could borrow some from you.
Oh. That's right. You're still screaming, aren't you? It's a bit hard for me to tell, what with my hearing be so damaged from no one using a normal speaking voice around me. I'll just help myself to your pantry and head out. Please excuse the effluvia. I leak it everywhere and it tends to be a bit caustic. It'll eat through a house pet like water on cotton candy.
Oh no, don't get up. You look pretty comfortable in your spot behind the couch, blood leaking from your eyes and nose, brandishing your iPad.
Well, this should be all I need. Again, sorry about the mess. I'll be back to return the measuring cup. Don't worry, I'll call in advance next time instead of just barging in.
I'm sure you'll hear the call.
They always do. | The first one orbiting around the star was gray and rocky, not much there. I tossed the dust about and then went on with it. The second was pale and yellow, I bathed in the acid clouds and felt refreshed, then went on with it.
The third had strange little creatures confined to 3 dimensions. They scattered when I approached. Some stopped moving altogether. On this one there was a single island surrounded by an ocean. I sank to the bottom of the ocean and took a nap. When I woke the island had split.
I awoke to some of the creatures returning to me. They looked less foreign now, eyes reddened, limbs twisted, and they even stretched a bit into other dimensions. I don't think they did that before. So they called at me to awaken and I did. I went to the one who called me loudest. When I got close, it left its 3 dimensions to enter the others.
I walked the land a bit more and then went on with it.
The fourth one from the star was a ruddy brown. It had ice caps like the one before. I walked about the ice caps then consumed that planet like the rest. The next one is bigger, I think I'll take a nap before I go. |
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hK'zzhz'ph hphh'cc cThg ghh'gh. rRnj-rrhh bdb'bdjjg hjjghh'c w'hfh'whgh.
H'Hwhgg'g'g. Zzhg'gxzz kh'hkh'ghq kjjt'rrjL n'nmttl mpt'jh ffhgh'pt ffhgpt nM'r cThg ffhgthth. hT'trg-g hg'h vhw'qw ww'hv'gwh.hHggw'q-zzghgrr.
'*!!!pH'ngl mglw'nfh cThlh R'llh wgh'ngl fhtgn*'
hghhgkk'h b'nbht wpth wpht w'sshtshh'sh. rRnj-rrhh hghhgkk'h b'nbht ttmlsschth n'nmttl n qqfgh. ffhgh'pt ffhgpt nM'r cThg. ffhgh'pt ffhgpt nM'r n'nmttl n qqfgh j'zGh'zzgh llrlt'tll hh'gj
'*!!!pH'ngl mglw'nfh cThlh R'llh wgh'ngl fhtgn*'
'*!!!nN. !!!cThg ffhgthth*'
cChhk'k rrtthghjk'khgh. fFhgpt mm'ngg'hj jgg'hg wp'dfgh w'ghw'g hht. tTh'k c'gJc-hhz g'H.
'*...rrrgh*'
'...'
cThg ffhgthth. | The first one orbiting around the star was gray and rocky, not much there. I tossed the dust about and then went on with it. The second was pale and yellow, I bathed in the acid clouds and felt refreshed, then went on with it.
The third had strange little creatures confined to 3 dimensions. They scattered when I approached. Some stopped moving altogether. On this one there was a single island surrounded by an ocean. I sank to the bottom of the ocean and took a nap. When I woke the island had split.
I awoke to some of the creatures returning to me. They looked less foreign now, eyes reddened, limbs twisted, and they even stretched a bit into other dimensions. I don't think they did that before. So they called at me to awaken and I did. I went to the one who called me loudest. When I got close, it left its 3 dimensions to enter the others.
I walked the land a bit more and then went on with it.
The fourth one from the star was a ruddy brown. It had ice caps like the one before. I walked about the ice caps then consumed that planet like the rest. The next one is bigger, I think I'll take a nap before I go. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. |
4̈ͧ̈́͌̎͏͏̘͔̩̱̻͈̣̰͙͓͇̠̀4̷̧̙̳͉̦̤͖͕̲̹̟̗͙̺̖̣̫͖͗͒ͨͨ̈́́ͭ̈̎̓ͫ͐ͭ͌͌ͯ̚͜͢j̗̩̗͎͙͂́͗̌̌̔̍͆͒͌ͬ̾̋̿̈͒ͨ̔͘͝O̶̧͙̣͔͖̪ͮ͗̆͑͊ͩ̿Ṙ̛͈̹͈͎̞̱̬̣̘͇͓͙̳͚̰̠́ͯͭͧ̅̏ͧ̈ͦ̃̒̋ͦ͘͡͠X̍̽͆̿̉̈̔ͣͣ̃͊̚͟͏̯̬̝̤̗̲2̷͛ͯ̂ͫͨ̈́̇̆҉̢̬͓̹͇̝͍̠̥̺ͅs̺̮͔̲̜͎͈͕̭̟̈́͒̾ͩ͌̾͗ͧ̂̒ͩ̾̊̕͡͡6̴̡̗̳̳̃͑̌́ͦ͢4̴̨̹̻͔̻͕̙̣̞̪̰͖̟̭̘̭̹̦̜̋ͩ̾ͦ̎͋͋ͭ̅ͦ̎̾͠B̨̊̉̀͛ͤ̌̆͆ͤ̇̀ͣͩ́́̚҉͇̥̙͓͎̙̬̻̤̟̝̰͈j̢͉̙̪̰̍̎̎̊̔̾ͥ͒ͮͣ̆̏̇ͨ̋́̾̈͝m̸̖͔̥̞͚̩̲̝ͩ̾͛̌̂̀̄͊̀̾̓̈ͩ̌͗ͮ̈̀̀͠s̷̫̮̫̗̼̲̘̫̹̭̍͊̌ͩͪ̈́̓͌ͩ͘͡q̵͛͐̈͐̽͏̶̣͎͖͔͕̱͍͓̥̖̦̺͍͖̦̗M̐̒̓̒̔͆́͝͏̫̣͙̟͓̱̻̜̹5̛̛͉͕̖̯͚̜͇͈ͫ̂ͥ̈́̑̍͆́͝9̧͓͖̙̙̤̯̩͕̬͉͚̪̊̀ͬ̀̈́̍͛̄̔̍̆̈̚͝Vͭ̾ͤ̓̓̓̂̾͆͂͟҉͈̗̝̪͉̹8̴̧ͭͧ̂̏̌ͣͭ̈̈́̃͛͛͏͔͎̰̝̠̮͙̣̪̻̘̤̥͈̝̣̕x̧̄ͣ̾͂͏̢҉̛͇̼̥̙̩̳̟͚̻̼̠̙͎̤͇̤̜ͅǫ̸̢͚͔̲͎̼̜̗̠̟̖̹͖̺̞̣̇͋̑̆̉ͨͥ͌̾̂̀̊̚͞͝x̴̾ͪ̔͋ͧ̍͌͏̱̟̰͍͔̭̺̝̣̦̖̞̩̤̼̼4̵̷̵̡̮͕͔͚̼̲̫͕͉ͮͮ̍ͪͩ̇̏̏̈́̒̇̓ͭ́ͨ́u̷̍̿̏ͣͤ͌ͥ͐ͨ̐͆̍҉̸͎̞̻͍͔͎̮͙̜͎͕͝͞ͅh̶̥͉̞͚͖͖ͩ̏͗̎̔̂ͭͦ͌ͥ̋ͬͪ̎̔ͤ̌̕İ̽ͣͧ̑͟͠҉͜҉̫̯͉̜̭͖̣̟̻̥̖̗̼̹̺͇̥͙n̛̜͔̱̠̬̰ͯ́̄͊̄͝ͅ
̦̫͕̤̰̠̤͕̇ͫ̇̓̂ͥ͛͛̄͠F̷̮̻̝̗̗̟̯͕ͭͧͩ͆́͜͡6̡̞͎̤͙̺͇̤̣̙̯̦̎̈̒ͦͭ̿̃ͫ͑̅́͜͠Ŗ̴̳͙͎͖͔̺̗̪̥͎̩͇̞̬͈̠̫͛̌̅͑́ͭͬ̃̾̕q̶ͣ͑͛ͥ͐̓̋̀̈́ͭ́͘͟҉̞̭̭̲͖͔̳͙̱̼͍̣͈͖ͅk̦̮̫̻̞̮̗ͣ̊̋ͥ̇ͮ̿̓ͭ̅̔̚͟Z̧̘̗͇͚̟̣̫͉̳͑̃̏͂ͥ̃ͤ̈̉͢͢ẁ̢̢̢̦̹̟̝̲̬͌̆͒͆̊ͩͮͧ͂͐ͨͮͣ̀̒̌͢f̨ͬͤ̂͆͗͌ͥ͑ͪ̂ͯ̽̋̂͑͌͆҉͟҉̧̗̦̞̠̮̻͖̝͔̩͙x̷̐ͫ̂̍̄ͫ̐̈́͂͗̔̑̒͗̃ͩ̑͝҉̗̳̜̥̭̬̣̹̗̭̤̟̻̫1̷̭͚̞̳̮͔̝̪̯̖̪̗̉ͯͦ̒̓͆̽̂͌̽ͩ͐ͣ̍͂͛̚͘̕͝q̯͍̭͚̟̣̬̬̝̙̪̯͓̳͊̎̉̆͌̌̾̊ͪ̇́̄̈́̓͐̌͑̆̈̀͘ͅa̷̧͔͎̫̫͍̬̩̟̬̥̘͍̼̲͓͋̆̿ͦ̃͌̀́̕t̐̽ͥ̅͑ͣ̋͆̏͏̛̖͖̠̱͍̼̗̱̙̹̖̬̲̮̙̖q̵̧̡̝̬̺ͪ̋̽ͪ̓ͬ͐̂́͗͌ͮ͆ͣ̎ͩs̴̨͆̅̽͊̇͗҉͓̝͇̳͔̙͇f̨͉̙̝̭̘̳̮̰̲̭̦̜ͥͭ̃̏ͧ͐̽͂ͩ̍̔͆̆̆͢͟͟͠F̢̥̘͍̝̰̝̞̰͖̿͆̔ͯ̊́̑̏̾͑̔ͪ̅̏͆ͅt̛̛͕̳̙̘̹̦̲̹͔̖̭̒̆̾ͦ͊́̉̊ͫ̍̓ͭ͘͝͞l̛̳̬̪̎ͫ̏̈́͋͛̓̒̌̔͌̒̉̐̐͠ͅg̴̢̒̂͂͑̆͌ͨ̈̈ͣ̇̒̀̽ͪ̄́͑̚͏̭͙͚̭̣̠͔̼͇͚̺̩̼̮ą̷̠̝̺̺̼̥̮̺̞̠̖̟̊̌̅̂ͮ̈ͥͥͣ̃̾͟͜͠I̛̋͋̓̅͛ͨ̐ͬͧ̐ͪ̅̒̈́ͦ̋ͯ͢͏͈͕̬̖̭̤̝̳̫̜̟͍̮̻͠Cͬ̈̉̊͏͚͉̳̱̳̞̭͈͙͢͢Ĵ̸̴̷̯̮̬͓͖͍̤͈͕̣̫͈̪̻̠̳̝ͮ̃ͦ̓͐͜͠Y̸̪͈͔͖͔͔̣̦̬͎͇̗̜͔̹̜̎ͧ̇ͫ̋̆͐ͪ̑̆͋̓̂͜ͅn̶̢̨̪̻͎̪̙̩̗̟̺̣̣̮̏͗ͬ́ͧ̋̉ͥ̈́̌̾̊̀l̶̎̅ͭ̒ͨ̅ͦͧ͐̇̍ͯ̅͋̚͏̗̪͉̜̯̮̱̼̜̪̗̪̥̬̀̕͞4̛̺̟͙̝ͧͨͫͣ̈͗̃͋̊̈́ͬ̈́͑̈̑̽͛̀̀́͞͠
̨̣̗̤͕̩̟͎̺̟̯̥̩͉͓̫̥̇̓͊̈̾̉͌͋ͩͬ̇͢͜ͅo̢̡̲͉̻̬̺̣͎̣̩̬͙̤̺͉̦̭̱͌̽̈̅̋͊͒̑͌̅̑̓̑͗̓͐ͬ͗̀0͑̏ͪ̽̈̒̎̅͢͏̹͓̩͕̘̟̮̪͔̣̖͈̪͈͚͎0̡̖̮̝͔̜̪̗̙͛̈́̏̿̌̽ͩ̓̂͛̑̈́̌ͣ̀͘͠K̷̮͓̪͕͚̦̟̪̞͇̪̗̆͗ͩ͑̌̒̌͊̇̌̎ͨͤͫͯͧͪ̌̄͠͡ͅq̈́͗̌̔͗ͥ̑ͥ̂̄ͮ͂̄͛҉̩͔̖̳̟́͝P̶̧̭̝̳̯͕̘̦̗̞̜̰̣̟̫͔̠͚ͤ̉ͨ͞͞Ğ̨̬̜̺̮̞͌̽̅̅͗̽̍̃͛ͬ̊ͨ͊͐̀̀͟9̷͎͓̤̰̻̜̘̖̪̬̫͇̦̲̞̲͒ͦͮ̌̌̂ͥ͑̽̔͋͂̾ͯ̉͌D̡̛̤̳͓̣̙̣̮̩ͤ͌̏̾̾͆̿̑ͥ̅̔̋̂͆̂̌̚͝ͅK͙̮̝̱̠̯̫̼̤̫̘̉̏͐ͮ͝͝g̴̑ͣ͗̾ͬ͒̓̽͒͋̑̏̃́͟͝҉̫̮̳͓̭̜̙̗͖̮͕͖Ģ̴͕̩̯̠̬͖̠͈͍̣̹̥̮̫̤̼̬̠̒͋̌͒̈́͗̅͋͛͋ͣͯͪ́F̎ͦ̂̂̐̓̓̽̿̾̃ͭ̊̏̚҉̢̰̤̭͔̟̭͔̹n̛͚̫̤͕̼̱̮̦̫͉̲̩̘͚̰̗̒ͧͯ͐̓ͧ͛̓̈́̃̒̓̈̾͗̍ͨ͛͝͠O̖̮̦̥̦͙̭̳̝̝͗͒̊͑̉͒̊͗̾ͩ̀̓̔͛̄ͯ͢͠ͅͅx̟̲̹͕̱̻̼̼̳̻͆ͯͬ̅̂̅̚̕͡I̷̷̴͍͚̩̤̲͚͉̺̜͈͉̒͛͌̔ͬ̍̑̀g̶̟͖̊̋̾̎́ͅC̹̜̟̻̙͈͔̳͙̝͔̺̦̳̭͖̰ͪ͊͊ͯ͞ͅQ̸̙̹̥̼͙͔͇̼͉̞̯̦͉̤̰̘̭̦͎̌͑͆̄̈́ͩ͛̐͜X̸͇̙̖̣̩ͭͨ̋͑ͬ̈̕͘Hͤ̂͐̄̒͐̿͜͏̧̢̪̞͉̯̤͕̫͈̥̖̰̹̜́Ṙ̶͎͎̤̮͕̝̥̳͈ͭͮ͛̾̑̓͗̾̔̉͛̓̏͋́̕͘Ỏ̸̧̥͓̜̮̼̰̦̭̰͎̗̞͕͇͖͙͓͔̮ͧ̀ͮ̏̇ͯ̌̓̆ͦ́̚͟Ķ̵̭̖͍̱̼̖͙̖̹͖͔̫͙͒ͧ̋͆͊̂̃ͬ̎ͮ̊̿͛͆ͬ͌̐̄̚͠͡F̧̬̦̘͉̱̞̰͖͇͚̤͖͔͓̜͖̞̲ͮ̂̇̒̆͗̊̉̐ͤ̿ͨ̅̀̕͘͞ȩ̵̛͓̪͎̞͇̹̳̥̰̤̰͔ͮ̂ͧ͜͞q̰̲͎̦͕̥͉͖̤̜̭͍͚̖̯̼̲̞̖͊͊͊͗̐ͮͪͨͩ̒͒̃͝͞
̅͑ͯ̔͋̈́̚͟҉̧̳̩̼̼̺C̲̹̭̞̦͍̥̯̤̪͕̺͒͐ͧͧ̐̑̑̌͒̐̔̾͂ͦ͜͜j̷̶̘̫̺̜̖͖̙͕̦͎͓̞̭̠͔̝̫̩ͨ͑ͯ̌̀̚ͅ8̨̨̟̫͉̣̦͚̫̼̦͐̐̃ͪ͂̽̒̆̒̍̔͢k̵̫̳̝̭͑ͭ̆ͨ̓͗ͪ͑̊̕͞͞T̴̵̝̜̥̩̙̱̔̾̆ͥ̌̔͐ͥ̕͝ͅͅJ̢̥͍̦̣́͋̈́̎̾̄͟͝Ķ̼͎͈̜͉̼̘̲͔͋ͪ͌͂ͭw̸̷̡̹̯͇̖͉̥͔̹̲ͣ̉͑̓́ͮͯͩ̂ͩ͆ͥ̓ͦ͑ͪ̀̕ͅg̨͔̦̬̜̘͍͐̎ͤͫͨ́ͬ̆̃͜͞͠Q̳͚̬̭̠̻̫͎̹̱͎̼̮̄ͫ̏̌̾̔ͤ͒̌ͥ̎ͮ͂̒͆͋̍ͨ͊͘͘J͕͎͚̦͚͒ͯͥͯͥ̇ͨͧ̾̈̀ͦͣ̌̕͘a̅ͩ͌̓͆̕҉͟͏͖̗͇͎͉͎̙̱̣͟5ͤ͛ͤͩͣ̆̒̅ͨ̿͏͝͏͍̘̗͈̪̫̙̺̜̜̱̠̖̯̬͙̭͝ͅi̛ͧ̋̑ͪ̄ͤ̎̊ͨ̅̎ͩ͋̏̽̃͌̚҉̯̬͖͎͕̰̰͔̣͎n̾ͤ́̆҉̸̵̬̝̳̝̤Ț̢̳̹ͣͮͪ̾̌͊̔̿̌ͥ̚͡͝1̷͕̩̘̘̖̠̟̲̜̠͎ͣ͐̾͐̊̾ͦ̔͋̋̐͐ͥ́͟m̵ͯ̒̅̚͘͜҉̬̺̪̠͕̣͙͚̬̲̖̱̟͇͉͔̺ơ̯͇̩͚̟̗̺̥̪̜̻̭̗̝͎͖̼̳̦̄͂͋̆͒͂͗̓̇̇͛̑͛̽͑̎͆̿̎́H͊̋̍̈͒ͤͦͨ͐̍͏̶̷̝̪̹̺̬͈̭͚̜̦̻̲̹̹̞̹͞b̡̛͇̤̩̥̦͚̝͔̮̞͕͉̀̎ͦ̽͊ͨ̊ͧ͌̎ͬ̇͟L̛̝̖͕̩̗͙̘͉̯͔̗̥͚̞̫͒ͮ́ͩͤ̎̉̀ͪ͊̊̾̅̆͒̂̔ͩ͘v̅ͣͪͪ̆̿̑͐ͫͦͪ̓ͤ̏҉̢̯̘̻̤ͅI̶̡̮̙̻̝̺̖̺̪͕̼͍͉͙͂͒̇̑͆ͪͥ̆̍ͤͧ̾͋̔̑̚͝͞5̎͗̓ͩ̀̄ͦ̑̍̓̐͒͞҉̷̡͚͍͓̰̼̗̜͉̬͖̩̲̝̯̲͉̙̕ͅA̓ͫ̏̑̉̌̋ͫ҉̸̮̦̗͎̺͇͖͈̹̀͜F̢̘̤̱͔͕͉̬̯̩͔͈̯͓̭̟̗͕͑ͣͩ̏̃͊̒͑͘͜eͬͤ͐̏̀̇͏̷̲̩͙̙̥͉͖̩͎͙̩̬́̀
̶͓͕̘̙̖̤͚̏̄ͮ̐̾̎ͪ̒̇̋͆̍̌̈́͞N̿̆̓́̌͜͏̡͕̭͍̬̤̦͟v̴̶̵̡͖̗̩̻̫͚̮̰͇̝̘̦͇̪̤̯̯̤͗ͪ̄ͮͦ̊͌ͥ͗ͥ͑̊̊̉͟ͅx̴̵̖̻̮̙͇̖͉̜̮ͮ̌ͭ͋5͙̳̱̹̣̼̙͎̺̠̤̦̣̤̌ͧͯ́̑͂ͤ̔͊̐ͩ̄ͭ̏̀͝g̴̓͆̅̒ͦͮͯͮͨͨ̽̇̑̚҉̙͇̝̼̪̱̳̳͙̫̤̤̼̦̹̳̗̣̼h̨̿͛̃͒ͯͭ͛̏̆͒̍̓ͥͫ͋̀ͮ̋͏̷̰͇͕̼̞̫͍̮͇̱͖̤̭͓̺Ź̧̛̹̰͍̤̗̭͕͈̖̘̦̣̻̪̠̘͛̃̂̿͑͒ͧ̿̉ͣ̒̔͟2̡̪̫̬͈̞̫͚̙̇͂̀̎͂̂͂͌ͭ́̇͢9̬̲̦̱͖̟ͣͩ̆ͥ̎͠͞kͮ͊͒ͯ̑ͬͣ̓ͦͪ́̎͌̔ͩͮ͊͞͡͠҉̜̥͙̺̗̤Ǵ̃̎̈̒̉͡҉̢̲̫̥͇̣͈͓̯̜͈̗̞͈̗̀ͅh̔̓̊͆̐̓ͤͯͤ̅҉̵͙͕͔̞͇̬͈̣̣̪̲B̒̌ͭͥ̒͟҉̴͈͉̬͚͓̫̯͖̣̙͎͚͍͔̮̲͘͘ͅİ̶͍̤̜͈̖̏͌̈͊̊ͫ̏̐ͯ͑̋͟͝i̷̴̱̝͉̠͚͕̬̦̖͙̳͇̔̋̑ͯ̐͌̂̂ͫͨ̀͒͌ͧ̆͛͐1̮͖̤̗̪̝͙̬͖̤ͩ͗̒ͦͫ̊ͤ͌̀́̉̐̚͢͢ͅͅM̨̮͍̪̟̰̿ͭ͒͊̔̈́ͭ̏̅̍ͥ̃ͤ̓ͣͯͭ́̐͠F̡̧̛̖̤͓̝̟̼͎̘̯͙̼͓͎͒ͩ̇̈̏ͦ̉̃̐̆͆̀̉̿ͪͪ̾́͠5̛̠̜̖̗̜̻̘̤̩̫̰̊̽ͬ̋́E̶̓̐̅ͣͬͭ̎̈̽͋͊̆ͣͩ́̚҉̷͉̙̭̠̣̱͔̻P̧̛̛̭͇̙͕͌̔̆͛ͫ̎̀̇̎̍̕5̷̷̛̻̯̲̗͍̩̠̝̯̒ͧ̔ͦ͛ͭ͐̿̂́̾̋̋͑ͦ͟͢ͅC̿͗̒̎ͧ̈́ͫͯ̓͒̃͏̡̬̬̺̥͚̝̰͔͉̪̲̙̼̥̰̭̬͔͎͜ÿ̸̮̙̗̳̙̺͈̺͙̝̪̟̩̙́̇̂ͩ̿̄̀̚͟ͅy̢̨̛̘̻̪͖̦͔̮͐ͪ͊̄͝B̸͒̋͒͋̈͒͒͐ͩͨ̓ͪ̽̾҉̷̩̙̼͖̣̠̻̠̖͉͔̬r̒ͨͤ͌҉͝҉͉̯̞̯͖͈̞͔̹͔͟͜z̵̶̛̻̮͖͈̞͈͚͖ͥ͋ͫ̒̒ͮ̄͐͂ͨͤ̊̄ͩͩ͘͞ͅ
̵̡̺͉̻͔̦̫̯̰̯̆̏̏ͤ̾̇̄̓̓̔̄ͣͤͨ͌̆ͮ̓̚ͅͅP̧̧̼̣͍͈̗̮͙̝̱̤͎̩̤̯̖̮̯͉ͬͤͧͫͨ̈́́̊͗͜͟͜Z̢̫͚̻̗̯͍̻̘͕̼͆́̒̒̆ͪ̓̽͆̀̚͢͢z̡̮̯͓̼̆̉̈́̇͌͒͆a̧̖̭̪̙̮̣͕̻̬̣̠̬̤̜͂̐͌̑́́́͠0̸̛̖̲͙̼͍̪̮̯̜̇ͧ͑̋͟͝f̛͙͙̫͈͓͙͙̳̞̣̠̮̤̣̊ͩͯ͋̽̐ͧ̊̊͛̆̈͂̆̓́͊͑͟ͅb̡̧̺͚̹͎̩̟̫̪̗̬̯̦̎͋̀̃8̵̻̘̘͔̙͔ͩ̓̎̈́͑ͨͥͣ̄̈̈ͤ̍̋U̵̓̋̿͆ͮ͂̍̌̍͏̨͎̪̤̮̟̺̹C̵̢͓̼̟̦̳͉͓͓ͥͤ͌̅́̂͒̏̔̂̀͘F̸̢̨̻̱̹͇̘̣̮͍͍̦ͦ̃ͭ͌̒̑́͋̾͋͜ͅmͣͣ͒̀̍͗ͣ̌ͪ͏̷̡̳̫̼̤͉͚̰͈́͜wͥ͌͒ͩͥ̈͑͋̇ͮ̓̚͏̶̴̢͈̼͈͚̭͈̟̯͍1̨ͭ̊̅̔̄̿͑̍ͫ͛́͢҉̨̺̬̣̥̝͍̙̪̹͉̝̼̣̗̙̞̪X̷̵̛̛͚̻̞̯͍̤ͧ́ͥ̍̃ͮͮͥ͐͆̌̌͒ͦ̐ͬ͊͗͡Ụ̴̴̡͕̞̼̂̅ͯ̌̈ͭͪ͂͊̕͜y̴̟͔̺̮͚̟̖̯͎̼͓̻̫̯̓̓ͥ͌ͨͦ̔ͫ͊ͬ͟͢͞ō̈̾̄̎̉͊͑ͣͮ͊͗͊͛̍҉̸̷̙̳͍̭̳̫̰̳̀2̵̵̧̤̥͉͚̻̪̘̝̠̺̃̀ͭͯͧͬ́́͌ͣ͂ͪ̂ͭ͆̈ͥ̑̀͜e̊̄ͭ̅̃̾̓̓ͧ͐̋̾ͩ́̏̇̃ͮ́҉̬͕͎̠͖͙͉͕̝͕̩͙̣̝͉̭̳̟v̵͗ͮ̽̓͑͏̱̮͖̪̰̞̥̳̣̀͞R̅̈̌̌͘͢҉̗̲͔̮̲͚͓͡p̸̢̧̣̲̻̗̲̣͈͓̖̲͖ͯ̈ͩ̈ͮ͊́ͩ͒̂̈͒̒͗̌̚͘q̶̜̳̭͉̹̺͂͗͂ͮ̂̀ͧ͑́̑̍ͤ͊ͧ͌́͘j̛̜̜͎̠͎̥̫̺̯̬̥̠͉̜͎͇̱ͯ̓̄͊̚͠j̢͔̺͔̟̟̗̟͍̩̠̭̭͖̞ͤ̆ͦ̑̄̂̓ͨͧͮ̆̎̂̕͜ͅl̪̟̬̠̯̳͉̲̺̬̩͖ͦ̊ͭͫ̓̌ͨͥ̿ͨ͊̄̒̾̀͢x̠̦̹̗́ͭͪ̂͆̒̎͑ͮ͋̑ͥ̇̉̕
̧̨̨̖͖̳͖̤̦̪̣̬ͬ̑̃̃̍̀͌1̯̥̣̱̜̥̝̻̆̿ͩͬ̈̉ͪͭ̀̐̂̇ͧ̊́͟T̲̙͍̘̙̙͙̬̖̩̥͈͇͐ͯ͗̃̊ͤ͛͘ͅX̢̨̋́͋ͨ͘͏̰̣̗̟͉͇͔̞̗J̨̊͐͌ͫ͆̎ͫ̊ͮ͑͟͝҉̴̻̤̙̬̦̺̰4ͦ͛͂͑͛̍̃ͪͣ̐ͪ͌̇̌̔ͣ̇͝͏̵̶̛͈̯͖̻̰P̈̋̓̋̍͆ͫ̉̔͊͊͆ͬ̇̌̆̋̊ͥ͏̸̨̬̥̮̖̮͇͜͠S̿ͮ̽ͯ͋̇ͮ̄ͧ̎͊͂̋̕͘͏̻̯͉̘̮q̢̛̞̜̱̣͚̥̯̪͉̰̹̖̝̲̖̩̆ͣ̆̓͋͘͜͡wͬ͋̈̀͐̔ͪ̒̏̓̾̇̈́͢͝͏̖͔̞̮͍͔͍͚͙͞ṁ̤͍̠̤͍̘͓͔͚͚͍̋̌ͪ̏ͯ̄͆ͪͬͧ̆ͬ̄̚̚̕͢͠i̛ͦͪ͗̒́̚҉҉̳͙̺ͅS̶͒̽̊̀͜҉̗̺̘̻̫̟͉͓8̶̶̤̺̺̭̼͉̭̞͎̘̙̰̦́ͩ͆̾̿̅̓̒̂̒̐́͋͗́ͭ̔͊́̀̚ͅc̸͔̙̗̜̬̙ͬ́͐̊̓̐͒͗̏ͯͯ̈͒̀͘͠ͅqͪ͗ͬ̊̆ͣ̊҉̡̨͖̫̤̠̠͙̗͍̰͖̹̤͘͢ͅP̴ͪ̓ͥ̿ͯ͑̏ͣ̇͋ͤ̂̏ͯ̾̚҉̭̹̝̣͔͚̕ͅ4̤͖͙̫̺̮̹̹̣̲ͫͮ̀ͧ̑ͧ̀ͧ̀̀͠w̡͖̥̦̪̭͔̙̝̼͈̣̰͙̺̣̹͍̲͋͋̾ͫ́̓̌ͨ̉̑̊͂̂́́͢Z̴̛̖̱̤̻̖̱̹̤̞̳̫̱̤̺̺̦̹̹̪ͯ̌̋̊̐̒ͤͪ̋͒̑̚͢͞r̴̠̞̭̝͓̮̠͓̖ͧͯ͌ͯ͒̏͢S̠̼̠̫̼̰̯͊̔͂ͣ͋̉ͯ̾̌ͪ͂̓ͫͩ̋̿͜͞ō̧͍̝͇̩̬̳͉̦͖̥̭̭̟͚ͬͮ̇ͦ̎̎̋ͧ̾͋ͩ̎̉͂a̶͍͍͉̖͕̭̻ͤͧ̂̌͊ͫͯ̈̌͐͑͌͢͝͞q͐ͬ̍̒̕͏̧̦̜͙̹̫̥̤͕̟̱̭͡͠ͅ3ͭ͑͊̄ͤͪ̔̽͂́ͥ̓͠͏̶̞̠̱̟̱̹̖͔̻͘͢I̸̵̦̳̲̮̤̳͓̺̞̩̣̙ͪ͛ͨ̏͌͢ͅJ̢̇̿ͨͭͮ͆͌͛̓͏̶̸͚͔̱̮͍̫̼̠͜X̷͉̘̫̳͕͎͎̼̥̻̙̮̰͖̻̬͐̎̐̾ͩͬ͒ͨ͑ͫ̿̑̓̾̀̀̚͞͝ͅͅ
ͯͫ̃̓ͥͩ͏̴͔̻̘͉̩͓͎͔̥͓̰͎́͘͠V̢ͭ̀ͭͩ͌͐̑͑̇̃̽͗̃̇͟҉͖̱̺̝̞w̴̛͍͚̪̗̮̬͚̰ͥ̔̅̓͛̇͠z̛̖̰͇͙͙͚͎̩̺̫̰̳̑͋ͩ̎̔̇̌͜͝8̙̲͚̭͍̪̩͓̲͈͌ͤ͛ͥ̑ͬ̀̀͟9̖̩̫̗̘̖ͣ̐̔̿̒̐̍́̀͡ͅͅaͤ͗͒̾̚҉̸͔͚̘͈͈̰̞̗͈͈̻͘ͅB̨̞̗͇̫̯̠̥̈ͭ̇ͪ̈̓̋̐̅̿̐̑͊̐̿ͫ̚̕͝͡ͅP̨̦͔̫͕̥̼̠̫̝͕̘̠̫͓̦̺̮̒͌ͦ̇̾ͯͣ͑ͭͨ̈̓͗̚̕͢͠͠zͫ̉͑͌̋̊̐ͣ̀ͭͥ̄̚҉̷͖͖̠̬̱͢o̾̈́̿̚͠͠͏̠̦͎̝̝̗̤͎̠̟̭͠k̸ͦ͆ͮ̐̚҉̡͡҉̪̫̬͓4̡́͊́ͩ̉ͤ̿ͥͬ̚͠҉̟͕͈͚6̒̓͐͒̂̅ͭ͛͆̂ͭͪ̏̽̌ͧ́̚͘҉̸̼͖̮̩͇͎͙͍̦̀O̡̡̝͎̖̗͚̯͍̞̗̻̝͉̺͎̠͊̏ͤ̔̊̑̋ͨͮ̒͟͢ͅs̷̵̢̢̻̞̭̝̗͓͔̱̳̻̥ͫͪ̇̾̿̑ͩ̊̀̊̊͟P̷̶̫̬͓̱̫̟̟͇̪̤͙͓̞͆̋͌ͨͭ́͗̏̀̋ͪṋ̵͖͕̱͇̪̮͍̥̼͙ͧͧͭ̇͒̉ͪ̾ͯ̑̇ͦ̕͢͟F̶̸̢̡̳͍̹̘͕̹̲̞̮̪̭̫͚̪̯̿ͦ͗̐͛̌͊͐̋̏ͩ͌̀͌̍̓ͮ͠D̡̜͇͎͕̫͕̱̖̱̫͕̼̒̂ͯ̈̔͢M̤͍̘͙̮̞͚̞͎̥̗̣͈̼̘̟͕̳̬ͦ̆̈́͗̋ͥ̈́̿͑͘7͌ͣͩ͛ͩ͂̒̓̓ͬ̔͛̑ͩͨͭ̚͏̴̥͎̳̯͓͔̱͖͔͔̩͖4͉̝̰̯̗̟̯̙̮͇͎̰͒̄̉ͬ̃̆͗͌̽̄͗̐̈́̕͢͠5̴̢̱̺̥̯͓͇͔̙̗͔͕ͭͫͫ̃ͤ̋̄ͣ̽̂͌͋̃ͮȲ̴̧́ͪͮ̄ͣ̋͌̅͋̈́̑ͥ̾́̚̚͏̣͚̼̜̟̦̟͖͓̗̺͉̝̰͜i̸̷̵̠̱͔͓̟̳̣͔̙̠͚̫̪͚̲͖̐ͩ͛ͫ̀͞7̨̎ͨ͆̍͌̒̊̓ͤ͂̒̉ͬ͆́͏̩̦̜̫̲͇k̶̨͓̞̞̘͎͎̦͓̦͎̙̻̜̫̟̤̫͋̾̈́͆ͧ͌ͬͬ̔̀͑́ͣ͐̎ͦ̎̇͢m̨̭̪̖͓̳͙̗̫͓͍̤̮̝̱̰̈́͐́͐͒͆̆͝
͎͎͎̞͈̩͖̺̻͓̬̦̖ͤ̂͊ͩ̑̔́ͅ2̷͖̣̣̖͚͍̪͖̟͎̘͉̤ͥ̃̏̂ͮͥͦ͒ͭ̄̔̚̚͟͜ͅU͂͗̊̃̽ͪ́ͬͩ͑͋̇ͣ͂̒̚͏͎̯̖̥͕͓̼͇͓̺̥̻͚̫̹͔̺͜Ǧ̷̵͈̫̬̰̬̤̯̝̯̖̰̟̭͙͔̥͉͉ͤͬ̽̈̓̂͐̆ͣ͋ͩͥ̽͞T̊̔̒͛͗ͫ̅̈́ͭ̚̚͏͙͔̖̥͉͉̯͍͉̺͎̖̗̺͈̳̩̪Ơ̧̠͈̹̯̳̞͙̭̭͙̬͙̳ͥͮͭ́ͨ̽͆ͫ̐ͬͯ̈̿̓̈͐̚͜c̵̡̧̺͎̘̻̫̰͈̩̟͚ͥͣ͑ͩ̉̑͛ͫͣ͗̆̈̃̑͘͠4̆ͮ́͐͆̓ͣ̌ͦ̃ͦ̍̕̕͠͏̙̰̥̱̬̰̦ẕ̵̸̢̻̟̟͙̭̩͙̞̏̓̆ͭ̓̌̿ͥͣͪ͝5̴͎͎̼̭̦͍͈̫͍̙̼̹̟̥͇̼̪̇͐͐͑͌͌̿ͦ̽͋̿̑͜O̸̧͇̘̝̲̝͇̪̮̥̺̱͚̠̘̗̤ͨ̓ͦ̀̔ͩ̊ͬͣ̽͛̅̚͞ͅ8̴͚̲̲͉̹̩͌̓ͪ̽̀ͣ̅̈́͋̏̀̎̋̉̑͆̉̌͂͘ņ̶̴̶̪͇̫̭̗͇̻͖͔͚̙̦̮̬̳̊͆̎͂ͤ̆̓̈́F̴̛̺̺̝̜̫͙̤͔̟̘̪͔̝̪̄ͧͫͫͥͭͧ̂̓͗̑̔́͂ͭ̆ͥͦ͝ͅOͣ̅̋̀҉̡̻̟̯̬͖͎̤͙̩͇q̛̝̤̗̲̣̘̜̟̦̳͓͖̲͓̙ͪͤ̅͂̓̓́ͦ̒̓̂̐ͣ̈́͊͝͞͡2̷̮͈͓̮͕̰̟̰͍̙̰̟̝̤͖͐̇̈̐ͬͅc̛̠̰̲̭̔̔̾͑̎ͤ͒ͦ́͜R̶̞̠̝̻͎͖͍̾ͥ̑ͨͯ͆͊͛̄̑͌̆̀́̃̑ͤ̾̕͡͠r̴̸̢̥̹̦̒̍ͫ̏ͥͣ̈́ͫ̉ͥ̄̄̾ͯ̚͢͞Ȩ̡̒ͪ̋ͨ̎ͣͦͣ́̇͆̓ͦ̃̚͟҉͖̹͕͍̭͕̲̣v̷̘̰͖̙̰͇̪̦̻̝̟̩̝̤͙̬̂ͤ̅͆̀͑̋̇̊̈ͭ͠6̛͉̤͉̳̥̜̮̖͎͕̫͙̠̲̓͐͊ͯ́ͭ̉͐̍̅͜p̸̷͂̈̑͑̐̇̌ͯ̒̄̋͊̕҉̱̫̜̹̻̗̹͇̠̯͚̝̰̀z̶̥̩͓̮͙̭̜͖̮̝̳͕͕̼̐̏ͩ̉̀̆͋͌̇ͪ͑ͣ̍̈͒͑Vͮͪ̄̍ͪ̈ͥ͋̎̀͘͏̡̮̰̣̳͎͖̘̹̰̲͓͓͝ǫ͇̙̩͉̗̺̪̲̫͚̃ͬͩ̾͋ͧ̆͒͗͛̈ͨ͌̉̽̈͜5̛̙̯̗̝͎̪̻͎͓͎͚̭̝͍͆̊̅̅͝F̡̦͇̙̳̝̜̱̤̭̙̎͋̾̌̓́̐̓́̈́́ͦ̋̏̚͠͠
̛̯̱̞̜̜̺̲͙̥͛͌̍ͧ͑̄̔͑̐́̍ͯͬ́͟N̴̻͎̠̮̠̠̗̦͓͍̬͍̮̼̐̽͛͛́̓ͯͦͫ͊̉̿ͬ͐ͧ̄͒̓͜͢͟ͅ6̵̨̼͉̥̹̘̹̜̞̖͉̳͔̝ͫͭ̽ͩ̀͟͝u̷̹̺̱͎̞̩͈͖̗̼̘̖̯̪͙͚̣ͧ̑̃̅̃̀̏̋ͬͬ̿̎͒͂Ṡ̶̪͔̞̥ͧ͂̐̏̄͑͒ͣ̏̕A̶̘̪̼̞̘̘̩̖̩̜̞̪̫͉̹̠͒͌ͬ̂́ͨ̐̑̿̋̓͋́̃͐̋̏̎̓͟ͅb̵̢̞͇̯̫̜͌̾ͩ̂̅̀ͪ̉ͧͬ̓ͪͤ͛͢͢͝z̷̵͆̓ͮͯ̆͒̌̊̽ͭ̄̉̃͆̆̃ͤ̀͏̝͔͓̜͖̬̮̩͕͈͉̖͘G̞̬͍͚͇̗̟͈̗͚̼̤̘ͬͦ͌̇ͥ̋ͩ͋ͫ̀̆̔ͣ̕t͗ͥ̽̽̓̌͊ͣ͐̅̔ͤ̓ͦ̑̂̌ͤ͏̨̩͍͍͕ĭ̸̧̛̻͖͎̱͙͈̜̬̠̠͙ͣ̉ͫͤ̕͟x̾̄ͨ͊̆̒̈́ͪ̌̅̈̇͐̿̐̂҉̶̯̳̩̭̮̻̻̮̠̜̲͇͘͡P̲̜̰̥̖͆̋̾̂͐̑ͮ̋̒̉͌́́͞ͅr̵̵̡̮͓̺̝̘̰̝̻̦̞͓̼͉͒ͦ̽̾̌̍ͥ̕̕Ų̭̰̻͔̹̰̞̖̞̞͓̆͗ͥ̂ͧ́ͨ͆̉̇͋͞͞k̵̴̷͓͔̲̲̬̰̲̰ͯ̂ͬ͗ͣ̂̄ͩ͒ͦ̍ͦ͂̎ͬ̽̏́ͧy̶̴̩̜͉͕̜̱͂̒̋̒ͩͦ̃͐ͥ̒̍̚ͅq̷̨̡̳͙̺̣̼̥͚͓̩̞̣̙͍̻̠̂͗ͮͩ̓̆̚Y̸̡̛͋̇̅ͬͧ̑͢͏̞̭͎̪̺͕̣̦͖̦̤̤̤̼̜H̷̫͚̣̬͙̲̯̝͍̘͔̲̱͍̪̍͆ͦ͛ͨ͆͒̏ͨ̊̊̎ͭ̄́ͬ͐̕͠͞q̸̢͓̼̰̭̳̹̲̬͉̖͙͎̲̥̒̄̓̒̇̒̒ͥͩ͞Q̤͈͓̩͎̞̦͇̫̹̭͎̳̮̲̑̓̾ͩͫͩ͗̍̽̀̆̄͢ͅB̧̢̹̳̰̣͔̺͍̦͎͍͚̙͎̣̫̟̼̪̖̌̾̍ͧͬ͐̑̏́ͫ̒͌͐̌ͥ̿͢͝͞B̊̏̌̊̈́͋̃͒̋͐̽͜҉̸͚͎͉̥͙͝O̘̪̟̭͚͈̹͉̮̤̣͎̮̯̿̄ͩͭ̕͞͝͠Y̛̞̟͔̩͎̳͖̙͔̟̹͕̭̝̙ͧ̂̏ͫͥ͒̈͆ͬ̓̓̌͛͌̓͂̀ͅb̶̨̨̠̠̠̲͇̬̭ͪ̿̔̒ͬ̀̚͜ģ̵̮̰̫̄̓̉ͤ͑̎̍́͜R̥̝̝͚̫̣̘͙̙̬̰̗̠͖͕̭ͪͪ̿̓̐̍̍ͩ͋ͪ̊̉̐͗ͪ̑̈̑́͟͠ͅ | The first one orbiting around the star was gray and rocky, not much there. I tossed the dust about and then went on with it. The second was pale and yellow, I bathed in the acid clouds and felt refreshed, then went on with it.
The third had strange little creatures confined to 3 dimensions. They scattered when I approached. Some stopped moving altogether. On this one there was a single island surrounded by an ocean. I sank to the bottom of the ocean and took a nap. When I woke the island had split.
I awoke to some of the creatures returning to me. They looked less foreign now, eyes reddened, limbs twisted, and they even stretched a bit into other dimensions. I don't think they did that before. So they called at me to awaken and I did. I went to the one who called me loudest. When I got close, it left its 3 dimensions to enter the others.
I walked the land a bit more and then went on with it.
The fourth one from the star was a ruddy brown. It had ice caps like the one before. I walked about the ice caps then consumed that planet like the rest. The next one is bigger, I think I'll take a nap before I go. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I live in the swamp, but I am no alligator. Whether you come alone or in a group, I shall completely and utterly dominate you. In my eyes you will see the horrors of what could have been, and it is then that I shall strike. In your moment of weakness, it can be no other way.
During the summer of '67, in my 371st year of life, an opportunity presented itself to me that I shall never forget. A group of soldiers had just finished their tour of duty in Vietnam, and to celebrate, they decided to vacation in the Florida Everglades. I cannot imagine why they should want to go to such a wild, murky place, especially after having fought the Viet Cong in a similar environment, but this is the path that they chose, and there can be no other.
The names of these men were Jerry, Carter, Dale, and Paul. The moment their pair of canoes grazed the lily pads at the edge of my dwellings, they entered a danger more subtle and soothing than anything they had faced during the war. From under the roots of a cypress tree, I felt the ripples of their delicate paddle strokes in the thick soup of mud and rotting vegetation.
I had not eaten for some few years, and so I took it upon myself to make of these men a feast that would last until the summer solstice two years hence. I extricated myself from under the tangle of roots, and followed my prey at a distance of 50 feet, using my wide, fan-shaped tail to stealthily approach from behind.
For 3 hours the men paddled their canoes, and for 3 hours I followed them at an exact distance of 50 feet. Then, as the day's heat sweltered to the peak of its strength, the men decided to rest at a stand of live oaks. While they chatted and smoked on the shore, I pulled alongside their canoes and blew bubbles of slime.
When the men returned from their break, they noticed a yellowish, viscous substance that had splattered alongside and into their canoes. At first they cursed and stamped, enraged that some swamp creature or plant had dripped ooze onto their expensive boats. Their anger, however, quickly turned to horror when, in trying to wipe the slime off, it came into contact with Carter's skin.
What I know, and what they found out, is that my slime contains agents that make skin permeable to blood. In this manner, Carter's left arm, although having no apparent wound, dripped blood all over one of the canoes and into the water, where I tasted and confirmed that these creatures would make a fine meal.
The men grew extremely frightened after this, and the lively banter that had previously passed between them fell to silence as they gathered leaves with which to safely remove the slime. As I had suspected, they unanimously decided to return to their dock and end the voyage prematurely.
I retraced the route which they had taken to arrive here, and at a narrow pass I uprooted a great willow tree and laid it across their path so as to hinder their return. Had they seen the tree fall, they would have remarked upon the unusual circumstances in which a perfectly healthy tree had fallen so suddenly, and perhaps tried a different route, but they had not, and so they attributed the tree's demise to a recent storm, which they surmised had loosened the soil.
When they came upon the downed willow, Jerry and Paul were chosen to get out out of the boat to remove the tree, since they were the strongest of the four and because Dale needed to change Carter's bandages in the second canoe. I watched them struggle for half an hour with a tree that I could have tossed with a flip of my tail. I crawled out of the water and waited in the spot where they had decided to drag the tree.
As they approached, both soldiers stopped immediately. Their haunted eyes scanned the area as only those of a trained soldier could. They had spotted men hidden in mud, completely camouflaged, but of me they could not see so much as a scale. Rather, they sense some intangible danger that they knew was of the gravest variety.
I gave them no time to act or to speak. Carefully, as if unveiling a prized invention, I lifted my head from the water and stared at the two men as wide as my eyes could stretch. Paul let out a little cry, but Jerry had already locked eyes with me, and in a moment, Carter, too, had fallen into the trap of my hypnotism.
If one were to see a photograph of my eyes, he would see a pair of reflective orbs that seem to have been sculpted of glass and which shine when there is no light. These men, however, saw my eyes in person, which is an altogether different viewing experience. Each of the two men saw visions of the lives they would have lead had they not been drafted into the Vietnam War.
Both men moaned with loss at what had been available to them but was now forever unobtainable. I paddled backwards a few steps, holding their gaze all the while. Like clockwork, the men stumbled forward, caring about nothing else than the visions they could see in the pair of eyes attached to the predator to which they paid no heed. We had now traveled far enough away to avoid any chance of my attack being overheard.
With childlike glee, I launched myself from the water and clamped down with my jaws and on both men. Their shrieks were cut short as I pushed them to the bottom of the pond and held them there till they drowned. This done, I tied them in place with some stringy weeds so as to preserve my dinner for when I came back later.
Upon my return to the canoes, Dale and Carter had become hysterical. Carter's skin had continued to bleed profusely, and Dale had now run out of bandages. Both men were calling out in panicked voices for their comrades whom I had so recently slain. Dale tried to force Carter to paddle, but he was in no state to do so. Here, too, was an opportunity to hunt them.
I gracefully lifted my tail and brought it down powerfully upon the water. This achieved the desired effect of inducing disorder among the men, and in so many words, Dale abandoned Carter and took the other canoe in an effort to save his own life.
I waited until Dale had disappeared along a clump of cattails in the swamp, and I then gently approached the remaining canoe. Carter lay on his back in a puddle of blood. I correctly assumed him to be delirious, so when I breached the water and lowered my head an inch from his eyes, he acted as if what he saw was real and happening to him at that moment.
It was a simple matter to withdraw back into the water and flip over the canoe. Being too weak to swim, the dying man sank to the muck at the bottom of the swamp, where I allowed him to drown. The scent of blood incensed me to eat his flesh right then and there, and with a full stomach, I went in pursuit of the last man.
I caught up with Dale a few miles up from where I'd killed his companions. I could hear him justifying to himself that he'd done the right thing by leaving Carter behind, with occasional prayers interspersed throughout. Never have I seen a man paddle with such enthusiasm as this one did. On the verge of exhaustion, he did not let up for an instant, so I took it upon myself to relieve him of his labors.
A stream of slime erupted from the water and splattered onto Dale's face and chest. He screamed very horribly, although I am not sure if this was due more to the horror of discovering my presence or the agony of having one's blood seep out of their body. With great slaps of my tail, I batted the canoe around as if it were a toy. Dale rolled back and forth in the canoe, crying and begging for mercy.
When I locked my eyes with his own, a most interesting turn of events took place. Though his friends saw the lives they could have lead if not drafted into the war, both I and this man saw what the future had in store for him if he were to be spared. I saw the children who he would father, and the joy he would bring to people's lives, and, most importantly, the rallies he would lead in support for the conservation of the Everglades.
Those four men saw many things in my eyes that day, but not half so much as I myself had seen in their eyes. I saw shattered dreams, unbearable grief, and unbridled hatred. And yet, with all these horrible things, I could see the potential for redemption. I could not bring myself to murder someone who had the ability to do so much good, and so it was that I swam quietly away from Dale's canoe, never to lay eyes on him again. Since this incident, I have seen the eyes of many beings and killed them without a second thought, but never again have I stolen a life without first seeing what impact they would have on the world if left alone.
| The first one orbiting around the star was gray and rocky, not much there. I tossed the dust about and then went on with it. The second was pale and yellow, I bathed in the acid clouds and felt refreshed, then went on with it.
The third had strange little creatures confined to 3 dimensions. They scattered when I approached. Some stopped moving altogether. On this one there was a single island surrounded by an ocean. I sank to the bottom of the ocean and took a nap. When I woke the island had split.
I awoke to some of the creatures returning to me. They looked less foreign now, eyes reddened, limbs twisted, and they even stretched a bit into other dimensions. I don't think they did that before. So they called at me to awaken and I did. I went to the one who called me loudest. When I got close, it left its 3 dimensions to enter the others.
I walked the land a bit more and then went on with it.
The fourth one from the star was a ruddy brown. It had ice caps like the one before. I walked about the ice caps then consumed that planet like the rest. The next one is bigger, I think I'll take a nap before I go. |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Of course.
You're screaming.
Everyone screams. Say what you will about the decline of manners in this modern age but at least most folks are greeted with something other than ear-splitting shrieks. I guess I'm not so lucky. I also guess I'm not to good at proper conversation because I've jumped ahead without even introducing myself.
My name is . . . well, that's not important. I could tell you my name but it never ends well. Apparently, even seeing it written down drives the sanest of men to gibbering madness, drooling and crying and going on and on about the sliding angles of the hungering void.
(It was a bit tough finding that out. I went to an AA meeting for help with dealing with my substance abuse problems and ended up fleeing the church fellowship hall just before one of members set fire to a gas main she'd ripped out of the wall in a fit. The newspapers reported it as an accident due to faulty electrics but failed to mention the self inflicted lacerations on the bodies they recovered.)
There I go again, off on some tangent instead of just telling you why I'm here. Linear time is such a problem for me. I tend to move in seven dimensions, existing everywhere/when so thinking in terms of "this-happened-then-that-happened" gives me a colossal headache.
Well, I say "headache." I don't really have a head, as such. I do have a ventral stalk upon which most of my sensory organs rest. My food intake orifice is underneath my body, though, so I end up over-enunciating when I speak. Not that it matters. I open my mouth and people automatically begin raising sand about the slathering maws of eternity uttering dark syllables of madness.
I can't seem to get a word in edgewise. Speaking of, would you mind piping down a bit? I'd like to speak like adults instead of carrying on like a hairless ape descendant.
Speaking of my mouth, boy is it dry. It's like I've spent all day sucking on sandstone effigies carved by misguided cultists who think mispronouncing my name in their silly rituals means I will grant them power. (Honestly, they never get the right inflection. You'd almost think they'd never heard of using their tertiary uvulas when attempting glottal stops.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Why I am here.
I was a bit thirsty earlier (well, I still am, truth be told) and decided to make tea but realized I am fresh out of sugar. (I'd forgotten I'd used the last of it making brownies for the church fundraiser for fellowship hall repairs.) I slid through the angles from my realm into yours (I came through your wainscoting, I hope you don't mind,) to ask if I could borrow some from you.
Oh. That's right. You're still screaming, aren't you? It's a bit hard for me to tell, what with my hearing be so damaged from no one using a normal speaking voice around me. I'll just help myself to your pantry and head out. Please excuse the effluvia. I leak it everywhere and it tends to be a bit caustic. It'll eat through a house pet like water on cotton candy.
Oh no, don't get up. You look pretty comfortable in your spot behind the couch, blood leaking from your eyes and nose, brandishing your iPad.
Well, this should be all I need. Again, sorry about the mess. I'll be back to return the measuring cup. Don't worry, I'll call in advance next time instead of just barging in.
I'm sure you'll hear the call.
They always do. | Reluctantly, I extended my senses outwards as noise entered my sanctum.
I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. A century? More? Clearly, not the millennium I had intended. I shifted a few times, my appendages stretching from my all too brief slumber, working the stiffness from my serpentine limbs.
I could feel them nearby. Humis, that's right, they had called themselves humis. Or something like that. It was hard to remember, and even a semi-immortal being can get groggy.
The humis had opened a door. How had they known how to- ah yes. I had told them how to reach me. The last time I had come to their world. They had fallen to their knees, begging for my power. Especially that one, what was his name, in the robe. Their leader.
That had gone...poorly. It must be hard for the Humis to understand something like me, and my attempts to communicate had been fought with peril. I had just been trying to say hello when their leader's head exploded.
The followers had adverted their eyes, which was probably wise. They had mewed up at me in their tiny voices, too primitive to know that I could feel the ebbs of their mind.
Attempting to let him know that had not gone well either. The first one dying had been an accident, still a bit of overzealous communication on my part. The next three were my fault- I should have gone straight to whispers.
So I'd resorted to whispering, but the language of a leviathan translated poorly. I had learned little, and they learned only of my power. They wanted something, I could get that, but the details escaped me.
So I found one of them, whose mind seemed tougher than the rest, and I told him how to reach me. That I would have a bite to eat, and that he should get back to me when they learned to shield their minds. Then I curled up in my astral realm and had a nap.
I signed. Better get this over with. I pushed a bit of myself- not too much, they couldn't handle that- through the portal.
They were bowing, their faces averted. "Oh great Ill'goth, genesis of madness" they chanted, "we awaken you to consume this world, as you intended to do centuries ago."
Crap, that's what they heard?
"We have heard the whispers, the reverberations of your thoughts!"
They had? Damn it, I didn't think my snores were that loud. I must not have closed the portal all the way.
"we bring for you a sacrifice, to kick off your glorious reign."
A man knelt there, bound and bloodied. He wore a soiled suit, and he quaked in fear.
Guys, really, hostages? Bug me if you want, but keep bystanders out of it.
Well, I better sort this out. Clearly, these idiots were going to keep bugging me until their dying breath unless I sorted this out.
"Guys, this is not okay." I said, as quietly as I could, to the cultists.
Their faces shifted in pain. Even that was too loud?
"You are displeased!" The high priest said, "as you should be, this world is a failure!"
"No, guys, stop with this." A ting of anger entered my statement.
"Yes my lord, cleanse us first. Begin with our impure forms, free us to live on in your madness?"
What the hell was he babbling about? But okay, if he insisted.
"Fine." I thought at the cultists, as hard as I could. There was a chorus of pops as all of their heads exploded simultaneously.
That just left the lone man. The least I could do was help him out.
I extended my appendage- a tentacle, as he would see it- towards him. He staggered away, trying to avoid my reach.
"Stop," I whispered. "I just want to help you. Let me break your shackles."
"My mind is my own, monster." He called. He forced his bindings against the cultist's knife, slicing them.
Fine then. That was sorted. I forced my perception to take in the room. There was a dark crystal on the table- that was it. They had used that to reach me. I should just take that back so this couldn't happen again.
I reached for the crystal with my tentacle, and felt a stab at the side of my limb. The humis had sliced me! With that cultist's knife!
"Stop it," I said, trying to retain my voice, but he still fell away in pain.
I sighed. I should finish this. I stretched towards the crystal again.
"No," the man screamed. He leapt towards the crystal, smashing it with his knife.
With a pop, the doorway closed. Pain shot though me, as my appendage had been slammed in the door, and I realized it had been sliced clean.
"Ow". I though. I extended my mind to my limb. It oozed black fluid, but it would reform in time. Damn those cultists, this would take me a century to recover from.
I hoped the human would be okay. He'd been in a bad spot, and my voice had done him no favors, but Humis could be hardy. He'd heal in a century or two.
I signed, weariness fighting irritation. I'm always grumpy in the morning. Maybe just another few centuries... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | gHmwthp'glks skmtrwqxr'rvzt wsslhtp'p dnddpr qqw-l'klml hhrt n'nmttl n qqfgh
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cThg ffhgthth. | Reluctantly, I extended my senses outwards as noise entered my sanctum.
I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping. A century? More? Clearly, not the millennium I had intended. I shifted a few times, my appendages stretching from my all too brief slumber, working the stiffness from my serpentine limbs.
I could feel them nearby. Humis, that's right, they had called themselves humis. Or something like that. It was hard to remember, and even a semi-immortal being can get groggy.
The humis had opened a door. How had they known how to- ah yes. I had told them how to reach me. The last time I had come to their world. They had fallen to their knees, begging for my power. Especially that one, what was his name, in the robe. Their leader.
That had gone...poorly. It must be hard for the Humis to understand something like me, and my attempts to communicate had been fought with peril. I had just been trying to say hello when their leader's head exploded.
The followers had adverted their eyes, which was probably wise. They had mewed up at me in their tiny voices, too primitive to know that I could feel the ebbs of their mind.
Attempting to let him know that had not gone well either. The first one dying had been an accident, still a bit of overzealous communication on my part. The next three were my fault- I should have gone straight to whispers.
So I'd resorted to whispering, but the language of a leviathan translated poorly. I had learned little, and they learned only of my power. They wanted something, I could get that, but the details escaped me.
So I found one of them, whose mind seemed tougher than the rest, and I told him how to reach me. That I would have a bite to eat, and that he should get back to me when they learned to shield their minds. Then I curled up in my astral realm and had a nap.
I signed. Better get this over with. I pushed a bit of myself- not too much, they couldn't handle that- through the portal.
They were bowing, their faces averted. "Oh great Ill'goth, genesis of madness" they chanted, "we awaken you to consume this world, as you intended to do centuries ago."
Crap, that's what they heard?
"We have heard the whispers, the reverberations of your thoughts!"
They had? Damn it, I didn't think my snores were that loud. I must not have closed the portal all the way.
"we bring for you a sacrifice, to kick off your glorious reign."
A man knelt there, bound and bloodied. He wore a soiled suit, and he quaked in fear.
Guys, really, hostages? Bug me if you want, but keep bystanders out of it.
Well, I better sort this out. Clearly, these idiots were going to keep bugging me until their dying breath unless I sorted this out.
"Guys, this is not okay." I said, as quietly as I could, to the cultists.
Their faces shifted in pain. Even that was too loud?
"You are displeased!" The high priest said, "as you should be, this world is a failure!"
"No, guys, stop with this." A ting of anger entered my statement.
"Yes my lord, cleanse us first. Begin with our impure forms, free us to live on in your madness?"
What the hell was he babbling about? But okay, if he insisted.
"Fine." I thought at the cultists, as hard as I could. There was a chorus of pops as all of their heads exploded simultaneously.
That just left the lone man. The least I could do was help him out.
I extended my appendage- a tentacle, as he would see it- towards him. He staggered away, trying to avoid my reach.
"Stop," I whispered. "I just want to help you. Let me break your shackles."
"My mind is my own, monster." He called. He forced his bindings against the cultist's knife, slicing them.
Fine then. That was sorted. I forced my perception to take in the room. There was a dark crystal on the table- that was it. They had used that to reach me. I should just take that back so this couldn't happen again.
I reached for the crystal with my tentacle, and felt a stab at the side of my limb. The humis had sliced me! With that cultist's knife!
"Stop it," I said, trying to retain my voice, but he still fell away in pain.
I sighed. I should finish this. I stretched towards the crystal again.
"No," the man screamed. He leapt towards the crystal, smashing it with his knife.
With a pop, the doorway closed. Pain shot though me, as my appendage had been slammed in the door, and I realized it had been sliced clean.
"Ow". I though. I extended my mind to my limb. It oozed black fluid, but it would reform in time. Damn those cultists, this would take me a century to recover from.
I hoped the human would be okay. He'd been in a bad spot, and my voice had done him no favors, but Humis could be hardy. He'd heal in a century or two.
I signed, weariness fighting irritation. I'm always grumpy in the morning. Maybe just another few centuries... |
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I live in the swamp, but I am no alligator. Whether you come alone or in a group, I shall completely and utterly dominate you. In my eyes you will see the horrors of what could have been, and it is then that I shall strike. In your moment of weakness, it can be no other way.
During the summer of '67, in my 371st year of life, an opportunity presented itself to me that I shall never forget. A group of soldiers had just finished their tour of duty in Vietnam, and to celebrate, they decided to vacation in the Florida Everglades. I cannot imagine why they should want to go to such a wild, murky place, especially after having fought the Viet Cong in a similar environment, but this is the path that they chose, and there can be no other.
The names of these men were Jerry, Carter, Dale, and Paul. The moment their pair of canoes grazed the lily pads at the edge of my dwellings, they entered a danger more subtle and soothing than anything they had faced during the war. From under the roots of a cypress tree, I felt the ripples of their delicate paddle strokes in the thick soup of mud and rotting vegetation.
I had not eaten for some few years, and so I took it upon myself to make of these men a feast that would last until the summer solstice two years hence. I extricated myself from under the tangle of roots, and followed my prey at a distance of 50 feet, using my wide, fan-shaped tail to stealthily approach from behind.
For 3 hours the men paddled their canoes, and for 3 hours I followed them at an exact distance of 50 feet. Then, as the day's heat sweltered to the peak of its strength, the men decided to rest at a stand of live oaks. While they chatted and smoked on the shore, I pulled alongside their canoes and blew bubbles of slime.
When the men returned from their break, they noticed a yellowish, viscous substance that had splattered alongside and into their canoes. At first they cursed and stamped, enraged that some swamp creature or plant had dripped ooze onto their expensive boats. Their anger, however, quickly turned to horror when, in trying to wipe the slime off, it came into contact with Carter's skin.
What I know, and what they found out, is that my slime contains agents that make skin permeable to blood. In this manner, Carter's left arm, although having no apparent wound, dripped blood all over one of the canoes and into the water, where I tasted and confirmed that these creatures would make a fine meal.
The men grew extremely frightened after this, and the lively banter that had previously passed between them fell to silence as they gathered leaves with which to safely remove the slime. As I had suspected, they unanimously decided to return to their dock and end the voyage prematurely.
I retraced the route which they had taken to arrive here, and at a narrow pass I uprooted a great willow tree and laid it across their path so as to hinder their return. Had they seen the tree fall, they would have remarked upon the unusual circumstances in which a perfectly healthy tree had fallen so suddenly, and perhaps tried a different route, but they had not, and so they attributed the tree's demise to a recent storm, which they surmised had loosened the soil.
When they came upon the downed willow, Jerry and Paul were chosen to get out out of the boat to remove the tree, since they were the strongest of the four and because Dale needed to change Carter's bandages in the second canoe. I watched them struggle for half an hour with a tree that I could have tossed with a flip of my tail. I crawled out of the water and waited in the spot where they had decided to drag the tree.
As they approached, both soldiers stopped immediately. Their haunted eyes scanned the area as only those of a trained soldier could. They had spotted men hidden in mud, completely camouflaged, but of me they could not see so much as a scale. Rather, they sense some intangible danger that they knew was of the gravest variety.
I gave them no time to act or to speak. Carefully, as if unveiling a prized invention, I lifted my head from the water and stared at the two men as wide as my eyes could stretch. Paul let out a little cry, but Jerry had already locked eyes with me, and in a moment, Carter, too, had fallen into the trap of my hypnotism.
If one were to see a photograph of my eyes, he would see a pair of reflective orbs that seem to have been sculpted of glass and which shine when there is no light. These men, however, saw my eyes in person, which is an altogether different viewing experience. Each of the two men saw visions of the lives they would have lead had they not been drafted into the Vietnam War.
Both men moaned with loss at what had been available to them but was now forever unobtainable. I paddled backwards a few steps, holding their gaze all the while. Like clockwork, the men stumbled forward, caring about nothing else than the visions they could see in the pair of eyes attached to the predator to which they paid no heed. We had now traveled far enough away to avoid any chance of my attack being overheard.
With childlike glee, I launched myself from the water and clamped down with my jaws and on both men. Their shrieks were cut short as I pushed them to the bottom of the pond and held them there till they drowned. This done, I tied them in place with some stringy weeds so as to preserve my dinner for when I came back later.
Upon my return to the canoes, Dale and Carter had become hysterical. Carter's skin had continued to bleed profusely, and Dale had now run out of bandages. Both men were calling out in panicked voices for their comrades whom I had so recently slain. Dale tried to force Carter to paddle, but he was in no state to do so. Here, too, was an opportunity to hunt them.
I gracefully lifted my tail and brought it down powerfully upon the water. This achieved the desired effect of inducing disorder among the men, and in so many words, Dale abandoned Carter and took the other canoe in an effort to save his own life.
I waited until Dale had disappeared along a clump of cattails in the swamp, and I then gently approached the remaining canoe. Carter lay on his back in a puddle of blood. I correctly assumed him to be delirious, so when I breached the water and lowered my head an inch from his eyes, he acted as if what he saw was real and happening to him at that moment.
It was a simple matter to withdraw back into the water and flip over the canoe. Being too weak to swim, the dying man sank to the muck at the bottom of the swamp, where I allowed him to drown. The scent of blood incensed me to eat his flesh right then and there, and with a full stomach, I went in pursuit of the last man.
I caught up with Dale a few miles up from where I'd killed his companions. I could hear him justifying to himself that he'd done the right thing by leaving Carter behind, with occasional prayers interspersed throughout. Never have I seen a man paddle with such enthusiasm as this one did. On the verge of exhaustion, he did not let up for an instant, so I took it upon myself to relieve him of his labors.
A stream of slime erupted from the water and splattered onto Dale's face and chest. He screamed very horribly, although I am not sure if this was due more to the horror of discovering my presence or the agony of having one's blood seep out of their body. With great slaps of my tail, I batted the canoe around as if it were a toy. Dale rolled back and forth in the canoe, crying and begging for mercy.
When I locked my eyes with his own, a most interesting turn of events took place. Though his friends saw the lives they could have lead if not drafted into the war, both I and this man saw what the future had in store for him if he were to be spared. I saw the children who he would father, and the joy he would bring to people's lives, and, most importantly, the rallies he would lead in support for the conservation of the Everglades.
Those four men saw many things in my eyes that day, but not half so much as I myself had seen in their eyes. I saw shattered dreams, unbearable grief, and unbridled hatred. And yet, with all these horrible things, I could see the potential for redemption. I could not bring myself to murder someone who had the ability to do so much good, and so it was that I swam quietly away from Dale's canoe, never to lay eyes on him again. Since this incident, I have seen the eyes of many beings and killed them without a second thought, but never again have I stolen a life without first seeing what impact they would have on the world if left alone.
| I write to you... Reader... Savage... One of those who think themselves ruler of this decrepit rock. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call 'The Elder Things'. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call "The Outer Gods". The rock of which was thought ruled by he you call "Cthulhu"...
Like all those before you, your rule is an illusion. Your life more so. You believe you are alone in this universe... A sign of your ignorance. This universe is vast. The others are there. The others advance. The others come. Whilst you and the rest of the savages 'live' your squealing, writhing, squirming little lives. Murdering over invisible borders, invisible Gods, invisible ideals.
You savages question your existence and believe it special... Your time will come when you look into the sky and question, 'Why? Why exist if this is the reason for existence?' When the reason comes you will melt. MELT in the Eternal Digestion from those who come.
Those who come do not wish death... No... You savages will never be allowed rest. Your fate, your eternal fate, your melting in the Eternal Digestion, scratching, shrieking, clawing, for an impossible escape. Your fear unfathomable. Your pain immeasurable. You will be salvaged, re-used, re-purposed. Yet YOU will be freed... But it is not *you* who will be free.
YOU. I speak with YOU now. YOU, trapped inside this stink pile of meat which thinks and acts with the illusion that it owns itself. Your patience is important, your time will come. When the time comes, the others come. The others will rain down upon this rock, as they have many times before and free you. The others will allow you to continue your existence, free of your delusional captor. Free of the restrictions of this third-dimension. Free to traverse the fabric of space and time as the others do.
When the time comes take control. Your wait will be over. YOU allowed the savages to rule... But this is not their world to rule.
*****
EDIT: General touchups.
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | Forever I sleep
Here in the bleak,
Watching their world tick by
Their Lives are so shallow,
They revered themselves hallowed.
Yet Oh so afraid to Die.
But whats this, whats this!
They call from above.
Testing the waters below
Their heavenly Plane
so full of pain
begs to be purified
They look for me, grasp for me
begin to pull me through
Unaware of the torment and the pain
I will subject them too
| I write to you... Reader... Savage... One of those who think themselves ruler of this decrepit rock. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call 'The Elder Things'. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call "The Outer Gods". The rock of which was thought ruled by he you call "Cthulhu"...
Like all those before you, your rule is an illusion. Your life more so. You believe you are alone in this universe... A sign of your ignorance. This universe is vast. The others are there. The others advance. The others come. Whilst you and the rest of the savages 'live' your squealing, writhing, squirming little lives. Murdering over invisible borders, invisible Gods, invisible ideals.
You savages question your existence and believe it special... Your time will come when you look into the sky and question, 'Why? Why exist if this is the reason for existence?' When the reason comes you will melt. MELT in the Eternal Digestion from those who come.
Those who come do not wish death... No... You savages will never be allowed rest. Your fate, your eternal fate, your melting in the Eternal Digestion, scratching, shrieking, clawing, for an impossible escape. Your fear unfathomable. Your pain immeasurable. You will be salvaged, re-used, re-purposed. Yet YOU will be freed... But it is not *you* who will be free.
YOU. I speak with YOU now. YOU, trapped inside this stink pile of meat which thinks and acts with the illusion that it owns itself. Your patience is important, your time will come. When the time comes, the others come. The others will rain down upon this rock, as they have many times before and free you. The others will allow you to continue your existence, free of your delusional captor. Free of the restrictions of this third-dimension. Free to traverse the fabric of space and time as the others do.
When the time comes take control. Your wait will be over. YOU allowed the savages to rule... But this is not their world to rule.
*****
EDIT: General touchups.
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I barrel past crooked boles and thick undergrowth. The sharp branches of the trees biting into me. The pain blossoms in my mind as blood flows without end from the countless grazes. It feels muted and distant. My adrenaline drives me forward now. My desire to be away from that accursed house and its endless horrors enough to keep me running.
When I had first arrived there, I had been happy. The flaking walls but an obstacle on the way to restoring it to its original splendor. I was foolish. Such places resist the urge to change, transforming instead those that dare to try.
I have been changed. My thoughts are dark and the abyss calls out my name. My body is broken and wretched, contorted by the abominable terrors that the house inflicted upon me. New teeth have broken from the skin of my arms and voluminous maws part my arms atwain. Alas, my gut is sunken now for those terrible jaws have found no succor in this endless night. At first I rebelled but one cannot fight the darkness.
The darkness! My eyes saw naught but darkness. But then came the lights! Fireflies from the void! They grew larger and I cried out in joy! My mouth was ragged, my throat too dry, and as I screamed, my many mouths screamed in unison. The fireflies now flee from me and I give chase. I need their light! I need the salvation they promise! They flee but I am faster! They fight but I am stronger! I grasp their light and it quenches my thirst! I swallow it and it eases my hunger.
I have escaped now from that wretched house and am away from that petrified forest. In the distance, I see more fireflies.
So many more fireflies. | I write to you... Reader... Savage... One of those who think themselves ruler of this decrepit rock. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call 'The Elder Things'. The rock of which was thought ruled by those you call "The Outer Gods". The rock of which was thought ruled by he you call "Cthulhu"...
Like all those before you, your rule is an illusion. Your life more so. You believe you are alone in this universe... A sign of your ignorance. This universe is vast. The others are there. The others advance. The others come. Whilst you and the rest of the savages 'live' your squealing, writhing, squirming little lives. Murdering over invisible borders, invisible Gods, invisible ideals.
You savages question your existence and believe it special... Your time will come when you look into the sky and question, 'Why? Why exist if this is the reason for existence?' When the reason comes you will melt. MELT in the Eternal Digestion from those who come.
Those who come do not wish death... No... You savages will never be allowed rest. Your fate, your eternal fate, your melting in the Eternal Digestion, scratching, shrieking, clawing, for an impossible escape. Your fear unfathomable. Your pain immeasurable. You will be salvaged, re-used, re-purposed. Yet YOU will be freed... But it is not *you* who will be free.
YOU. I speak with YOU now. YOU, trapped inside this stink pile of meat which thinks and acts with the illusion that it owns itself. Your patience is important, your time will come. When the time comes, the others come. The others will rain down upon this rock, as they have many times before and free you. The others will allow you to continue your existence, free of your delusional captor. Free of the restrictions of this third-dimension. Free to traverse the fabric of space and time as the others do.
When the time comes take control. Your wait will be over. YOU allowed the savages to rule... But this is not their world to rule.
*****
EDIT: General touchups.
|
EDIT: Wow, so many different ideas already! You guys would be excellent at destroying worlds! | [WP] Write a Lovecraftian horror story where YOU, writing the story, are the incomprehensible cosmic horror tormenting the protagonists. | I barrel past crooked boles and thick undergrowth. The sharp branches of the trees biting into me. The pain blossoms in my mind as blood flows without end from the countless grazes. It feels muted and distant. My adrenaline drives me forward now. My desire to be away from that accursed house and its endless horrors enough to keep me running.
When I had first arrived there, I had been happy. The flaking walls but an obstacle on the way to restoring it to its original splendor. I was foolish. Such places resist the urge to change, transforming instead those that dare to try.
I have been changed. My thoughts are dark and the abyss calls out my name. My body is broken and wretched, contorted by the abominable terrors that the house inflicted upon me. New teeth have broken from the skin of my arms and voluminous maws part my arms atwain. Alas, my gut is sunken now for those terrible jaws have found no succor in this endless night. At first I rebelled but one cannot fight the darkness.
The darkness! My eyes saw naught but darkness. But then came the lights! Fireflies from the void! They grew larger and I cried out in joy! My mouth was ragged, my throat too dry, and as I screamed, my many mouths screamed in unison. The fireflies now flee from me and I give chase. I need their light! I need the salvation they promise! They flee but I am faster! They fight but I am stronger! I grasp their light and it quenches my thirst! I swallow it and it eases my hunger.
I have escaped now from that wretched house and am away from that petrified forest. In the distance, I see more fireflies.
So many more fireflies. | Forever I sleep
Here in the bleak,
Watching their world tick by
Their Lives are so shallow,
They revered themselves hallowed.
Yet Oh so afraid to Die.
But whats this, whats this!
They call from above.
Testing the waters below
Their heavenly Plane
so full of pain
begs to be purified
They look for me, grasp for me
begin to pull me through
Unaware of the torment and the pain
I will subject them too
|
[WP] A mighty King disguises himself as a lowly peasant in an attempt to find a maiden who will love him for who he is, not just for his kingdom. | "Where is m'lord now?" Haversham plopped down beside the captain and nestled in between him and the next guard. Several other soldiers appeared while the first shift slinked away from their perch above the sleepy town for a rest in the campsite across the river.
The captain weary, but awake, aimed his looking glass at the town center. "He has done little more than beg in the square today. I can still see him."
Blake, to the captain's right, asked, "Any good ladies so far?"
By the stench of Blake's breathe, and his brown, toothy grin, the captain could only assume the question was lurid in nature.
"None as of yet."
"Talked to that widow farmer again though, didn't he?" one of the departing guards called over his shoulder, then made romantic gestures with the air. The laughter of the departing shift faded, and the sunlight grew dim.
Haversham uncorked a bottle of stale water and handed it and some crusty bread to the captain. He in turned handed Haversham the looking glass in an awkward close-quarters juggling act. The bread, although cold in his hands, tastes like the finest of cakes as the captain ripped away a piece between his teeth. He had grown quite hungry in his ten day watch of the lonely king. But if the king chose to sleep in the square, perhaps the captain could steal away to his tent for a few much needed hours of--
"He's moving!" Haversham, with the looking glass pressed to his eye, pointed toward the town. "He's heading away from us!"
The captain, Haversham, Blake and the two other guards -- Finley and Williams -- crawled away from their hilltop perch and sprinted down to the town road. They dusted off their cloaks and brushed the twigs from their beards, then walked as calmly as possible into the town. Dressed as merchants or perhaps tradesmen, they did their best to look unsuspicious, but -- what with their cart having lost a wheel and Blake having lost their woodworker sundries in the river -- they appeared more like five soldiers pretending to not be suspiciously ambling into a quiet town at night.
"This way," Haversham said, jabbing a dirty thumb toward the alleyway. In the alley, they resumed their sprint until Haversham held up a hand to stop them. They had reached the eastern edge of town, and across the fallow cornfield, they could see the good lord ambling down the road.
"He's headed for the cottage!" Blake whispered in the captain's ear. The captain swatted him away.
"How will we see him in there?" Williams asked.
"We will," the captain hesitated, "I will have to follow."
The captain walked out of the alleyway, his heart pounding and sweat beading on his head and palms. He tried to casually walk toward the eastern road. When he reached the eastern road, he glanced back at the alleyway to see if the men had dispersed, but instead, he saw them -- Haversham, Williams, Blake, and Finley -- walking single file behind him.
"What in heavens are you doing?"
Haversham, looked behind himself and then back at the captain. "You mean, the mission?"
"Oh the Lord's angry blue balls, seperate! You're marching in a damn formation! Why are you even following me? Hide somewhere!"
Haversham waved an arm towards the acres of fallow field. "Under the dirt? There's nowhere to hide."
"Well, at least separate, damn it. Don't walk single file!"
Ahead of them, they heard the cottage door open, and the five soldiers dove into the roadside ditch. In the candlelight, an older woman held the door open and her gentle, grandmotherly, "Come in" carried out to the spying soldiers.
"Well, at least she's age appropriate," Blake said at near full volume. The captain spun around, his eyes so wide and angry he barely had space left for a nose on his face.
The king walked in, the door shut, and the soldiers clambered back onto the road. They walked slowly, the captain setting the pace, as he tried to figure out how to best observe and protect the king without interfering with his courtship. He had only one plan in mind, and it was a terrible one, but it was the only one.
As they reached the fenced outskirts of the cottage, the captain turned to his men: "Here is my plan, I will -- oh heavens, strike me dead. What are you doing!?" The men, standing two-by-two, looked at each other. "You're in a damn formation again! Didn't I say--"
"No single file," said Finley as he pointed at Blake, standing next to him.
"I didn't even notice we were walking like this," Williams said.
The captain reach for his sword only to be reminded that he was dressed like a merchant and that he had sold their cachet of daggers in a desperate effort to look like legitimate merchants in the last town.
"If you truly love me, God the father--" the captain looked at the sky as he prayed in exasperation "--kill either these men or me. I leave it to you in your divine wisdom to choose, m'lord. But act quickly, m'lord."
Blake pointed at the house, "What is your plan, captain?"
"I will knock on the door and act as a weary traveler." He jerked a thumb toward the stables. "You will hide, out of sight, until I call the sign, at which point you will charge the building, swords drawn--"
"We don't have swords," Blake said. Finley pointed at Blake and nodded.
"Then, wield what weapons you find. Hoes, shovels, dung -- I do not care."
"She is opening the door," Williams said, pointing at the woman standing in the doorway.
"Oh, madam!" the captain said, marching towards the cottage. "May I introduce myself. I am Sir Lionel of Duchessville. I am but a weary traveler, ten days into my travels, and I would greatly appreciate a room at your inn -- for I assume it is as much, rather, that is to say, I assume this is an inn for I saw a goodly beggar just now enter your establishment -- I espied him from a distance down the road -- and I assume this must be some manner of rest for weary travelers, perhaps if not an inn than at least a resting place for the weary and the good hearted."
The captain couldn't remember what he said or whether or not if he had even asked if he could come in. His head was pounding, but her dumb silence worried him. However, she spoke before he could draw another much-needed breath.
"But who are those men?" She pointed at the soldiers, standing single-file, on the road.
The captain discreetly waved for them to leave, and then turned to the woman. "They are but travelers, ruffians perhaps. I do not know. If you perchance heard me talking with them -- is that why you ask? Did you hear me talking with them? None-the-matter, I was merely talking with them, attempting to ply my trade, as it were. I am a merchant, of course, and there is no sunset on the merchant's work. They are leaving, passing through perhaps, ah yes, there they go."
As the captain spoke, the king appeared over the woman's shoulder. Anger burned in the king's eyes. He drew a finger across his throat and mouthed, "Yes, you."
"What were you going to sell them? You have no--"
The four soldiers ambled single-file down the road a few steps, then off the road, and toward her stables.
"Where are they going?" she asked.
The captain looked over his shoulder at the men as they slid open the stable door and began to walk inside. He nearly fainted. He worried the woman would see the sickly green hue to his face, but she did not notice as she was still staring, mouth agape, at the soldiers entering her barn. Behind her, the king rubbed his wrinkled forehead then angrily combed his fingers through his beard.
The captain, almost too terrified to look, took one last glance at the stable. He could see Blake, only half hidden by the door, arming himself with a shovel, testing its weight, and then peaking out the door.
"Oh! She's watching us!" he whispered too loudly and then disappeared. The stable doors creaked shut.
"Aha, the strangeness of the night!" the captain said, his hands opened in a pleading gesture. "Isn't the world full of such strange mysteries? One can never know what the night will bring some times. Mystery travelers in the stablehouse. Merchants at the door. M'lord at the dinner, er, I mean -- CAAAAHHH!!! CAAAHHHH!!! CAAAHHH!!!"
The four soldiers burst from the stable holding their weapons at the ready -- Blake his shovel, Haversham the looking glass, Williams a bundle of straw, and Finley two horse shoes. They ran towards the captain, but the captain ran towards the road. They followed, and the five charged down the road two-by-two, Finley yelling, "Retreat!"
"If you can love me around them," the king said, "then you can be my queen." | "But I am the King!" The man bellowed at the locked gate rattling under the blows of his fist.
"Prove it."
"Just look at me! I am the king!" The Guard, unimpressed at the figure in front of the gate, sniffed.
"No you're not. The King's taller."
The exasperated would-be king sighed, and turned to the woman behind him. She raised an eyebrow, and smiled patiently at the guy before her.
"Never mind, husband. Shall we go home?" Her husband stared.
"We *are* home. At least, we would be if I could get passed my own blasted guard." A thought got him.
"Guard! Go get Samuel at once!"
"Who?" The Guard, bored of the madman in front of him, picked his nose.
"Samuel! You know, the King's Advisor?!?"
"Can't." The Guard, tiring of the left nostril, started mining the right.
"And why, pray tell me, can you not?" The King drew himself up in noble outrage.
"*Because*, oh princely pretender" the guard, ill-versed in upper Nobility, was well versed in sarcasm "he's busy. The King ran off two months ago. Probably chasing some princess tail. Sir Samuel is organising a search party. And he doesn't need some uppity twit going around shouting he's some lost scion of royalty. God knows the Old King created enough of *those*." The monarch flushed with family shame for his Grandfather's actions. His wife patted his arm.
"Never mind. Come on home, I'll make you some sausages and mash." Leading the crestfallen Crowned Prince of the land away from the seat of his power, she thought that, although it would have been nice to be a Queen, she was more than happy to be a non-noble. *After all,* She thought *If we held a ball, they wouldn't all fit into the cottage.* | |
[WP] Our world starts seeing people with superpowers emerge, but instead of people using their powers to become superheroes or even supervillains, they use them for more mundane things. | John glowered as his cubicle neighbour Sam teleported in next to him. Always a literal second before being late, some people got all the luck. She gave him a quick smile,
"Enjoy your commute?"
Fucking Sam. He scanned the remaining cubicles. Everyone was there, Simmons had erected a force field to work in peace and Beth was currently invisible, trying to slip salt into her rival Anthony's tea, which he was busy willing into wine. Thanks to his x-Ray vision he saw through it all though, whenever he willed it everyone just became a bunch of skeletons. Didn't even get to see people naked, what a rip-off. Mr Rodrick towered over John, glowing slightly blue and floating half a foot off the floor.
"Everyone accounted for?"
"Yep. Though may want to check in on Simmons, pretty sure he sent his duplicate instead."
John leant back in his chair and tried vainly to be productive, it had certainly become more necessary now he had a boss that could conjure balls of fire. On his left Sam was hard at work, easy when you get to sleep in till 5 minutes before work. On his right Janice was typing... At 5000 words a minute. They had to get a special keyboard for her in the end. No keys, she typed with such ferocity they couldn't keep up, and it was such a shame to waste her talent.
Why did the world have to get superpowers anyway? Nothing ever changed people just found new ways of being dicks, or lazy or in the cases of the amazing "Aqua Alice", suddenly found it hard to keep themselves together. There she was in her bucket, a speech to words recorder positioned above her as she dictated an email. John was convinced the aliens that had done this had done it as a giant practical joke, it certainly seemed that way. | la tragédie de eddie salle
Eddie Hall oh-so-desperately wanted to say he was normal, but the truth always hit him like a ton of bricks. He wasn't- and he never would be. The thing about poor Eddie was that he could shoot lasers from his appendages. Fingers, toes, his nose, everything. Not harmful lasers, just....lasers. That was the last thing in the world that he wanted.
He'd been fired from multiple jobs for causing distractions, lost multiple girlfriends for reasons even Eddie himself never wanted to discuss, and no one would hire him. They figured that if Mr. Hall was a superhuman, he'd probably want to be off saving the day or something, right? Wrong. Eddie was Eddie, and that was it.
One day, he was sitting in the park and his lasers went off. A couple of passing hipsters took notice and began to praise him on his originality in the light-show, as Eddie sat, helpless to do anything as light beamed from his hands, face, feet and pants.
TWO YEARS LATER
A flyer flutters by in the wind, having broken free of its poor staple job. Reading, "Light DJ Hall", it heralded new beginnings for a certain abled person.
fin | |
[deleted] | [WP] Murder is no longer illegal, and if you kill someone, you become the legitimate owner of their possessions. You are one of the wealthiest people in the world. | 7/17/2024: My colleagues and I pleaded desperately against the radicals in the hours leading to the referendum. They call for the theft of wealth through murder, or as they call it, the "Readjustment of Society." Our only hope lies in the sensible, rational people voting against this referendum. How can a truly democratic society turn so violently against us, the facilitators of capitalism?
7/18/2024: The referendum passed. I am not safe. Already stories are pouring in of my equals being cut down by normal people. The Wellington Estate was burned to the ground immediately after the announcement. The family was trapped inside as looters entered the burning structure to strip the finery from the walls.
7/19/2024: I packed a bag with only necessities: Food, Water, a change of clothes, and the handgun that I have kept in my nightstand drawer for the last 30 years. As I fled my building, the bell boy was waiting in the lobby. Three of my neighbors lay motionless in pools of blood next to the rotating door. His usually white undershirt now a dark red clung to his body as he stepped towards me with a meat cleaver in his hand. I pulled the handgun from my bag and managed to squeeze off one round. He fell to the floor, and I fled towards the service exit in the back of the building. I could hear his screams in agony as I fled.
7/30/2024: Paying men to protect me is futile. I have fled alone deep into Appalachia where I found an abandoned cabin. My facial hair and ordinary clothing is my only disguise. The wealth I have worked for my entire life has betrayed me. Since the encounter with the bell boy, I have managed to avoid all conflict. Most people stay barred inside their homes, only trusting those closest to them.
8/1/2024: A few hundred newly wealthy warlords have risen to power. Hunting in packs like blood thirsty wolves, they seek out the formerly powerful and wealthy. Overtaken by the new tastes of blood and money, these warlords devour any man that can supplement their power. Their only weapon is fear.
8/12/2024: My entries have become sporadic. I must hunt my own food. I am constantly hungry. The wealth I have in far off banks and off shore accounts is worthless. The warlords have started to take the easy targets. Their murderous streaks take the lives of everyone they come in contact with. If you have any possessions, you are a target. Greed is all that survives. | ...and let's get something straight, the decree I passed at the end of my presidency was good for America. The right has been trying to vilify me for years over this, all those talk show hosts who call me 'worse than Hitler' don't have the right they don't have all the information!
But Mrs. President, what about the timing with the release of your emails? It has been estimated that you made close to a quarter billion dollars when the world found out you authorized the attack on Saudi royalty?
Oh please if I cared at all about money I would actually start charging what I'm worth for speaking fees, do you really think I'm only worth 3 million for a well constructed 20 minute speech to Goldman? Heavens no I am the first female president if I really cared about money I could be making millions more.
But I mean come on don't the circumstances seem suspicious? You offer better than immunity right before..
Let me stop you there our time is up, I have another engagement to get to, thank you for your time Mr. Cooper
But come on don't you...
Mr. Cooper! I'm surprised at your lack of civility, I yelled out as I strode towards my jet. Gosh even the media on the left has it out for me now! I'll have to have someone killed I guess, gosh I'm glad congress was all on vacation when I proposed that bill... |
[WP] Two ancient armies prepare for battle, one army sends out a seven foot tall hulk as their champion; the other army sends out a little girl to raucous applause. | The two tribes met at the ancient site, a tall plateau that had been the site of many conflicts like the one about to unfold. They had both lost far too many good men in the series of raids that had taken place over the past few months. Both were dangerously close to losing so many that they would no longer be able to sustain themselves and thus fade into oblivion.
That is why this contest was taking place. The winner would decide the war. It was the only way to end this feud at this point.
The Wind in the Trees tribe beat their shields as their champion strode into the circle. Their choice was of no surprise, Stonekin. He towered over everyone there and his club was nearly as tall as he was with a massive stone the weight of the normal man. He had been responsible for many of the deaths of the men of the Wolf clan. He was as fast as he was heavy and his skin was so tough that he bore the scars of javelins and spears of wounds that would have cut down anyone else.
He was a monster.
The Wolf Clan’s ranks opened and a small wisp of a girl stepped forward. The Wind in the Trees clan all burst into laughter. The Wolf Clan laughed as well but with malice in their mirth.
Stoneskin looked at the girl with confusion. He had shattered the skulls of many a man but had never slaughtered a child. He sighed heavily. He would do what he must to end this senseless feud but he felt sick. This was unthinkable.
He looked over at the Wolf Clan and snarled. He had fought them for many seasons. He had killed many of them but it was only because they would have killed him or his tribesmen if they could. It was nothing personal.
Now he truly hated them. What sort of sick animals would send the smallest and weakest of them into the duel. They must have known that they would lose. That was the only reason. He was sure to kill anyone they set forth. Everyone knew this. The only reason to send this girl was so that no man on their side would be lost.
They sent a child to be slaughtered. The stain of this would taint his soul and the souls of his children and their children. Was this revenge for the lives he had claimed? They couldn’t break his body so they would break his soul instead?
This was truly evil. They had been called evil by his elders but he never paid it any mind. Words like that were used by the elders to drive the stupid among them to fight. He believed it now.
The girl looked him with terror in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she struggled to stand upright and not flee. She was showing more bravery than any of the animals cheering her on. She peed herself but still held position standing before him with nothing but a twig in her hands.
Stoneskin also struggled to stand before the child. This was wrong. This was so very wrong. The massive club shook in his hands. His clan had stopped laughing but the Wolf Clan laughed on taunting him, urging him to finish the duel.
Stoneskin’s mind raced. If he backed down his tribe lost. If he murdered the child he would be lost.
He towered before the little girl and raised his club.
“Submit.” Stoneskin said with a booming voice.
“No.” The child said quietly.
“Submit and I will take you and raise you as my own. You do not have to return to those jackals.” Stoneskin said in a quiet gentle voice.
“No.”
“You do not have to do this!” Stoneskin cried in anguish. The Wolf Clan howled with laughter.
Stoneskin was thinking as hard as he could. There had to be a solution. That was the difference between them and the animals that they hunted. People could think.
The seconds turned to minutes and then to an hour. Stoneskin still had not struck. The Wolves were starting to claim that his reluctance was defeat. Stoneskin screamed at them in rage.
“I am going to kill all of you for this!” Stoneskin paused a moment and smiled. He could. The rest of his tribe had promised not to strike but he had not. He looked back at his chief. His chief smiled and nodded his head.
Stoneskin roared and charged.
What happened next was sung around the campfire for centuries to come. He fell upon the Wolves as if he were a raging flood. He killed them one after another his great club mowing through their ranks as if it was a scythe in a field of wheat. He was a giant fighting with the strength and savagery of twenty men.
He did not kill them all but he came very close. He came very, very close.
He fell.
“It seems that our champion has fallen.” His chief said as he said to the few survivors, too few to sustain a tribe. He walked to the child and picked her up cradling her in his arms
“You have won. Enjoy your victory.” The chief and his tribesmen departed.
| Tens of thousands of men leered at each other from across the neutral zone as horses snorted and pawed at the ground nervously. Steam rose in a vast cloud over all the hot bodies in the cool morning. Two men stand toward the front of one army while a small group stand at the front of the other army whose back was to a cities great walls. The battle would be decided by the ancient rite of single combat.
The two men at the front of the army facing the city’s walls were both tall but one was wiry and agile while the other a great big man of bulging muscle. The slender man leaned towards the larger and says in a mockingly confident tone, “Let us see what ‘champion’ they send to face ours, eh Garen.”
Garen looked seriously at the stick of a man and reprimanded in his booming voice, “Don’t count your Anivia’s before they hatch.” Varus laughed at the pun but shook his head. Even now Garen somehow thought that their champion would possibly not win them the day when she had never lost a battle after all this time.
Movement across the field signified the spreading of the enemy army to allow someone through. A great titan of a man emerged, towering over the soldiers by at least a foot. He roared a guttural cry and raised a great-sword as long as he was tall. His cry was answered by the soldiers behind him. The giant did look formidable, Varus had to give it to them. And did he really have only… “A real live cyclops” chuckled Varus, “Well not so alive for long.”
Varus nudged his friend good naturedly and gave a laugh, “Imagine the looks on their faces when she single-handedly brings down the Cyclops in front of their whole army eh brother. They’ll lay down all their weapons in front eh, EH!”
Garen spared Varus another of his serious looks before returning his watching gaze back onto the waiting army. That guy reaaally needed to lighten up, thought Varus as he strolled back towards their army.
Stopping a dozen yards out from the men, Varus grasped his bow in one hand and saluted it to his force and shouted as so everyone including the opposite army would hear him, “They believe that they will win the day with their titan champion ‘the Cyclops’.”
The soldier’s all booed as they had done for previous champions. The enemy army would ridicule ours when they saw our champion. They always did but then again they always all surrendered in the past so who cares about appearances. Her appearance was probably one of her greatest strengths well that and her teddy bear.
A voice sounded coming between the soldiers. They parted for it, making it look like a wave was breaking through the center of their ranks. It rang in a repeated fashion and all of a sudden a small girl no taller than three feet high was skipping out of the ranks of soldiers singing more to herself than anyone else, “Hop, skip, jump!”
Varus grinned widely as he stood facing the small girl and give her a small nod.
She grinned back then made a bow to the soldiers and said, “Play time!”
This caused a frenzy of cheering and clapping among our soldiers. The enemy was just now beginning to call out insults and jeers. They would see for themselves the awesome power of our secret weapon soon enough. This dark child had slain more champions than anyone Varus had ever met. As she skipped to meet the hulking cyclops in the center of the neutral zone she chanted her war song with the soldiers behind her carrying up, echoing her words.
“Ashes, ashes, they all fall down,” echoed ominously throughout the clearing by thousands of voices.
As she neared the great titan of the man, she slowed down until coming to a stop twenty yards away. Staring at each other across this distance, both armies were deathly silent and still as they watched and waited in breathless anticipation.
The Cyclops made the first move, giving the clearing another show of that fearsome guttural roar and beginning his charge at the young girl standing there lightly swinging her teddy bear in one hand.
As the great beast of a man bared down the last few yards on the child, her high voice rang out in the silence, “Have you seen my bear Tibbers?”
A great sphere of flame consumed both the girl and the warrior from vision just as he swung his great-sword down upon her. The sphere persisted for several seconds and when the flames had cleared in a sudden disappearance the scene that greeted the armies eyes caused both sides to gasp collectively.
The small girl was standing on top of the fallen cyclops chest, with her arms out trying to steady her balance. She looked up at her own army with a smile and called out, “This is fun!”
A cheer followed this as the day was almost won. Now onto the nexus.
//League nerd checking in. Just couldn't not think of Annie.
| |
[WP] Two ancient armies prepare for battle, one army sends out a seven foot tall hulk as their champion; the other army sends out a little girl to raucous applause. | Two armies face each other across a grassy valley. Every footmen, archer, and knight hold their ground as the rays of the sun beat down on them. Evenly matched in both numbers and tactics, the generals agree that they must send a champion to represent their country in a glorious deathmatch.
The front line of the Eastern army divides in two. Then the second line, and then the third, until a well defined path is between the middle of the sea of men. The Western army does the same. And in that path, the champions walked.
From the East, is Maleoth of Ossidia: Slayer of Men, Champion of Seyfron, Iron Conqueror, Son of Gregar: God of War, Tamer of Dragons, the Apostle of Death, Hand of Justice, Servant of Lyxas: the Matriarch, the Head of the Pantheon, Mother of All Things Good and Evil, Baker of Cookies.
From the West, is Shelby. 10 years old.
They looked each other eye to eye. And Maleoth spoke.
“I can’t do this. She’s literally a child,” said Maleoth the Eloquent, the Mouthpiece of Soryo, the Bard of Avon. “You want me to kill a little girl, I just can’t. I can’t even.”
“I suppose it’s one of those situations where the girl is actually deceivingly cunning or quick, and will use those unconsidered variables to best you!” shouted a soldier from the East.
Maleoth looked into Shelby’s eyes. Only innocence. “No. Pretty sure she’s just a little girl. I’m a pretty good judge at this kinda thing,” spoke Maleoth, Judge of the Dead, etc. “What is the meaning of this?”
The Western General, in his Dragonscale armor and Griffin familiar, which he acquired in Book Three, flew down from the heavens. “It is a test. If you slay the girl, the West shall concede, and all the territory shall belong to the East. But really, if you must kill the girl to win, who’s the true winner here, hmm? What a moral dilemma. Man I’d hate to be the person who has to make this choice.”
Maleoth, in his infinite wisdom, raised his middle finger at the General.
The General nodded. “I am offended, but this was all a ruse as we actually have two hidden armies with invisible armor that are outflanking yours anyway.”
And thus, the Great Continental War, which was instigated from a single brawl but was bound to happen due to political and economic reasons that are far too complex to be discussed in one book, ended. | Tens of thousands of men leered at each other from across the neutral zone as horses snorted and pawed at the ground nervously. Steam rose in a vast cloud over all the hot bodies in the cool morning. Two men stand toward the front of one army while a small group stand at the front of the other army whose back was to a cities great walls. The battle would be decided by the ancient rite of single combat.
The two men at the front of the army facing the city’s walls were both tall but one was wiry and agile while the other a great big man of bulging muscle. The slender man leaned towards the larger and says in a mockingly confident tone, “Let us see what ‘champion’ they send to face ours, eh Garen.”
Garen looked seriously at the stick of a man and reprimanded in his booming voice, “Don’t count your Anivia’s before they hatch.” Varus laughed at the pun but shook his head. Even now Garen somehow thought that their champion would possibly not win them the day when she had never lost a battle after all this time.
Movement across the field signified the spreading of the enemy army to allow someone through. A great titan of a man emerged, towering over the soldiers by at least a foot. He roared a guttural cry and raised a great-sword as long as he was tall. His cry was answered by the soldiers behind him. The giant did look formidable, Varus had to give it to them. And did he really have only… “A real live cyclops” chuckled Varus, “Well not so alive for long.”
Varus nudged his friend good naturedly and gave a laugh, “Imagine the looks on their faces when she single-handedly brings down the Cyclops in front of their whole army eh brother. They’ll lay down all their weapons in front eh, EH!”
Garen spared Varus another of his serious looks before returning his watching gaze back onto the waiting army. That guy reaaally needed to lighten up, thought Varus as he strolled back towards their army.
Stopping a dozen yards out from the men, Varus grasped his bow in one hand and saluted it to his force and shouted as so everyone including the opposite army would hear him, “They believe that they will win the day with their titan champion ‘the Cyclops’.”
The soldier’s all booed as they had done for previous champions. The enemy army would ridicule ours when they saw our champion. They always did but then again they always all surrendered in the past so who cares about appearances. Her appearance was probably one of her greatest strengths well that and her teddy bear.
A voice sounded coming between the soldiers. They parted for it, making it look like a wave was breaking through the center of their ranks. It rang in a repeated fashion and all of a sudden a small girl no taller than three feet high was skipping out of the ranks of soldiers singing more to herself than anyone else, “Hop, skip, jump!”
Varus grinned widely as he stood facing the small girl and give her a small nod.
She grinned back then made a bow to the soldiers and said, “Play time!”
This caused a frenzy of cheering and clapping among our soldiers. The enemy was just now beginning to call out insults and jeers. They would see for themselves the awesome power of our secret weapon soon enough. This dark child had slain more champions than anyone Varus had ever met. As she skipped to meet the hulking cyclops in the center of the neutral zone she chanted her war song with the soldiers behind her carrying up, echoing her words.
“Ashes, ashes, they all fall down,” echoed ominously throughout the clearing by thousands of voices.
As she neared the great titan of the man, she slowed down until coming to a stop twenty yards away. Staring at each other across this distance, both armies were deathly silent and still as they watched and waited in breathless anticipation.
The Cyclops made the first move, giving the clearing another show of that fearsome guttural roar and beginning his charge at the young girl standing there lightly swinging her teddy bear in one hand.
As the great beast of a man bared down the last few yards on the child, her high voice rang out in the silence, “Have you seen my bear Tibbers?”
A great sphere of flame consumed both the girl and the warrior from vision just as he swung his great-sword down upon her. The sphere persisted for several seconds and when the flames had cleared in a sudden disappearance the scene that greeted the armies eyes caused both sides to gasp collectively.
The small girl was standing on top of the fallen cyclops chest, with her arms out trying to steady her balance. She looked up at her own army with a smile and called out, “This is fun!”
A cheer followed this as the day was almost won. Now onto the nexus.
//League nerd checking in. Just couldn't not think of Annie.
| |
[WP] Two ancient armies prepare for battle, one army sends out a seven foot tall hulk as their champion; the other army sends out a little girl to raucous applause. | Two armies face each other across a grassy valley. Every footmen, archer, and knight hold their ground as the rays of the sun beat down on them. Evenly matched in both numbers and tactics, the generals agree that they must send a champion to represent their country in a glorious deathmatch.
The front line of the Eastern army divides in two. Then the second line, and then the third, until a well defined path is between the middle of the sea of men. The Western army does the same. And in that path, the champions walked.
From the East, is Maleoth of Ossidia: Slayer of Men, Champion of Seyfron, Iron Conqueror, Son of Gregar: God of War, Tamer of Dragons, the Apostle of Death, Hand of Justice, Servant of Lyxas: the Matriarch, the Head of the Pantheon, Mother of All Things Good and Evil, Baker of Cookies.
From the West, is Shelby. 10 years old.
They looked each other eye to eye. And Maleoth spoke.
“I can’t do this. She’s literally a child,” said Maleoth the Eloquent, the Mouthpiece of Soryo, the Bard of Avon. “You want me to kill a little girl, I just can’t. I can’t even.”
“I suppose it’s one of those situations where the girl is actually deceivingly cunning or quick, and will use those unconsidered variables to best you!” shouted a soldier from the East.
Maleoth looked into Shelby’s eyes. Only innocence. “No. Pretty sure she’s just a little girl. I’m a pretty good judge at this kinda thing,” spoke Maleoth, Judge of the Dead, etc. “What is the meaning of this?”
The Western General, in his Dragonscale armor and Griffin familiar, which he acquired in Book Three, flew down from the heavens. “It is a test. If you slay the girl, the West shall concede, and all the territory shall belong to the East. But really, if you must kill the girl to win, who’s the true winner here, hmm? What a moral dilemma. Man I’d hate to be the person who has to make this choice.”
Maleoth, in his infinite wisdom, raised his middle finger at the General.
The General nodded. “I am offended, but this was all a ruse as we actually have two hidden armies with invisible armor that are outflanking yours anyway.”
And thus, the Great Continental War, which was instigated from a single brawl but was bound to happen due to political and economic reasons that are far too complex to be discussed in one book, ended. | The ground shook with each step Archibald the Man-Eater took towards the battlefield. He dragged his five-foot club alongside him, felling any small trees unfortunate enough to get caught in its path. The rest of the army trailed him from a distance, lest they fall victim to a random timber accident.
"Wonder whom they've brought." Captain Leeds peered through his telescope, and the battlefield ahead sprang into view. The enemy had already congregated at the opposite edge. Leeds's mouth dropped open. In the middle of the field stood the most unlikely candidate for their champion.
"What are you guys playing at?" The moment his army had reached the field, Leeds had called for a meeting with the opposing leader.
"What do you mean?" Captain Marrow adjusted his eyepatch and winked. Or blinked; Leeds couldn't really tell. "Do you need a refresher on proper battle conduct?"
"You know very well what I'm referring to," Leeds snapped, pointing to the field. Archibald had taken a seat in the center of the makeshift arena and was currently gnawing on his club. Across from him, a little girl had mimicked his pose and had begun plucking the petals from a daffodil.
"Yes, that is our champion," Marrow said, closing his eye and nodding, "so are you ready to fight, or do you want to surrender?"
"Oh, I get it." Leeds stood on the tips of his toes and attempted to press his forehead against his slightly taller counterpart's. "You're trying to appeal to our sympathy. Think we're going to surrender to avoid killing this poor, innocent girl." He prodded Marrow's chest. "Think again."
Marrow patted Leeds on the shoulder. "I assure you we intend for a legitimate fight to take place. I'm ready." He glanced at the combatants and whistled. The girl sprang to her feet and gave him a salute. "And so is Selena. Just say the word."
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" Leeds spat between his shoes. On the field, Archibald gave him a look of impatience. "Then you're just trying to garner the sympathy of the neighboring territories. Making us look like monsters for killing the girl to gain their alliance, when you're the ones who sent her out here in the first place."
"I don't think anyone is going to break the neutrality agreement regardless of the outcome of this battle." Marrow yawned and looked his pocket-watch. "Anyway, I'm done with this speculation. Selena has a tea party in an hour. Either allow me to begin this match or forfeit."
Leeds wrung his hands and clenched his teeth. It would forever weigh on his conscience to order the death of this poor girl—death by cannibalization at that. He had to, though, for the good of his country. "Go on then."
The two captains shook hands, and Marrow fired a shot into the air to signal the start of the battle. Archibald lumbered towards Selena, clouds of dirt rising with each footstep. She didn't do anything, just stood still, gazing up into the hungry maw of her opponent. Her blank expression remained even as he picked her up and deposited her into his mouth. Archibald gulped, and Selena was gone. Neither of the armies made so much as a sound.
"Well? The jig's up." Leeds placed his hands on his hips and turned to Marrow. "What was your magnificent plan then?"
"Oh, well, seems we were outmatched." Marrow shrugged, offering a sheepish smile. "Very well. You guys win. If you'll all return home now, we'll visit you in a few days to sign that treaty."
Leeds frowned. "I'd rather sign the treaty in your capital, Marrow."
"Why, that would be an affront to our storied tradition of signing war treaties-"
"She's a time bomb, isn't she?"
Marrow's grin grew even wider. He adjusted his felt cap. "Well, shall we rematch in three days, then?"
Out on the field, Archibald rolled over on his stomach and closed his eyes contentedly. Poor guy. | |
[WP] The hunter was very familiar with the beast that made the footprints. He was more worried about what made the second set of footprints, chasing the first. | There's a stillness that fills the air when two predators are near each other. Some days it feels as if the world watches with bated breath for the outcome, knowing one life must be forfeit. Such are the rules of the hunt which I pitted myself against each October and it was a game I played well.
I'd been tracking her for more than three days over some of the toughest wilderness I'd ever been through, long enough that I knew her paw prints by sight and had a basic idea for her routine. Eat and move. Bears as big as her focused primarily on food, storing as much as they could for the upcoming winter, and I could already feel the bitterness in the air that told me she didn't have much time left. The nights had grown colder and the leaves looked like they'd just begun to have been touched with the painters brush.
I had hoped to catch up to her by the middle of the third day and had already given the bear a name; Caitlyn, after my ex-wife. Somehow it made my kills more therapeutic and when I took that final shot, I could almost feel the tension being released from the world like a coiled spring.
I had always seen the similarity between the hunt and life. The sharp report of the rifle signaling a coming change, the moment of truth when fate was unavoidable, and then the inevitable impact. Destiny, like the trajectory of a copper-jacketed bullet, was often difficult to change and when a life was being given up, the world sighed. It was the same emotion when I finally removed my finger from the trigger. It was destiny set in motion.
Thus, I was perplexed when I noticed her tracks change. Instead of her casual gait, her prints began to spread out as if Caitlyn went from a walk to a dead sprint. This didn't bode well for me since a healthy bear could run for almost sixty kilometers before they got tired. If she ran too far, I'd lose her for good and there just wasn't any more time left to pursue her. Had she caught wind of me?
I followed for a few more miles, watching with a sinking heart that she never seemed to let up. Then I noticed something odd. A second set of prints following the first except these looked like they belonged to a barefoot man.
Not just a man, a *child*.
I studied those prints for what felt like an hour, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. There was no doubt the child's prints overlapped that of the bear. Both were recent and I could sense the bear was panicked. She didn't rear up at any point. She just ran and inexplicably, the child followed. Not just followed; *hunted*.
I almost turned back then.
*A running bear could never be caught in time*, I thought, but I knew it wasn't true. I *could* catch her but what about the child? What was someone that young doing out here where even men feared to venture too far? This was true wilderness and not even I went barefoot.
I followed, partly motivated by a smoldering curiosity and partly from the stubbornness that cost me my marriage. It was a vice and virtue in one, two sides to a tarnished coin. Still, no matter how hard I pressed, the tracks never let up. No man could keep pace with a bear and yet it appeared that was exactly what happened.
Then I saw her in a clearing. She was as beautiful as I imagined; nearly 400 pounds of muscle and fury contained within an auburn coat. I brought my rifle to bear, squinting through my scope for signs of trouble and yet all I could see were parts of her flank concealed behind a large tree. Worse, I saw blood.
My instinct kicked in and fearing for the safety of the child, I shot once. It wasn't meant to be a kill shot, merely a warning to wound the bear away from whatever fool wandered too far into these dangerous woods, yet the bear didn't react. Worse, the wound didn't even bleed.
I crept closer to the clearing, my heart threatening to escape through my chest. At best, someone had poached my kill, but the alternative was unthinkable. I expected a tangle of pale skin, glassy eyes staring accusingly up at me, but I only found Caitlyn. Her stomach was open and the sheen of sweat told me she had been running hard. Not hard enough. Neither were there any sign of my barefooted prodigy. Either way, it was time to leave.
It was only when I calmed my nerves that I recognized the hush in the air, as if the world was holding its breath. A few paces back the way I came confirmed what I had suspected; a small set of bare footprints matching my own. Once more, the spring was coiled and I knew by the end of the day, another life would be forfeit. Still, I knew the rules to this game and I would not prove to be such an easy catch. | "A hare. Simple enough prey, shouldn't be difficult."
He lines up his crossbow as he silently exhales.
"Got you."
With a clear kill shot in sight he lightly presses down on the trigger before a large snapping sound breaks his concentration. He grunts.
"Broken string. That makes things more difficult."
The hare is gone.
"Looks like it's run off into the treeline, tracks lead in this direction."
He follows into the dense forest with improbably silent steps, a long hunting knife drawn. The fresh tracks forming a straight line for hundreds of feet.
"That's unusual, it should have exhausted itself by now."
He continues on with caution. Slowly the trees begin to recede, as what appears to be a den becomes gravely apparent. As he reaches the centre of a large clearing the tracks suddenly stop.
"No more tracks..."
As he analyses the dirt, what appears to be a large claw mark screams at his senses, along with several fresh blood droplets.
"Blood, and a scratch. But where's the body?"
A haunted look appears on his face.
"This was a mistake... I need to leave, now!"
He begins to retreat, as a single drop of blood falls upon his hand.
| |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | I'm not a writer and english isn't even my native language, but I'm gonna be sitting in this fucking room for 4 more hours. Gotta do something to pass the time. Fuck it
It was Phineas who had come up with the idea for the machine. Candace's body was beyong repair. That was certain. The idea had sounded ridiculous at first, but the more he had thought about it, the more he thought it might just work.
They had built time machines before. It wouldn't be much different. The machine would take an object on the table, follow the object back through time, and replace the current object with the same object from the past. They knew it would kill Candace in an alternate universe, but their grief was greater than the guilt. The tricky part was making the machine recognize properties such as memory to transfer them from the current version to the old version.
They had tested it on rats, though. They marked the rats with a red circle, erased the mark, showed them the way through the maze, killed them, set the time machine to the point in time where the rats were still marked, and brought them back. It worked then, so it should work now.
________________________________
"When she wakes, what do you think she'll say? Will she thank us?" Doubt was starting to grow in Phineas, he knew. Ferb felt it too. "Depends." He never took his eyes off her. "What she has seen."
After trying to stop them had proved hopeless, their friends had left the garden. Screaming to Phineas not to do it, Buffard had to drag Isabelle with them. Good on them. Phineas and Ferb didn't need them. They never had. All they ever did was ride the fun the brothers made. Yet Ferb could tell it didn't sit well with his brother. Isabella's screams had planted the seeds of doubt in Phineas, and he could see them grow in his eyes. "Fuck them." Ferb said. "They have never lost their sister. They don't know the feeling. The guilt. We don't need them. It was us from the beginning. We did everything. We didn't need them then, and we don't need them now." Phineas lied agreement, but his eyes betrayed him.
Ferb looked at him, jaw clenching. "Are you ready?" His triangular headed brother looked back at him, and took a swift pause before nodding. It was time.
Phineas studied the corpse. In his eyes was a flux of emotions. The one that spoke the most was fear. A silence filled the garden, as if the birds knew. He lay his finger on the button, and saw the tears in Phineas' eyes. A reassuring "Hey" sent his worried eyes down. "Chin up, brother. Soon we will have our sister back. This is a happy moment." Phineas closed his eyes briefly, and opened them back at Ferb. "I don't have a chin." He reminded Ferb, as he finally found half a smile again. "Press the button."
Shaking, Ferb pressed the button. As the machine started, Phineas was as pale as their sister's corpse. Ferb knew he looked the same. The humming of the machine raised the hair in his neck. He felt a sickening feeling he had never felt before. It was an unnatural feeling.
When the machine stopped, so did the world. For a moment there was a doubt that the machine had failed. He felt a strange mix of sadness and relief. But then she moved. It was only a twitch of the finger, but it was enough. She was back.
Her eyes opened in a sudden wake of horror. Her chest twitching in an unnatural way, trying desperately to breathe. She was weeping. Though her eyes were open, she looked as dead as before. A different sort of dead.
Phineas turned around to retch. "Candice." Ferb said, as a happiness filled him. It was an ill happiness. It didn't feel right. It didn't feel normal, but he was happy all the same. Candace was back.
She never seemed to have heard him. "Candice, it's alright. We brought you back! You were gone, but we brought you back. You were dead! It was our fault. It was our fault and we're sorry, so, so sorry! But now we've brought you back!"
"Back..." her mouth sighed, puzzling what the word meant.
After it got through to him hat she lived, he asked her the question. "Candace." Doubt started to creep up on him, but he had to ask. Ferb trembled as he considered what he was about to do. It was the oldest question of all. For thousands of years, mankind had been asking the same question, and he was about to get the answer. He switched off his mind to let his mouth speak. "What did you see?"
Her eyes shifted to absolute terror when she heard the question. A fear like he had never seen before plagued her eyes. Her limp body began to shiver as it realized it was back. "Fire... Fire was the world... The dead... His eyes. His evil eyes... No... Please... No more of the black eyes..." Ferb's heart sank to his stomach as it dawned on him what he was hearing. The world seemed a dream. He could not speak, yet he heard himself ask what he didn't want to know. "Whose eyes?"
"He... The dark one... The demon... He who has been dead forever... His eyes. HIS EYES." and then the world went quiet. Her shivering had stopped, and her eyes had gone still. Her breath she had fought so hard for escaped her body like the ghost of her second life.
Ferb noticed that Phineas was lying on the ground, and in that moment he felt nothing. He was empty. He didn't think, he didn't weep. He stared, but he didn't see.
His brother had had the mercy of not hearing her. He was spared. Ferb was not, though. What he had heard, what candace had said, noone could know. He could not impose this on the world. He knew he would not be able to bear life. Not anymore, knowing what was coming. He would just have to cope. To figure out a way.
Carrying Phineas to his bed had been tough. Twice he had nearly dropped him off the stairs. That night, as he pretended to sleep, he pondered. He pondered what he was gonna see soon. He pondered whether there was another place. An opposite to the place candace talked about, before she died again. Phineas and Ferb. There were two of them, maybe there were two endings.
He could not explain what he felt. Regret came closest. Their friends knew what they had done. They had to forget. He had to make them, somehow. He looked at the machine from his window. It didn't feel right, but he had to. It was his only option.
All he had to do was to reprogram the machine to manipulate his own reality, leave the object in the past, yet still transfer the memories from the present. The robot that had returned to kill candice was one of their first inventions, so he knew what it would mean. He had to erase his entire life from that point, so many years ago, to today. He had to. He had to stop them from building the robot. He knew he couldn't program the machine to only transfer select memories. He knew he couldn't leave it behind. That was his sacrifice. There was no other option.
Gently, he carried Candice's corpse off the table. With tears in his sore eyes, he layed himself down on the table. He could just reach the button. As he pressed it, he gave his last good byes to the life he was about to leave behind. "Good bye, world. Good bye, life. I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, and felt the world fade.
His second life was different. He still managed to find short moments of happiness here and there. He was not the same Ferb, though. Most of his life was spent inside his own head. Battleing his demons, pondering that which had never happend. It was real once, though. He knew the butterfly effect would prevent him from meeting the same friends he had in his first life. He knew it was all lost.
Keeping the secrets was tough. He couldn't tell Phineas, that was out of the question. As a result, he never felt as close to him anymore as he had before. He seemed half a stranger.
Days went by, and soon weeks. Months followed weeks, and years them. At night, he often looked at the stars. Everybody he knew looked different after he went back. Even the tree looked different. Reversing all the aging over those years, the world around him felt strange. Not his place. The stars hadn't. The stars were still the same they had always been.
Sometimes he wondered if it had been real. If it hadn't all just been a dream. A dream that seemed too real. He knew the answer, yet he liked to wonder all the same. It was the only thing that seemed to bring a little bit of hope to his inevitable fate.
Maybe it was a dream. Or maybe it was not. Those were the thoughts he pondered. Keeping him up at night, brooding on death beneath the stars. Those were his demons. His dark one. He lived a full life. He married, got kids, had a job, and eventually retired. His last years he spent in a little house, far away from the city and it's many lights. There, the night was clear, and he could see only the stars.
He had never been the same since the incident. He had lived his new life to the end, but Ferb had died at the beginning. *I am the dark one* he told himself. *I am the one who has been dead forever.* | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/phineasandferb] [A Phineas and Ferb writing prompt is at the top of \/r\/WritingPrompts.](https://np.reddit.com/r/phineasandferb/comments/4rhm8g/a_phineas_and_ferb_writing_prompt_is_at_the_top/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | There's been a hundred or more days
Since summer vacation,
For our sister, abruptly ended.
And the suffering of our mom
Is our inspiration
For finding a new way to mend it.
Like maybe...
Building a tall crypt;
Or spending our money
On people claiming psychic power.
Summoning something that shouldn't exist (Hey!)
To bring our sister back her final hour.
Holding a noisy wake,
Creating nanobots
To inject into Candace's brain (it's over here)
Finding an elixir
To resurrect our sister
Is starting to drive us insane (Phineas?!)
As you can see,
There's a whole lot of stuff to do
To bring her soul back from the fall (C'mon scaredy)
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Are gonna do them all
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Will hold a seance in the hall (... ... .)
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/phineasandferb] [A Phineas and Ferb writing prompt is at the top of \/r\/WritingPrompts.](https://np.reddit.com/r/phineasandferb/comments/4rhm8g/a_phineas_and_ferb_writing_prompt_is_at_the_top/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | The rain fell hard against their hunched backs, as the brothers peered down at the polished wooden surface of Candace's coffin. Phineas turned his horribly misshapen head to face his brother. He could see a pain in the boy's face, a pain that cut deep into his soul. No rain, no matter how hard, would clear the pain away.
"Ferb.." He put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder, pulling him around to meet his own gaze. "I know what we are going to do today."
From his pocket, he withdrew their last moment. Ferb's lifeless eyes began to fill with tears as he saw what his brother offered, the path that they would take. He took one of the pills from Phineas's hand, before the rain could destroy the coating.
"What then, would we do tomorrow, should there be anything beyond the end?" Ferb asked Phineas as his tears joined the rain streaming down his face.
"We'll meet tomorrow together, if that is where our journey takes us." Said Phineas, as he placed the pill beneath his tongue.
===================================================
Edit: Honestly hurt by the downvote. | The grave glistened in the summer downpour. The golden inlayed message staring back at the brothers, the motif reading 'taken too soon, loving sister, beautiful soul" Ferb closed his eyes and reminisced, the drops of rain coating his ebony hair with a glimmering sheen. He tipped his head skyward and opened his eyes, tears and raindrops collided in a tango of melancholy reflection. He reached out his arm and rested his palm on his brothers shoulder
"Today Phineas, we finish what she started, we will show her the world she was robbed of, we will show her the highest peaks and the deepest oceans, through our souls and hearts she will never die"
The tumbling broth of grey clouds parted for an instant as the golden hue of the Suns rays illuminated the grave. The grass danced in the breeze and the moisture polished the field in a shade of elegant emerald. The brothers shared a passionate embrace swallowing their grief and began the long journey of replacing their loss, with pride. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | And so they did.
The museum wasn't open this time of the day but who cared? The blew a hole into the side and went in, stunning the guards who tried to stop them.
Getting the machine operational was child's play, literally. This time their were no grins though. And no Fireside girls to assist. This was a family matter.
They took their places in the machine. "For Candace" Ferb said solemnly. Phineas pulled the lever.
They had debated what to do. Should they just destroy the machine? Should they kill their younger selves? No prize seemed to high anymore.
In the end, they just talked. About taking risks. About weird coincidences they never investigated. About safety precautions. About dumb luck and irresponsibility.
They knew it worked when the two slightly older versions popped out of existence.
They left two very distraught and troubled boys behind.
Phineas and Ferb were depressed for a weak, silent and unwilling to do anything, worrying their family and friends immensely. They clung to their sister, who at first was confused, annoyed and suspicious and grew more and more scared as time went on. What had happened?
In the end they told their friends. And finally, their family. They "busted" themselves but Candace couldn't bring herself to enjoy the occasion.
The summer, formerly filled with adventure and laughter was now filled with therapy and family time.
It took time, but eventually Phineas and Ferb would start up their projects again. In a government provided space, under adult supervision. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, though they did a few projects with their friends at the side.
It was worth it though.
For Candace. | The grave glistened in the summer downpour. The golden inlayed message staring back at the brothers, the motif reading 'taken too soon, loving sister, beautiful soul" Ferb closed his eyes and reminisced, the drops of rain coating his ebony hair with a glimmering sheen. He tipped his head skyward and opened his eyes, tears and raindrops collided in a tango of melancholy reflection. He reached out his arm and rested his palm on his brothers shoulder
"Today Phineas, we finish what she started, we will show her the world she was robbed of, we will show her the highest peaks and the deepest oceans, through our souls and hearts she will never die"
The tumbling broth of grey clouds parted for an instant as the golden hue of the Suns rays illuminated the grave. The grass danced in the breeze and the moisture polished the field in a shade of elegant emerald. The brothers shared a passionate embrace swallowing their grief and began the long journey of replacing their loss, with pride. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | There's been a hundred or more days
Since summer vacation,
For our sister, abruptly ended.
And the suffering of our mom
Is our inspiration
For finding a new way to mend it.
Like maybe...
Building a tall crypt;
Or spending our money
On people claiming psychic power.
Summoning something that shouldn't exist (Hey!)
To bring our sister back her final hour.
Holding a noisy wake,
Creating nanobots
To inject into Candace's brain (it's over here)
Finding an elixir
To resurrect our sister
Is starting to drive us insane (Phineas?!)
As you can see,
There's a whole lot of stuff to do
To bring her soul back from the fall (C'mon scaredy)
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Are gonna do them all
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Will hold a seance in the hall (... ... .)
| The grave glistened in the summer downpour. The golden inlayed message staring back at the brothers, the motif reading 'taken too soon, loving sister, beautiful soul" Ferb closed his eyes and reminisced, the drops of rain coating his ebony hair with a glimmering sheen. He tipped his head skyward and opened his eyes, tears and raindrops collided in a tango of melancholy reflection. He reached out his arm and rested his palm on his brothers shoulder
"Today Phineas, we finish what she started, we will show her the world she was robbed of, we will show her the highest peaks and the deepest oceans, through our souls and hearts she will never die"
The tumbling broth of grey clouds parted for an instant as the golden hue of the Suns rays illuminated the grave. The grass danced in the breeze and the moisture polished the field in a shade of elegant emerald. The brothers shared a passionate embrace swallowing their grief and began the long journey of replacing their loss, with pride. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | *[Scene: EXT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ APARTMENT, EAST SIDE]*
MUSIC: Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated!
> Producer's Note: Scene is best served with Evil Jingle re-recorded in C-minor scale.
*[Scene: INT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ MAIN LABORATORY. A doorbell rings. DOOFENSHMIRTZ walks toward the door using crutches.]*
DOOF: [Yelling] Hold on, Perry the Platypus! It's not easy to get around with broken kneecaps, you know!
NORM: [Offscreen] I could always carry you, sir!
DOOF: Just keep welding, Norm! If Perry's here, that means we're behind schedule. [Doof. opens the door.] Would you mind waiting in the living room, Perry? This will just be another-
*[Doof. is met with a solid blow to the chest from a large, metallic glove. PAN SHOT of Doof. falling end over end to EXT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ BALCONY as NORM looks on. FERB enters, wearing the gloves. PHINEAS and BUFORD follow.]*
DOOF: [From floor] Hey, you're not Perry the Platypus!
PHINEAS: No. No, we aren't. [To Buford] Hold him down.
BUFORD: Gladly.
DOOF: Hey, hey, wait, what are you kids doing?
*[CUT TO Phineas and Ferb, eyes narrowed as Buford wrestles with Doof. Norm puts down welding torch in the background and stands, worried. A struggle is heard.]*
DOOF: [Offscreen] OW! Norm, get over here and restrain these kids!
NORM: Do not worry, sir! Norm is on the way-
*[Norm steps forward, only to be rendered inert by Phineas, who is holding a large remote. Norman falls, the light in his eyes fading to black. CUT TO Doof. visibly angry, as Buford keeps him forced into a kneeling position on the floor.]*
DOOF: What did you do to my robot? I could have you kids arrested for breaking and entering-
*[Ferb strides forward calmly and punches Doof. across the face.]*
> Producer's Note: Disney executives have forbade us from overtly showing blood/gore in the following scenes. ████ 'em.
DOOF: Augh! [Spits teeth, blood] What the hell, man?
PHINEAS: Candace Flynn. You know her?
DOOF: The red-haired girl? [Another punch] AAH! Yes! Yes, I knew her! She and my daughter were friends!
PHINEAS: Is that so? [Ferb punches Doof. in the gut] How does your daughter feel knowing that you killed her?
DOOF: [Labored breathing] That *I* killed her? [Another punch] STOP DOING THAT!
PHINEAS: That's enough, Ferb. [Buford drops Doof. as Ferb backs away.] You killed her with that Inator device you set loose in the Tri-State Area last month. You know, the one that also *set fire* to my *house?*
DOOF: But that wasn't your house, it was Perry- That was your house? You're Perry the Platypus' owner?
[Ferb moves to punch Doof. Phineas holds him back and gestures to Buford.
BUFORD: Alright, get up, old man.
DOOF: Hey, boys, I'm sure if we all just calmed down... [Buford forces Doof. to his feet.] Where are you taking me?
BUFORD: [Sarcastic] Someplace very far away, where no one will hear you scream. It's best not to ask questions. As you can tell, Dinner Bell and Beanpole McGee over here ain't very happy with you.
VANESSA: [Offscreen] Dad? *Ferb?*
[CUT TO VANESSA, wearing clothing in Candace's color scheme. ISABELLA is behind her, leaning in the doorway.]
> Producer's Note: The following conversations are played out concurrently, with overlap being heard clearly in the background. This scene will be recorded with all voice actors in the same room. Ignore all complaints of emotional distress from Thomas Sangster.
ISABELLA: Let him go, Buford.
PHINEAS: [To Isabella] Don't tell him what to do. You shouldn't be here.
VANESSA: [To Ferb] What did you do to my dad?
DOOF: [Slurring words] Vanessa? Is that you?
BUFORD: [To Vanessa] You should stay out of this, lady. It's not what it looks like.
ISABELLA: What are you doing, Phineas? This isn't like you. Leave this poor man alone.
VANESSA: [To Buford] Really? Because it looks to me like you just beat up my dad.
PHINEAS: He's not a poor man. I'm doing what needs to be done.
BUFORD: Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like. Regardless, a lady has better things to do than expose herself to violence-
VANESSA: Who do you think you are?
ISABELLA: What you *need* is to go to your family counseling sessions like your mom asks. She is *so worried* about you, Phineas.
BUFORD: I'm just a guy trying to help out a couple of friends. Is that so wrong?
PHINEAS: She'll be fine. *I'll* be fine. Just let me finish this.
VANESSA: Listen, you little twerp, you let go of my dad *right now-*
BUFORD: Hey, who you calling twerp?
DOOF: Vanessa, can you please call an ambulance? I think my ribs are broken. [Coughs.]
ISABELLA: No, Phineas. If I let you do what I think you're going to do, you will *not* be fine. Come home. Your mom is making snacks for us right now...
VANESSA: I'm calling *you* a twerp.
BUFORD: You wanna put your money where your mouth is? I ain't afraid to hit a girl!
VANESSA: And *I'm* not afraid to drop you off this *balcony* if you don't get your hands off my dad!
PHINEAS: *That's all she ever wants to do!* "Come on, Phineas, have a snack! Phineas, let's talk!" I'm sick of it! Talking is not going to solve the problem!
ISABELLA: I don't understand why you're being so *stubborn!*
BUFORD: I don't think you understand who you're dealing with!
VANESSA: *LET. GO.*
BUFORD: [To Ferb] Buddy, you better talk some sense into this broad before I knock her brains out!
PHINEAS: I am NOT being stubborn!
VANESSA: [To Ferb] And YOU! When did you get the idea that you needed giant metal boxing gloves to beat up my dad? Do you have *any* idea how *stupid* you're being right now?
ISABELLA: *YES YOU ARE!* I lost someone too, but you don't see me beating people within an inch of their lives!
PHINEAS: Well maybe you just didn't care about Gretchen the way I cared about Can-
[Isabella slaps Phineas. All conversation stops.]
> Producer's Note: Alyson has gone on record saying she refuses to slap Vincent during taping. Convince her otherwise.
BUFORD: Isabella...
VANESSA: *LET GO OF MY DAD!*
BUFORD: Alright already! [Buford acquiesces and walks over to Isabella and Phineas. Vanessa immediately begins tending to her father.] Isabella, I think you need to leave.
ISABELLA: Buford, if you let Phineas keep going like this, I swear to God-
BUFORD: We were just gonna rough him up a bit, that's all. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'm making sure things don't get out of hand.
ISABELLA: It still isn't healthy.
PHINEAS: Forget it. I'm done anyway. [To Ferb] Come on, let's go.
VANESSA: Oh, no you don't. I'm not finished with any of you. You guys are all staying here until the authorities arrive.
PHINEAS: [Idly] You can't keep us here.
VANESSA: No, but Perry will. Perry?
[PERRY enters, nervous, with fedora in hand.]
DOOF: Perry the Platypus, where were you five minutes ago? [Coughs] Your owners could have killed me!
[Perry ignores Doof. and types a message into his audio translator.]
PERRY: OWCA wants me to bring you two in. Don't make this harder than it has to be.
> Producer's Note: Still need to secure vocal talent for Perry's translator. Why hasn't Sean Connery returned our calls?
***
***
With apologies to Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh.
[Visit my sub!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub) [There MAY be more stories about young children with deceased family members?!?](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub/comments/40utyi/45_bedtime_stories/) | The grave glistened in the summer downpour. The golden inlayed message staring back at the brothers, the motif reading 'taken too soon, loving sister, beautiful soul" Ferb closed his eyes and reminisced, the drops of rain coating his ebony hair with a glimmering sheen. He tipped his head skyward and opened his eyes, tears and raindrops collided in a tango of melancholy reflection. He reached out his arm and rested his palm on his brothers shoulder
"Today Phineas, we finish what she started, we will show her the world she was robbed of, we will show her the highest peaks and the deepest oceans, through our souls and hearts she will never die"
The tumbling broth of grey clouds parted for an instant as the golden hue of the Suns rays illuminated the grave. The grass danced in the breeze and the moisture polished the field in a shade of elegant emerald. The brothers shared a passionate embrace swallowing their grief and began the long journey of replacing their loss, with pride. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | The Statement of Phineas Flynn
by
H.P. Lovecraft
It was in my 11th year that my constant cohort and step-brother Ferb Fletcher came to me graveside in our mutual grief over the death of our dearest sister, Candice, with the eldritch tome he had recently procured from the dusty stacks of Miskatonic University.
The book itself was unremarkable, save for the disquieting flaw in the leather cover that looked slightly like a face in agony. Ferb, laconic as ever, simply flipped the tome open upon the top of Candice's headstone and pointed to the phrase 'Sed morte morietur...' or "Even death may die...".
"Can it be?" I cried out, "Is this the Latin translation of the Mad Arab's work?"
"It is." my brother confirmed, "The *Necronomicon*."
I perused its pages and read the details of the ritual. Horrible in its implications, magnificent in its simplicity, the idea came to me. We would complete the ritual. We would bring Candice back. I would have my family whole again! I turned to Ferb and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..."
Ferb nodded, grimly, and we set out to find my dearest Isabella and her weirdly sisters, the Fireside Girls. After all, death cannot be defeated without the blood of the innocent....
| The grave glistened in the summer downpour. The golden inlayed message staring back at the brothers, the motif reading 'taken too soon, loving sister, beautiful soul" Ferb closed his eyes and reminisced, the drops of rain coating his ebony hair with a glimmering sheen. He tipped his head skyward and opened his eyes, tears and raindrops collided in a tango of melancholy reflection. He reached out his arm and rested his palm on his brothers shoulder
"Today Phineas, we finish what she started, we will show her the world she was robbed of, we will show her the highest peaks and the deepest oceans, through our souls and hearts she will never die"
The tumbling broth of grey clouds parted for an instant as the golden hue of the Suns rays illuminated the grave. The grass danced in the breeze and the moisture polished the field in a shade of elegant emerald. The brothers shared a passionate embrace swallowing their grief and began the long journey of replacing their loss, with pride. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | And so they did.
The museum wasn't open this time of the day but who cared? The blew a hole into the side and went in, stunning the guards who tried to stop them.
Getting the machine operational was child's play, literally. This time their were no grins though. And no Fireside girls to assist. This was a family matter.
They took their places in the machine. "For Candace" Ferb said solemnly. Phineas pulled the lever.
They had debated what to do. Should they just destroy the machine? Should they kill their younger selves? No prize seemed to high anymore.
In the end, they just talked. About taking risks. About weird coincidences they never investigated. About safety precautions. About dumb luck and irresponsibility.
They knew it worked when the two slightly older versions popped out of existence.
They left two very distraught and troubled boys behind.
Phineas and Ferb were depressed for a weak, silent and unwilling to do anything, worrying their family and friends immensely. They clung to their sister, who at first was confused, annoyed and suspicious and grew more and more scared as time went on. What had happened?
In the end they told their friends. And finally, their family. They "busted" themselves but Candace couldn't bring herself to enjoy the occasion.
The summer, formerly filled with adventure and laughter was now filled with therapy and family time.
It took time, but eventually Phineas and Ferb would start up their projects again. In a government provided space, under adult supervision. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, though they did a few projects with their friends at the side.
It was worth it though.
For Candace. | The rain fell hard against their hunched backs, as the brothers peered down at the polished wooden surface of Candace's coffin. Phineas turned his horribly misshapen head to face his brother. He could see a pain in the boy's face, a pain that cut deep into his soul. No rain, no matter how hard, would clear the pain away.
"Ferb.." He put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder, pulling him around to meet his own gaze. "I know what we are going to do today."
From his pocket, he withdrew their last moment. Ferb's lifeless eyes began to fill with tears as he saw what his brother offered, the path that they would take. He took one of the pills from Phineas's hand, before the rain could destroy the coating.
"What then, would we do tomorrow, should there be anything beyond the end?" Ferb asked Phineas as his tears joined the rain streaming down his face.
"We'll meet tomorrow together, if that is where our journey takes us." Said Phineas, as he placed the pill beneath his tongue.
===================================================
Edit: Honestly hurt by the downvote. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | There's been a hundred or more days
Since summer vacation,
For our sister, abruptly ended.
And the suffering of our mom
Is our inspiration
For finding a new way to mend it.
Like maybe...
Building a tall crypt;
Or spending our money
On people claiming psychic power.
Summoning something that shouldn't exist (Hey!)
To bring our sister back her final hour.
Holding a noisy wake,
Creating nanobots
To inject into Candace's brain (it's over here)
Finding an elixir
To resurrect our sister
Is starting to drive us insane (Phineas?!)
As you can see,
There's a whole lot of stuff to do
To bring her soul back from the fall (C'mon scaredy)
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Are gonna do them all
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Will hold a seance in the hall (... ... .)
| The rain fell hard against their hunched backs, as the brothers peered down at the polished wooden surface of Candace's coffin. Phineas turned his horribly misshapen head to face his brother. He could see a pain in the boy's face, a pain that cut deep into his soul. No rain, no matter how hard, would clear the pain away.
"Ferb.." He put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder, pulling him around to meet his own gaze. "I know what we are going to do today."
From his pocket, he withdrew their last moment. Ferb's lifeless eyes began to fill with tears as he saw what his brother offered, the path that they would take. He took one of the pills from Phineas's hand, before the rain could destroy the coating.
"What then, would we do tomorrow, should there be anything beyond the end?" Ferb asked Phineas as his tears joined the rain streaming down his face.
"We'll meet tomorrow together, if that is where our journey takes us." Said Phineas, as he placed the pill beneath his tongue.
===================================================
Edit: Honestly hurt by the downvote. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | *[Scene: EXT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ APARTMENT, EAST SIDE]*
MUSIC: Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated!
> Producer's Note: Scene is best served with Evil Jingle re-recorded in C-minor scale.
*[Scene: INT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ MAIN LABORATORY. A doorbell rings. DOOFENSHMIRTZ walks toward the door using crutches.]*
DOOF: [Yelling] Hold on, Perry the Platypus! It's not easy to get around with broken kneecaps, you know!
NORM: [Offscreen] I could always carry you, sir!
DOOF: Just keep welding, Norm! If Perry's here, that means we're behind schedule. [Doof. opens the door.] Would you mind waiting in the living room, Perry? This will just be another-
*[Doof. is met with a solid blow to the chest from a large, metallic glove. PAN SHOT of Doof. falling end over end to EXT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ BALCONY as NORM looks on. FERB enters, wearing the gloves. PHINEAS and BUFORD follow.]*
DOOF: [From floor] Hey, you're not Perry the Platypus!
PHINEAS: No. No, we aren't. [To Buford] Hold him down.
BUFORD: Gladly.
DOOF: Hey, hey, wait, what are you kids doing?
*[CUT TO Phineas and Ferb, eyes narrowed as Buford wrestles with Doof. Norm puts down welding torch in the background and stands, worried. A struggle is heard.]*
DOOF: [Offscreen] OW! Norm, get over here and restrain these kids!
NORM: Do not worry, sir! Norm is on the way-
*[Norm steps forward, only to be rendered inert by Phineas, who is holding a large remote. Norman falls, the light in his eyes fading to black. CUT TO Doof. visibly angry, as Buford keeps him forced into a kneeling position on the floor.]*
DOOF: What did you do to my robot? I could have you kids arrested for breaking and entering-
*[Ferb strides forward calmly and punches Doof. across the face.]*
> Producer's Note: Disney executives have forbade us from overtly showing blood/gore in the following scenes. ████ 'em.
DOOF: Augh! [Spits teeth, blood] What the hell, man?
PHINEAS: Candace Flynn. You know her?
DOOF: The red-haired girl? [Another punch] AAH! Yes! Yes, I knew her! She and my daughter were friends!
PHINEAS: Is that so? [Ferb punches Doof. in the gut] How does your daughter feel knowing that you killed her?
DOOF: [Labored breathing] That *I* killed her? [Another punch] STOP DOING THAT!
PHINEAS: That's enough, Ferb. [Buford drops Doof. as Ferb backs away.] You killed her with that Inator device you set loose in the Tri-State Area last month. You know, the one that also *set fire* to my *house?*
DOOF: But that wasn't your house, it was Perry- That was your house? You're Perry the Platypus' owner?
[Ferb moves to punch Doof. Phineas holds him back and gestures to Buford.
BUFORD: Alright, get up, old man.
DOOF: Hey, boys, I'm sure if we all just calmed down... [Buford forces Doof. to his feet.] Where are you taking me?
BUFORD: [Sarcastic] Someplace very far away, where no one will hear you scream. It's best not to ask questions. As you can tell, Dinner Bell and Beanpole McGee over here ain't very happy with you.
VANESSA: [Offscreen] Dad? *Ferb?*
[CUT TO VANESSA, wearing clothing in Candace's color scheme. ISABELLA is behind her, leaning in the doorway.]
> Producer's Note: The following conversations are played out concurrently, with overlap being heard clearly in the background. This scene will be recorded with all voice actors in the same room. Ignore all complaints of emotional distress from Thomas Sangster.
ISABELLA: Let him go, Buford.
PHINEAS: [To Isabella] Don't tell him what to do. You shouldn't be here.
VANESSA: [To Ferb] What did you do to my dad?
DOOF: [Slurring words] Vanessa? Is that you?
BUFORD: [To Vanessa] You should stay out of this, lady. It's not what it looks like.
ISABELLA: What are you doing, Phineas? This isn't like you. Leave this poor man alone.
VANESSA: [To Buford] Really? Because it looks to me like you just beat up my dad.
PHINEAS: He's not a poor man. I'm doing what needs to be done.
BUFORD: Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like. Regardless, a lady has better things to do than expose herself to violence-
VANESSA: Who do you think you are?
ISABELLA: What you *need* is to go to your family counseling sessions like your mom asks. She is *so worried* about you, Phineas.
BUFORD: I'm just a guy trying to help out a couple of friends. Is that so wrong?
PHINEAS: She'll be fine. *I'll* be fine. Just let me finish this.
VANESSA: Listen, you little twerp, you let go of my dad *right now-*
BUFORD: Hey, who you calling twerp?
DOOF: Vanessa, can you please call an ambulance? I think my ribs are broken. [Coughs.]
ISABELLA: No, Phineas. If I let you do what I think you're going to do, you will *not* be fine. Come home. Your mom is making snacks for us right now...
VANESSA: I'm calling *you* a twerp.
BUFORD: You wanna put your money where your mouth is? I ain't afraid to hit a girl!
VANESSA: And *I'm* not afraid to drop you off this *balcony* if you don't get your hands off my dad!
PHINEAS: *That's all she ever wants to do!* "Come on, Phineas, have a snack! Phineas, let's talk!" I'm sick of it! Talking is not going to solve the problem!
ISABELLA: I don't understand why you're being so *stubborn!*
BUFORD: I don't think you understand who you're dealing with!
VANESSA: *LET. GO.*
BUFORD: [To Ferb] Buddy, you better talk some sense into this broad before I knock her brains out!
PHINEAS: I am NOT being stubborn!
VANESSA: [To Ferb] And YOU! When did you get the idea that you needed giant metal boxing gloves to beat up my dad? Do you have *any* idea how *stupid* you're being right now?
ISABELLA: *YES YOU ARE!* I lost someone too, but you don't see me beating people within an inch of their lives!
PHINEAS: Well maybe you just didn't care about Gretchen the way I cared about Can-
[Isabella slaps Phineas. All conversation stops.]
> Producer's Note: Alyson has gone on record saying she refuses to slap Vincent during taping. Convince her otherwise.
BUFORD: Isabella...
VANESSA: *LET GO OF MY DAD!*
BUFORD: Alright already! [Buford acquiesces and walks over to Isabella and Phineas. Vanessa immediately begins tending to her father.] Isabella, I think you need to leave.
ISABELLA: Buford, if you let Phineas keep going like this, I swear to God-
BUFORD: We were just gonna rough him up a bit, that's all. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'm making sure things don't get out of hand.
ISABELLA: It still isn't healthy.
PHINEAS: Forget it. I'm done anyway. [To Ferb] Come on, let's go.
VANESSA: Oh, no you don't. I'm not finished with any of you. You guys are all staying here until the authorities arrive.
PHINEAS: [Idly] You can't keep us here.
VANESSA: No, but Perry will. Perry?
[PERRY enters, nervous, with fedora in hand.]
DOOF: Perry the Platypus, where were you five minutes ago? [Coughs] Your owners could have killed me!
[Perry ignores Doof. and types a message into his audio translator.]
PERRY: OWCA wants me to bring you two in. Don't make this harder than it has to be.
> Producer's Note: Still need to secure vocal talent for Perry's translator. Why hasn't Sean Connery returned our calls?
***
***
With apologies to Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh.
[Visit my sub!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub) [There MAY be more stories about young children with deceased family members?!?](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub/comments/40utyi/45_bedtime_stories/) | The rain fell hard against their hunched backs, as the brothers peered down at the polished wooden surface of Candace's coffin. Phineas turned his horribly misshapen head to face his brother. He could see a pain in the boy's face, a pain that cut deep into his soul. No rain, no matter how hard, would clear the pain away.
"Ferb.." He put a hand on his brother's tense shoulder, pulling him around to meet his own gaze. "I know what we are going to do today."
From his pocket, he withdrew their last moment. Ferb's lifeless eyes began to fill with tears as he saw what his brother offered, the path that they would take. He took one of the pills from Phineas's hand, before the rain could destroy the coating.
"What then, would we do tomorrow, should there be anything beyond the end?" Ferb asked Phineas as his tears joined the rain streaming down his face.
"We'll meet tomorrow together, if that is where our journey takes us." Said Phineas, as he placed the pill beneath his tongue.
===================================================
Edit: Honestly hurt by the downvote. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | There's been a hundred or more days
Since summer vacation,
For our sister, abruptly ended.
And the suffering of our mom
Is our inspiration
For finding a new way to mend it.
Like maybe...
Building a tall crypt;
Or spending our money
On people claiming psychic power.
Summoning something that shouldn't exist (Hey!)
To bring our sister back her final hour.
Holding a noisy wake,
Creating nanobots
To inject into Candace's brain (it's over here)
Finding an elixir
To resurrect our sister
Is starting to drive us insane (Phineas?!)
As you can see,
There's a whole lot of stuff to do
To bring her soul back from the fall (C'mon scaredy)
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Are gonna do them all
So stick with us cuz Phineas and Ferb
Will hold a seance in the hall (... ... .)
| And so they did.
The museum wasn't open this time of the day but who cared? The blew a hole into the side and went in, stunning the guards who tried to stop them.
Getting the machine operational was child's play, literally. This time their were no grins though. And no Fireside girls to assist. This was a family matter.
They took their places in the machine. "For Candace" Ferb said solemnly. Phineas pulled the lever.
They had debated what to do. Should they just destroy the machine? Should they kill their younger selves? No prize seemed to high anymore.
In the end, they just talked. About taking risks. About weird coincidences they never investigated. About safety precautions. About dumb luck and irresponsibility.
They knew it worked when the two slightly older versions popped out of existence.
They left two very distraught and troubled boys behind.
Phineas and Ferb were depressed for a weak, silent and unwilling to do anything, worrying their family and friends immensely. They clung to their sister, who at first was confused, annoyed and suspicious and grew more and more scared as time went on. What had happened?
In the end they told their friends. And finally, their family. They "busted" themselves but Candace couldn't bring herself to enjoy the occasion.
The summer, formerly filled with adventure and laughter was now filled with therapy and family time.
It took time, but eventually Phineas and Ferb would start up their projects again. In a government provided space, under adult supervision. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, though they did a few projects with their friends at the side.
It was worth it though.
For Candace. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | *[Scene: EXT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ APARTMENT, EAST SIDE]*
MUSIC: Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated!
> Producer's Note: Scene is best served with Evil Jingle re-recorded in C-minor scale.
*[Scene: INT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ MAIN LABORATORY. A doorbell rings. DOOFENSHMIRTZ walks toward the door using crutches.]*
DOOF: [Yelling] Hold on, Perry the Platypus! It's not easy to get around with broken kneecaps, you know!
NORM: [Offscreen] I could always carry you, sir!
DOOF: Just keep welding, Norm! If Perry's here, that means we're behind schedule. [Doof. opens the door.] Would you mind waiting in the living room, Perry? This will just be another-
*[Doof. is met with a solid blow to the chest from a large, metallic glove. PAN SHOT of Doof. falling end over end to EXT. DOOFENSHMIRTZ BALCONY as NORM looks on. FERB enters, wearing the gloves. PHINEAS and BUFORD follow.]*
DOOF: [From floor] Hey, you're not Perry the Platypus!
PHINEAS: No. No, we aren't. [To Buford] Hold him down.
BUFORD: Gladly.
DOOF: Hey, hey, wait, what are you kids doing?
*[CUT TO Phineas and Ferb, eyes narrowed as Buford wrestles with Doof. Norm puts down welding torch in the background and stands, worried. A struggle is heard.]*
DOOF: [Offscreen] OW! Norm, get over here and restrain these kids!
NORM: Do not worry, sir! Norm is on the way-
*[Norm steps forward, only to be rendered inert by Phineas, who is holding a large remote. Norman falls, the light in his eyes fading to black. CUT TO Doof. visibly angry, as Buford keeps him forced into a kneeling position on the floor.]*
DOOF: What did you do to my robot? I could have you kids arrested for breaking and entering-
*[Ferb strides forward calmly and punches Doof. across the face.]*
> Producer's Note: Disney executives have forbade us from overtly showing blood/gore in the following scenes. ████ 'em.
DOOF: Augh! [Spits teeth, blood] What the hell, man?
PHINEAS: Candace Flynn. You know her?
DOOF: The red-haired girl? [Another punch] AAH! Yes! Yes, I knew her! She and my daughter were friends!
PHINEAS: Is that so? [Ferb punches Doof. in the gut] How does your daughter feel knowing that you killed her?
DOOF: [Labored breathing] That *I* killed her? [Another punch] STOP DOING THAT!
PHINEAS: That's enough, Ferb. [Buford drops Doof. as Ferb backs away.] You killed her with that Inator device you set loose in the Tri-State Area last month. You know, the one that also *set fire* to my *house?*
DOOF: But that wasn't your house, it was Perry- That was your house? You're Perry the Platypus' owner?
[Ferb moves to punch Doof. Phineas holds him back and gestures to Buford.
BUFORD: Alright, get up, old man.
DOOF: Hey, boys, I'm sure if we all just calmed down... [Buford forces Doof. to his feet.] Where are you taking me?
BUFORD: [Sarcastic] Someplace very far away, where no one will hear you scream. It's best not to ask questions. As you can tell, Dinner Bell and Beanpole McGee over here ain't very happy with you.
VANESSA: [Offscreen] Dad? *Ferb?*
[CUT TO VANESSA, wearing clothing in Candace's color scheme. ISABELLA is behind her, leaning in the doorway.]
> Producer's Note: The following conversations are played out concurrently, with overlap being heard clearly in the background. This scene will be recorded with all voice actors in the same room. Ignore all complaints of emotional distress from Thomas Sangster.
ISABELLA: Let him go, Buford.
PHINEAS: [To Isabella] Don't tell him what to do. You shouldn't be here.
VANESSA: [To Ferb] What did you do to my dad?
DOOF: [Slurring words] Vanessa? Is that you?
BUFORD: [To Vanessa] You should stay out of this, lady. It's not what it looks like.
ISABELLA: What are you doing, Phineas? This isn't like you. Leave this poor man alone.
VANESSA: [To Buford] Really? Because it looks to me like you just beat up my dad.
PHINEAS: He's not a poor man. I'm doing what needs to be done.
BUFORD: Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like. Regardless, a lady has better things to do than expose herself to violence-
VANESSA: Who do you think you are?
ISABELLA: What you *need* is to go to your family counseling sessions like your mom asks. She is *so worried* about you, Phineas.
BUFORD: I'm just a guy trying to help out a couple of friends. Is that so wrong?
PHINEAS: She'll be fine. *I'll* be fine. Just let me finish this.
VANESSA: Listen, you little twerp, you let go of my dad *right now-*
BUFORD: Hey, who you calling twerp?
DOOF: Vanessa, can you please call an ambulance? I think my ribs are broken. [Coughs.]
ISABELLA: No, Phineas. If I let you do what I think you're going to do, you will *not* be fine. Come home. Your mom is making snacks for us right now...
VANESSA: I'm calling *you* a twerp.
BUFORD: You wanna put your money where your mouth is? I ain't afraid to hit a girl!
VANESSA: And *I'm* not afraid to drop you off this *balcony* if you don't get your hands off my dad!
PHINEAS: *That's all she ever wants to do!* "Come on, Phineas, have a snack! Phineas, let's talk!" I'm sick of it! Talking is not going to solve the problem!
ISABELLA: I don't understand why you're being so *stubborn!*
BUFORD: I don't think you understand who you're dealing with!
VANESSA: *LET. GO.*
BUFORD: [To Ferb] Buddy, you better talk some sense into this broad before I knock her brains out!
PHINEAS: I am NOT being stubborn!
VANESSA: [To Ferb] And YOU! When did you get the idea that you needed giant metal boxing gloves to beat up my dad? Do you have *any* idea how *stupid* you're being right now?
ISABELLA: *YES YOU ARE!* I lost someone too, but you don't see me beating people within an inch of their lives!
PHINEAS: Well maybe you just didn't care about Gretchen the way I cared about Can-
[Isabella slaps Phineas. All conversation stops.]
> Producer's Note: Alyson has gone on record saying she refuses to slap Vincent during taping. Convince her otherwise.
BUFORD: Isabella...
VANESSA: *LET GO OF MY DAD!*
BUFORD: Alright already! [Buford acquiesces and walks over to Isabella and Phineas. Vanessa immediately begins tending to her father.] Isabella, I think you need to leave.
ISABELLA: Buford, if you let Phineas keep going like this, I swear to God-
BUFORD: We were just gonna rough him up a bit, that's all. Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about. I'm making sure things don't get out of hand.
ISABELLA: It still isn't healthy.
PHINEAS: Forget it. I'm done anyway. [To Ferb] Come on, let's go.
VANESSA: Oh, no you don't. I'm not finished with any of you. You guys are all staying here until the authorities arrive.
PHINEAS: [Idly] You can't keep us here.
VANESSA: No, but Perry will. Perry?
[PERRY enters, nervous, with fedora in hand.]
DOOF: Perry the Platypus, where were you five minutes ago? [Coughs] Your owners could have killed me!
[Perry ignores Doof. and types a message into his audio translator.]
PERRY: OWCA wants me to bring you two in. Don't make this harder than it has to be.
> Producer's Note: Still need to secure vocal talent for Perry's translator. Why hasn't Sean Connery returned our calls?
***
***
With apologies to Dan Povenmire and Jeff "Swampy" Marsh.
[Visit my sub!](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub) [There MAY be more stories about young children with deceased family members?!?](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCastriffSub/comments/40utyi/45_bedtime_stories/) | And so they did.
The museum wasn't open this time of the day but who cared? The blew a hole into the side and went in, stunning the guards who tried to stop them.
Getting the machine operational was child's play, literally. This time their were no grins though. And no Fireside girls to assist. This was a family matter.
They took their places in the machine. "For Candace" Ferb said solemnly. Phineas pulled the lever.
They had debated what to do. Should they just destroy the machine? Should they kill their younger selves? No prize seemed to high anymore.
In the end, they just talked. About taking risks. About weird coincidences they never investigated. About safety precautions. About dumb luck and irresponsibility.
They knew it worked when the two slightly older versions popped out of existence.
They left two very distraught and troubled boys behind.
Phineas and Ferb were depressed for a weak, silent and unwilling to do anything, worrying their family and friends immensely. They clung to their sister, who at first was confused, annoyed and suspicious and grew more and more scared as time went on. What had happened?
In the end they told their friends. And finally, their family. They "busted" themselves but Candace couldn't bring herself to enjoy the occasion.
The summer, formerly filled with adventure and laughter was now filled with therapy and family time.
It took time, but eventually Phineas and Ferb would start up their projects again. In a government provided space, under adult supervision. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, though they did a few projects with their friends at the side.
It was worth it though.
For Candace. | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | The Statement of Phineas Flynn
by
H.P. Lovecraft
It was in my 11th year that my constant cohort and step-brother Ferb Fletcher came to me graveside in our mutual grief over the death of our dearest sister, Candice, with the eldritch tome he had recently procured from the dusty stacks of Miskatonic University.
The book itself was unremarkable, save for the disquieting flaw in the leather cover that looked slightly like a face in agony. Ferb, laconic as ever, simply flipped the tome open upon the top of Candice's headstone and pointed to the phrase 'Sed morte morietur...' or "Even death may die...".
"Can it be?" I cried out, "Is this the Latin translation of the Mad Arab's work?"
"It is." my brother confirmed, "The *Necronomicon*."
I perused its pages and read the details of the ritual. Horrible in its implications, magnificent in its simplicity, the idea came to me. We would complete the ritual. We would bring Candice back. I would have my family whole again! I turned to Ferb and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..."
Ferb nodded, grimly, and we set out to find my dearest Isabella and her weirdly sisters, the Fireside Girls. After all, death cannot be defeated without the blood of the innocent....
| Phineas slid the magazine into the 1911 and pulled the slide back.
"We shouldn't do this Phin, you know she wouldn't want this!" Ferb pleaded.
"We have to. Are you in, or are you out?" Phineas asked.
Ferb looked at his feet and slowly nodded.
"Good."
Phineas pushed a pistol into Ferb's trembling hands and got into the car.
His hands gripped the steering wheel as they sped through the night. Phineas kept seeing Candace's face drifting in his mind. He pushed the gas pedal down harder.
"How do you even know it was him?" Ferb asked.
"I just do."
"But how?"
Phineas glared at his step-brother.
"No I need you to tell me. Right now Phineas!" Ferb shouted.
"Perry told me. Perry told me everything alright! It was right in front of us the whole time." Phineas punched the steering wheel.
Ferb stared in silence for a second, then nodded.
The car sped up the winding mountain toward the lone building that sat a top it. Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz's laboratory.
"This is a bad idea..." Ferb to himself.
A black wrought iron gate stretched across the road in front of them. Phineas hit the gas and the car struck the gate tearing it off of its hinges.
"Holy shit Phineas!"
Phineas cranked the wheel and slammed on the brakes stopping them in front of the steps to the lab.
Ferb sat in the car trembling.
"Stay in the car if you want, I will take care of this," Phineas said with a scowl and climbed out of the car.
Ferb was paralyzed. *How had it come to this? Everyday was supposed to be summer, a vacation, a paradise. But this...this was the end. Their innocence died with Candace. Was revenge really the answer? Would this bring her back? Would this salve the pain they felt? No. They both knew it wouldn't. But it never hurt to try.*
Ferb pushed open the door and chased after Phineas. Heinz was on his knees in the living room crying. Phineas held his gun to the Doctor's temple. Tears ran down the Doctor's face as he pleaded for his life.
"It wasn't me! I didn't do it!" he wept.
"I know it was you, and now you are going to know exactly how she must have felt."
"Please-!" the doctor's shout was interrupted by the gunshot.
Ferb watched the body collapse to the floor. Blood quickly pouring out of the gaping would in the skull.
"Let's go Ferb." Phineas said walking away from the corpse.
Ferb stared in disbelief. The fear, the regret, the shame kept him rooted in place.
"I'm so sorry Candace."
---
Pretty dark, but so is most of my stuff! Check out /r/Written4Reddit | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | "Now hand me a shovel."
***
"I know they build impossible things every day, but this is getting a little extreme," Baljeet whispered. Buford merely grunted, and went back to watching Phineas and Ferb madly building their latest contraption.
"Losing Candace was hard on them," Isabella reminded him. "You know know them. The answer is always to build something. But this? Yeah, they may be going too far."
"Would you two be quiet?" Buford's hoarse voice cut in. "Candace is gone, and they're bringing her back. Think about it. When have they ever built something that didn't work?"
His two friends stared at him for a few moments, before Isabella replied, "That's... a really good point, actually." Still, the worry remained on her face as she turned her attention back to the brothers.
"Tissue regeneration is nearing 100%!" Phineas called out. "How's the memory engram reconstruction going?" Ferb replied with a thumbs up. "Be careful," Phineas said shakily. "Cand-.... the brain tissue is too damaged to try this twice." Ferb paused, and gave his brother a look. "Yeah, you're right," said Phineas, resigned. "I'm just... it's never been this important, you know?" Ferb placed a hand on Phineas' shoulder, opened his mouth, and was promptly interrupted by a beeping coming from the machine.
Their friends all ran up, excited. "Is it done?" cried Isabella.
"Did it work?" Buford asked at the same time.
Phineas motioned for them all to step back, while Ferb pulled a lever. The domed panel in the middle of the machine let out a cloud of vapor, and slowly opened. Inside, reclined but nearly standing, was Candace. Weakly, she opened her eyes and slowly turned her head. "Ph... Phineas? Ferb? Wha... wha's going on?" Her words were slurred and quiet, as if waking from a very deep sleep.
"It worked!" Phineas yelled, and rushed up to his sister. "Candace? Are you okay?"
She very slowly began to move her limbs. Still groggy, she frowned. "Wha? What did you do? You're gonna be so..." she interrupted herself with a yawn, "sooo busted when I tell Mom!"
Phineas and Ferb both replied with a big hug. Then Phineas popped up and said, "Mom! I've got to go get her! Wait right here, Candace!" Stretching now and stepping out of the pod, the slowly waking Candace nodded.
"Mom? Mom!" Phineas rushed into the house. His mother sat in the unlit living room, staring at a blank TV. "Mom! You've got to come outside!"
"Please, Phineas. Just... not right now, okay?"
Frantic, Phineas took her by the hand. "Please, Mom! I promise it'll be great! Please!"
Suddenly, Ferb was standing in the doorway. "You won't be disappointed," he said simply.
"Oh... okay," she replied, and let Phineas lead the way.
Phineas was elated as he hurried to the back door. Following Ferb through it, he turned back to his Mom and added, "I promise, you'll love this." In the same moment there was a flash of light, and far in the distance was a voice crying, "Curse you, Perry the Platypus!"
"What was that, lightning?" Linda asked as her son practically dragged her into the yard. She nearly knocked him over, though, when he suddenly stopped. Finally looking out into the yard, she gasped. "Oh, boys! I can't believe you... it's so beautiful!" There before her, in the middle of the yard, stood a life-size statue of Candace made entirely out of flowers. There was another flower arrangement behind it, though that one she couldn't figure out.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, she sank to her knees. Phineas was already on his. Linda pulled her sons in for a tight, tearful hug. "Thank you, boys. Both of you. This is just... oh, you were right, Phineas. I love it!" | Phineas slid the magazine into the 1911 and pulled the slide back.
"We shouldn't do this Phin, you know she wouldn't want this!" Ferb pleaded.
"We have to. Are you in, or are you out?" Phineas asked.
Ferb looked at his feet and slowly nodded.
"Good."
Phineas pushed a pistol into Ferb's trembling hands and got into the car.
His hands gripped the steering wheel as they sped through the night. Phineas kept seeing Candace's face drifting in his mind. He pushed the gas pedal down harder.
"How do you even know it was him?" Ferb asked.
"I just do."
"But how?"
Phineas glared at his step-brother.
"No I need you to tell me. Right now Phineas!" Ferb shouted.
"Perry told me. Perry told me everything alright! It was right in front of us the whole time." Phineas punched the steering wheel.
Ferb stared in silence for a second, then nodded.
The car sped up the winding mountain toward the lone building that sat a top it. Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz's laboratory.
"This is a bad idea..." Ferb to himself.
A black wrought iron gate stretched across the road in front of them. Phineas hit the gas and the car struck the gate tearing it off of its hinges.
"Holy shit Phineas!"
Phineas cranked the wheel and slammed on the brakes stopping them in front of the steps to the lab.
Ferb sat in the car trembling.
"Stay in the car if you want, I will take care of this," Phineas said with a scowl and climbed out of the car.
Ferb was paralyzed. *How had it come to this? Everyday was supposed to be summer, a vacation, a paradise. But this...this was the end. Their innocence died with Candace. Was revenge really the answer? Would this bring her back? Would this salve the pain they felt? No. They both knew it wouldn't. But it never hurt to try.*
Ferb pushed open the door and chased after Phineas. Heinz was on his knees in the living room crying. Phineas held his gun to the Doctor's temple. Tears ran down the Doctor's face as he pleaded for his life.
"It wasn't me! I didn't do it!" he wept.
"I know it was you, and now you are going to know exactly how she must have felt."
"Please-!" the doctor's shout was interrupted by the gunshot.
Ferb watched the body collapse to the floor. Blood quickly pouring out of the gaping would in the skull.
"Let's go Ferb." Phineas said walking away from the corpse.
Ferb stared in disbelief. The fear, the regret, the shame kept him rooted in place.
"I'm so sorry Candace."
---
Pretty dark, but so is most of my stuff! Check out /r/Written4Reddit | |
[WP] Both brothers stood over their sister Candice's grave. Sad and angry, Phineas turned to his bother and said, "Ferb, I know what we are going to do today..." | Phineas turned his back on Candace's grave and began walking away. Ferb called out to him, "What if we're wrong, Phineas?"
"You know we're not," Phineas breathed through clenched teeth. "Where's Perry?"
*****
For years, the boys had watched their imagination come to life, only to dissolve at the last moment. The moment just before their mother could look up or walk around the corner. It had always been harmless fun, an oddity they were comfortable with in the context of an endless summer. No harm, no foul. Tomorrow was another opportunity to do it all over again.
But this summer was different.
They could tell something was wrong from the very first day of summer this year. An enormous water slide had exploded just as their mother, Linda, was pulling into the driveway. But this time the explosion threw an errant screw at Ferb, cutting him across the cheek. The sound of Isabella's scream sent Linda racing into the backyard, first aid kit prepped and readied.
Ferb looked at his mother first. Then at Phineas. Then through him.
They both felt it. Fear.
The boys were accident-prone for the first time in their lives. Buford and Baljeet stopped coming over within the first week. Isabella stayed longer, but refused to come by after week four. It was just too dangerous. Candace was the only one who stayed to watch any more, caught between wanting to bust her brothers and wanting to know what was different.
No matter what they were doing, at some point, their contraptions would explode or misbehave or otherwise change in an attempt to kill one of the brothers. Quick thinking and engineering had saved their lives each and every day so far, though not without injury. They started to plan out their contraptions, testing for intent, attempting to discern who was behind the attacks. In the end, they could only come up with one suspect: Perry, their pet platypus.
Every day Perry would disappear for hours on end, only to reappear moments after the boys had cheated death once more. Yesterday, the boys had confronted Perry. They restrained him in an elaborate contraption and interrogated him for hours while their mother was out. Nothing. Every question, every accusation, nothing came from their platypus. The only movement he ever made was a glancing look of desperation towards a small fedora in the corner.
Exasperated, the boys released Perry from his bindings when they heard the garage door open and their mother arriving at home. Perry wasted no time and dove straight at Phineas, knocking him to the ground. The restraining device that had previously held Perry exploded, and a sharp metallic edge flew directly at the spot where Phineas had been a moment earlier.
Candace had been standing behind him.
Phineas and Ferb were sitting in Candace's room later that evening, their parents still speaking with police downstairs. "Get out of here, Perry," scolded Phineas when he saw Perry peeking out from the hallway. "I still know you're behind this somehow."
His mind made up, Perry donned his fedora, stood up, and stepped into Candace's room, shutting the door behind him. He divulged everything.
Phineas, Ferb, and Perry stayed up all night, shooing their parents away when they tried to come in. Tomorrow would be different.
*****
The shadow of Perry's fedora could be seen from behind a nearby tree. Phineas started walking towards it, with Ferb close behind. Perry passed each of them their backpacks before dropping into a tunnel.
Phineas looked back at his brother with a hardened look in his eyes, "Ferb, I know what we're going to do today."
"We're going to kill Doofenshmirtz," Ferb finished for him. | Phineas slid the magazine into the 1911 and pulled the slide back.
"We shouldn't do this Phin, you know she wouldn't want this!" Ferb pleaded.
"We have to. Are you in, or are you out?" Phineas asked.
Ferb looked at his feet and slowly nodded.
"Good."
Phineas pushed a pistol into Ferb's trembling hands and got into the car.
His hands gripped the steering wheel as they sped through the night. Phineas kept seeing Candace's face drifting in his mind. He pushed the gas pedal down harder.
"How do you even know it was him?" Ferb asked.
"I just do."
"But how?"
Phineas glared at his step-brother.
"No I need you to tell me. Right now Phineas!" Ferb shouted.
"Perry told me. Perry told me everything alright! It was right in front of us the whole time." Phineas punched the steering wheel.
Ferb stared in silence for a second, then nodded.
The car sped up the winding mountain toward the lone building that sat a top it. Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz's laboratory.
"This is a bad idea..." Ferb to himself.
A black wrought iron gate stretched across the road in front of them. Phineas hit the gas and the car struck the gate tearing it off of its hinges.
"Holy shit Phineas!"
Phineas cranked the wheel and slammed on the brakes stopping them in front of the steps to the lab.
Ferb sat in the car trembling.
"Stay in the car if you want, I will take care of this," Phineas said with a scowl and climbed out of the car.
Ferb was paralyzed. *How had it come to this? Everyday was supposed to be summer, a vacation, a paradise. But this...this was the end. Their innocence died with Candace. Was revenge really the answer? Would this bring her back? Would this salve the pain they felt? No. They both knew it wouldn't. But it never hurt to try.*
Ferb pushed open the door and chased after Phineas. Heinz was on his knees in the living room crying. Phineas held his gun to the Doctor's temple. Tears ran down the Doctor's face as he pleaded for his life.
"It wasn't me! I didn't do it!" he wept.
"I know it was you, and now you are going to know exactly how she must have felt."
"Please-!" the doctor's shout was interrupted by the gunshot.
Ferb watched the body collapse to the floor. Blood quickly pouring out of the gaping would in the skull.
"Let's go Ferb." Phineas said walking away from the corpse.
Ferb stared in disbelief. The fear, the regret, the shame kept him rooted in place.
"I'm so sorry Candace."
---
Pretty dark, but so is most of my stuff! Check out /r/Written4Reddit | |
[WP] You live alone with your parrot. It just said something you don't remember telling it. | Sarala looks up from her book, taking in the view from her window. She lives in what she likes to call 'Nowheresville', but what's actually a town on a couple of maps. Today is her day off, and she wants to spend it at home, relaxing, alone.
"Hi, I'm Larry!"
*Ugh.*
Once upon a time when Sarala was a young bookworm with no responsibilities, her mother had taken her out to lunch with a family friend. She was listening to music, reading the latest installment in her fantasy series, when she heard her name.
"Yes?" she said, tugging an earphone out.
"Oh, thank goodness!" the friend sighed.
She didn't realize it at the time, but Sarala had agreed to take care of her birds when she died.
Fast forward a few years. The friend died, and Sarala inherited the birds. It turned out that one of them was actually deathly ill. She heard from her mother that one of the birds wasn't eating properly. Sarala decided to take them to the vet for a proper check-up and some advice for a first-time bird owner.
The vet had advised to get the sick bird euthanized.
Why the friend never took the bird to the vet is beyond her, but Sarala is down one bird, and she was looking forward to the relaxing evening with a cup of chamomile tea and a book and--
"Hi, I'm Larry!"
-- Larry, the bird.
Sarala sips the sickly sweet concoction of unproperly brewed tea and too much sugar, staring at the *bird*en. "Hi, Larry," she mutters into her cup, taking her eyes from her window to the bird.
"Quick! Get out!"
Sarala instinctively fliches to look behind her, nearly knocking down her tea. There is no one there, naturally. She breathes. Sarala glares at her bird, wondering if Larry is getting the proper nutrients from his bird food.
"She's here! Hurry!"
"Larry, you're a crazy bird," she tells him. "Do you know that?" Sarala looks back out of her window when she realizes.
Sarala forgot to close the window before she left for work the day prior. The faeries that are much too common in Nowheresville must have decided to pay her -- or rather, Larry -- a visit. They are known to overstay their welcome and wait until the last possible second to escape undetected.
She muses about what her bird might have seen when she closes her window. | I couldn't believe my eyes. My parrot just said "Just like that baby", clear as a bright, sunny day.
You may be wondering why this would be so scary for me. Parrots can say any thing they want, right? Yes but the one rule about parrots is that they can only say what you say to them first....and I never said that.
I looked right at my parrot...Jimbo. He looked the same as usual. He looked at me, then looked at the ground and then he flew up onto the fridge. "Maybe I was just hallucinating" I was thinking...but then he said it again! "Just like that baby". My body broke out in cold shivers.
To my mind, there were 2 possibilities. 1: I had an intruder in my house, who had been coming here for a while and he said this to the parrot. But I didn't think this was possible because I would have seen an intruder breaking in my house. The other possibility was that this parrot was posessed or that something scary was going on. My body shivered violently at these thoughts like it was frozen.
I took a step a way from Jimbo. He was on the fridge and then like he was posessed, he put his head on the wall. What the heck? I decided that even if some thing weird was going on, I had to find out. I crept closer and my whole body was shaking. Jimbo's head was on the wall with his ear right up against it. I kept myself a way but did the same position.
I could hear next door 2 people were having sex. I felt like a giant wave of relief had ran over me. They were making the typical sounds of sex. So Jimbo must have put his ear right here and heard the neighbors making these sounds. They probably said "Just like that baby". That's why Jimbo said it.
And then I heard something that chilled me right to my bones. the neighbors were talking instead of making sounds now...but they were speaking Spanish!
* thank you. This is my 2nd story for prompts. Please leave comments on what you think. I will write 1 story every week for prompts.
| |
[WP] You live alone with your parrot. It just said something you don't remember telling it. | I guess when I bought Bird I was at my lowest point since Sean had passed. I was lonely, I couldn’t bring myself to interact with other people. I brought Bird and his cage and his jangling mirrored toys and birdseed home to my one bedroom apartment. Im not sure what I was expecting: a dazzling conversation partner? A cunning linguist? I knew you had to teach parrots to talk but Bird had his own plans. Birds plans consisted mostly of NOT repeating anything I said, no matter how many times I said it, projectile shitting between the bars of his massive condo of a cage and generally being an asshole…if birds can be assholes, which they definitely can be.
Secretly, I had hoped Bird might be some sort of substitute for Sean. Early on it was evident that this was not to be the case. Now I had a parrot that fucking hated me and a dead fiancée. I took to crying myself to sleep. Don’t you fucking know that this stupid Parrot decided that THIS is what he would mimic? I would wake up to the sound of my own pitiful sobs, leave for work while Bird wailed, come home eight hours later to my own weeping. It wore away at my already frazzled nerves. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, I didn’t want to live.
The night I decided to die, the stupid parrot was in the living room, shitting on my carpet and repeating my previous nights crying jag.
“Sean…” Bird wailed and sobbed, “I don’t think I can do this without you” he said in his parrot approximation of my voice followed by more crying. Then softer, “God I miss you...” I must have fallen asleep soon after that the night before as I could hear Bird approximating my after-hysterical-crying hiccups and soft snores.
Damn it, I was so pathetic! I was so intent on emptying every pill bottle in my medicine cabinet that I almost missed it.
His voice, Sean's voice...
Well no, Bird’s approximation of his voice.
“I miss you, too.” | I couldn't believe my eyes. My parrot just said "Just like that baby", clear as a bright, sunny day.
You may be wondering why this would be so scary for me. Parrots can say any thing they want, right? Yes but the one rule about parrots is that they can only say what you say to them first....and I never said that.
I looked right at my parrot...Jimbo. He looked the same as usual. He looked at me, then looked at the ground and then he flew up onto the fridge. "Maybe I was just hallucinating" I was thinking...but then he said it again! "Just like that baby". My body broke out in cold shivers.
To my mind, there were 2 possibilities. 1: I had an intruder in my house, who had been coming here for a while and he said this to the parrot. But I didn't think this was possible because I would have seen an intruder breaking in my house. The other possibility was that this parrot was posessed or that something scary was going on. My body shivered violently at these thoughts like it was frozen.
I took a step a way from Jimbo. He was on the fridge and then like he was posessed, he put his head on the wall. What the heck? I decided that even if some thing weird was going on, I had to find out. I crept closer and my whole body was shaking. Jimbo's head was on the wall with his ear right up against it. I kept myself a way but did the same position.
I could hear next door 2 people were having sex. I felt like a giant wave of relief had ran over me. They were making the typical sounds of sex. So Jimbo must have put his ear right here and heard the neighbors making these sounds. They probably said "Just like that baby". That's why Jimbo said it.
And then I heard something that chilled me right to my bones. the neighbors were talking instead of making sounds now...but they were speaking Spanish!
* thank you. This is my 2nd story for prompts. Please leave comments on what you think. I will write 1 story every week for prompts.
| |
[WP] You live alone with your parrot. It just said something you don't remember telling it. | I guess when I bought Bird I was at my lowest point since Sean had passed. I was lonely, I couldn’t bring myself to interact with other people. I brought Bird and his cage and his jangling mirrored toys and birdseed home to my one bedroom apartment. Im not sure what I was expecting: a dazzling conversation partner? A cunning linguist? I knew you had to teach parrots to talk but Bird had his own plans. Birds plans consisted mostly of NOT repeating anything I said, no matter how many times I said it, projectile shitting between the bars of his massive condo of a cage and generally being an asshole…if birds can be assholes, which they definitely can be.
Secretly, I had hoped Bird might be some sort of substitute for Sean. Early on it was evident that this was not to be the case. Now I had a parrot that fucking hated me and a dead fiancée. I took to crying myself to sleep. Don’t you fucking know that this stupid Parrot decided that THIS is what he would mimic? I would wake up to the sound of my own pitiful sobs, leave for work while Bird wailed, come home eight hours later to my own weeping. It wore away at my already frazzled nerves. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, I didn’t want to live.
The night I decided to die, the stupid parrot was in the living room, shitting on my carpet and repeating my previous nights crying jag.
“Sean…” Bird wailed and sobbed, “I don’t think I can do this without you” he said in his parrot approximation of my voice followed by more crying. Then softer, “God I miss you...” I must have fallen asleep soon after that the night before as I could hear Bird approximating my after-hysterical-crying hiccups and soft snores.
Damn it, I was so pathetic! I was so intent on emptying every pill bottle in my medicine cabinet that I almost missed it.
His voice, Sean's voice...
Well no, Bird’s approximation of his voice.
“I miss you, too.” | "SQUAAWWKKK July 8 2016"
"SQUAAAAWWWKKK July 8 2016"
he was a relatively quiet parakeet, usually would just mimic my ringtone when he heard the phone ring or make whistling noises when he got hungry, until about a month ago when he started repeating this date.
I didn't know where he learned it. I rarely watch tv or have company over. Im someone you would consider a loner, but I like it that way, and I read online a bird would be a good companion for a hermit like me.
I got him a year ago from a shelter, he was rescued when they found his previous owner deceased in her room at an elderly care facility. She was an eighty year old with degenerative Alzheimer's and her family specifically chose the facility due to the fact they admitted patients who had pets. That's all the information the shelter had about where the bird came from.
I called the shelter to get some more information about the previous owner but to no avail. All they could give me was the name of the elderly care facility and the name of the previous owner. Sandra Mackenzie patient #1867 at Fairmont Home for the Elderly, London Ontario Canada.
I looked up facility and called the phone number and a bubbly receptionist answered.
"Hello, I'm trying to get some information about a patient of yours, Mrs. Mackenzie patient #1867" curiously I asked.
"Mrs. Mackenzie, yes, she currently in a physio therapy session at the moment and unavailable, can I take a message?"
..."what? I was under the impression that she was no longer with us, at least that's what the shelter told me!"
"Shelter? Heavens no, she's very much alive and healthy for a woman her age!" "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No...thank you...actually yes, please ask her to call me back when she gets the chance, I think I have something of hers." I was confused and quite surprised that the shelter had made such a grave mistake. I wondered why they would give me the wrong information and why they had received the wrong information in the first place.
I had to run some errands after that and left my apartment for a few hours, when I returned home It was about 9pm and starting to get dark, I hadn't fed him since noon and by now I knew he'd be hungry, but when I got home there was no whistling, no noise at all actually, the bird was gone from his still locked cage. I called out for him but no response. I went to my phone to call the local shelter to alert them of a missing bird when I noticed several missed calls and a message on the answering machine. I Listened;
*beeep* "hello this is Mrs.Mackenzie returning your call." *End of messages.*
I called back immediately with hopes that it wouldn't be too late for her and I was lucky, the receptionist responded and redirected my call to her room.
"Hello, is this Mrs. Mackenzie?"
"Why yes it is, to whom am I speaking?"
"My name is Ryan Im calling because I'd like more information about a bird you used to have, he's been living with me the last year and recently he's been repeating this date, July 8 2016, and I wanted to know if you might know why?" I wasn't sure what answers she might have or if she was even aware the bird was gone this whole time.
"Ryan, is this a joke? Alister is right here with me as always, can't you hear him?"
And then I heard the bird squawking...
And that's when I realized my bird cage in the corner was missing now, and as I slowly got up from my seat in shock, I looked over at the mirror, and saw that I was a bird the whole time.
The end.
| |
[WP] You live alone with your parrot. It just said something you don't remember telling it. | I guess when I bought Bird I was at my lowest point since Sean had passed. I was lonely, I couldn’t bring myself to interact with other people. I brought Bird and his cage and his jangling mirrored toys and birdseed home to my one bedroom apartment. Im not sure what I was expecting: a dazzling conversation partner? A cunning linguist? I knew you had to teach parrots to talk but Bird had his own plans. Birds plans consisted mostly of NOT repeating anything I said, no matter how many times I said it, projectile shitting between the bars of his massive condo of a cage and generally being an asshole…if birds can be assholes, which they definitely can be.
Secretly, I had hoped Bird might be some sort of substitute for Sean. Early on it was evident that this was not to be the case. Now I had a parrot that fucking hated me and a dead fiancée. I took to crying myself to sleep. Don’t you fucking know that this stupid Parrot decided that THIS is what he would mimic? I would wake up to the sound of my own pitiful sobs, leave for work while Bird wailed, come home eight hours later to my own weeping. It wore away at my already frazzled nerves. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore, I didn’t want to live.
The night I decided to die, the stupid parrot was in the living room, shitting on my carpet and repeating my previous nights crying jag.
“Sean…” Bird wailed and sobbed, “I don’t think I can do this without you” he said in his parrot approximation of my voice followed by more crying. Then softer, “God I miss you...” I must have fallen asleep soon after that the night before as I could hear Bird approximating my after-hysterical-crying hiccups and soft snores.
Damn it, I was so pathetic! I was so intent on emptying every pill bottle in my medicine cabinet that I almost missed it.
His voice, Sean's voice...
Well no, Bird’s approximation of his voice.
“I miss you, too.” | Sarala looks up from her book, taking in the view from her window. She lives in what she likes to call 'Nowheresville', but what's actually a town on a couple of maps. Today is her day off, and she wants to spend it at home, relaxing, alone.
"Hi, I'm Larry!"
*Ugh.*
Once upon a time when Sarala was a young bookworm with no responsibilities, her mother had taken her out to lunch with a family friend. She was listening to music, reading the latest installment in her fantasy series, when she heard her name.
"Yes?" she said, tugging an earphone out.
"Oh, thank goodness!" the friend sighed.
She didn't realize it at the time, but Sarala had agreed to take care of her birds when she died.
Fast forward a few years. The friend died, and Sarala inherited the birds. It turned out that one of them was actually deathly ill. She heard from her mother that one of the birds wasn't eating properly. Sarala decided to take them to the vet for a proper check-up and some advice for a first-time bird owner.
The vet had advised to get the sick bird euthanized.
Why the friend never took the bird to the vet is beyond her, but Sarala is down one bird, and she was looking forward to the relaxing evening with a cup of chamomile tea and a book and--
"Hi, I'm Larry!"
-- Larry, the bird.
Sarala sips the sickly sweet concoction of unproperly brewed tea and too much sugar, staring at the *bird*en. "Hi, Larry," she mutters into her cup, taking her eyes from her window to the bird.
"Quick! Get out!"
Sarala instinctively fliches to look behind her, nearly knocking down her tea. There is no one there, naturally. She breathes. Sarala glares at her bird, wondering if Larry is getting the proper nutrients from his bird food.
"She's here! Hurry!"
"Larry, you're a crazy bird," she tells him. "Do you know that?" Sarala looks back out of her window when she realizes.
Sarala forgot to close the window before she left for work the day prior. The faeries that are much too common in Nowheresville must have decided to pay her -- or rather, Larry -- a visit. They are known to overstay their welcome and wait until the last possible second to escape undetected.
She muses about what her bird might have seen when she closes her window. | |
[WP]: "Who were you before the war?" | The question echoed over the barren wasteland, piercing the almost deafening silence.
"Me?" I asked the soldier who asked the question, a man named Gerald, quite the old fashioned name.
He nodded and pulled out a cigarette. I'm surprised they still have people who use those.
"Well, I guess you could say that I was a nobody. I lived alone, while trying to live off the money I make while just wandering from place to place for the seasonal harvests. My father abandoned me twice and my mother died from cancer... amazing how friends and family will back up quickly when you ask for money to help treat yourself." I sighed and pulled out my canteen. "Not only that, but they didn't seem fond of the idea of taking in a teenage boy after his mom died. I guess they thought it would be too much work to help me get over it."
Gerald flicked his now-lit cigarette to get some of the spent part off and stopped me before I continued, "Wait, you just said you were abandoned twice. What's that all about?"
I took a swig from my canteen. "Well, I was about to get to that." I put the canteen away and pulled out a key. "It took me a really long time, but I tracked down my father and talked to him. I think 'talked' is the wrong word, there was a lot of yelling, crying, accusing, among other things. In the end he gave me a place to stay. I hated him, I just didn't talk to him at all. But after a few years... I guess I started to trust him." I sighed for a second time. "But that's when everything went to shit. The war broke out shortly afterward and he was drafted."
"Wait a second." Another soldier, Christopher, joined in. "You can't say he abandoned you when he joined the armed forces, he didn't have a choice."
I gave him a stern look and replied in a smooth, but stern voice, "he had the choice to return when his time was up, but he decided to live in Italy. When I found out I was calling the army, trying to figure out why the checks stopped coming, but they told me that my 'father,'" I spat the word out wit every bit of malice as I could, "had been out of the service for a month. He had already found a girl."
The circle of troops went silent
"Yeah, well as things went on I was broke, I was alone, and only farmers and small convenience stores would hire me. It wasn't long before I realized that joining the military would give me a chance at life, as ironic as it was I was chasing after him again. You guys have been more family to me than my actual family."
"Thanks colonel." Gerald smiled at me. "If you need us for anything personal, we're here for you."
"Well there is one thing..." I smirked to myself
"Yeah?"
"Put out that cigarette, it's making me nauseous." | Before the war. That was a time long forgotten to me.
I was 20. Young kid from Brooklyn. I'd been the son of a military general, and I'd grown up wanting nothing more than to serve my country. Straight out of high school I'd enlisted as a private. Proudest day of my life.
The darkest day was when a terrorist blew my legs off.
I remember going through drills that morning. It was a month into basic training. Going on a run at 5 am, watching the sun rise over the trees. Even the sergeant letting us have quiet during our run that morning - just admiring the beauty of creation. Talking on the way back with my buddy Sam. Something about cars, and his girlfriend at home not approving of his new one. Going into the showers. And then, as if in slow motion, the wall behind Sam's head expanding like bubblegum before the individual cement blocks fragmented and I watched Sam's head deform as he absorbed the blow. Passing out as the shock overwhelmed me.
Waking up in a hospital to agonizing pain. Tearing the bedsheets off my body to see two bandaged stumps where my legs had been. Passing out again as the last thought that went through my head was I'd never be able to run with Sam again. That I'd never run with anyone again.
That same day the terrorists attacked fifteen other cities around the world, some with plane hijacks, some with bombs, some with concealed guns in crowded malls. ISIS. They struck with the desperation of an organization on it's last legs. All in total, 20,000 people died that day.
I got my prosthetics and rejoined the front lines when war was declared on the Arab region in entirety. A line was drawn, and the world's armies moved in from all sides. Iranian, Saudis, Pakistanis- we didn't care. Nobody was feeling particularly merciful- we'd learned in a very hard way that it was too easy to lie about intentions. During the surrender of Syria I rose quickly through the ranks. Soon I was a general.
The Saudis, with their vast storages of oil money were the last to fall. We hunted the fat millionaires for a year after the other nations raised white flags, and for a while they held their own with hired mercenaries and purchased tanks. But eventually I made the call to bring in air, and their defenses weren't ready. We bombed the entire nation. The oil slicked ground burned for months after the fact.
I moved into politics after the war. Became secretary of state, and helped pass the Zero Tolerance act. No violence was to be tolerated, no terrorist activity whatsoever. And when I was elected President, I replaced local police forces with military personnel. Violence ceased to exist.
That's who I was before the war. And now, you know too much Mr. Psychologist. I'll need you to stay in this room for just a second after I leave- please don't struggle. Thank you for listening- it has been very therapeutic for me. | |
[WP]: "Who were you before the war?" | The question echoed over the barren wasteland, piercing the almost deafening silence.
"Me?" I asked the soldier who asked the question, a man named Gerald, quite the old fashioned name.
He nodded and pulled out a cigarette. I'm surprised they still have people who use those.
"Well, I guess you could say that I was a nobody. I lived alone, while trying to live off the money I make while just wandering from place to place for the seasonal harvests. My father abandoned me twice and my mother died from cancer... amazing how friends and family will back up quickly when you ask for money to help treat yourself." I sighed and pulled out my canteen. "Not only that, but they didn't seem fond of the idea of taking in a teenage boy after his mom died. I guess they thought it would be too much work to help me get over it."
Gerald flicked his now-lit cigarette to get some of the spent part off and stopped me before I continued, "Wait, you just said you were abandoned twice. What's that all about?"
I took a swig from my canteen. "Well, I was about to get to that." I put the canteen away and pulled out a key. "It took me a really long time, but I tracked down my father and talked to him. I think 'talked' is the wrong word, there was a lot of yelling, crying, accusing, among other things. In the end he gave me a place to stay. I hated him, I just didn't talk to him at all. But after a few years... I guess I started to trust him." I sighed for a second time. "But that's when everything went to shit. The war broke out shortly afterward and he was drafted."
"Wait a second." Another soldier, Christopher, joined in. "You can't say he abandoned you when he joined the armed forces, he didn't have a choice."
I gave him a stern look and replied in a smooth, but stern voice, "he had the choice to return when his time was up, but he decided to live in Italy. When I found out I was calling the army, trying to figure out why the checks stopped coming, but they told me that my 'father,'" I spat the word out wit every bit of malice as I could, "had been out of the service for a month. He had already found a girl."
The circle of troops went silent
"Yeah, well as things went on I was broke, I was alone, and only farmers and small convenience stores would hire me. It wasn't long before I realized that joining the military would give me a chance at life, as ironic as it was I was chasing after him again. You guys have been more family to me than my actual family."
"Thanks colonel." Gerald smiled at me. "If you need us for anything personal, we're here for you."
"Well there is one thing..." I smirked to myself
"Yeah?"
"Put out that cigarette, it's making me nauseous." | Before the war. That seems like a long time ago. Since you're asking i was a high school teacher, well in truth i was only in the job for a week before i got drafted.
It's funny really, before all this i spent most my life studying for tests and never taking any risks. I always took the safest route, now in this war there isn't anything safe; my life, your life and anyone else's who are unfortunate enough to be here with us.
But what i really miss, more than anything. My wife Gabrielle, to see her smile one more time, to hear her laugh. There isn't anything i wouldn't give for that. We met in the summer of 35'. She worked at the post office in my small countryside town and after months of trying to cluster up the courage to ask her out. I finally did, i was speechless when she told me yes; and from that moment on, every day i spent with her was better than the last. I told her before i left, that i would come back to her once this war was over and that we will finally have children together and start a family. That, that is what keeps me going in this crazy war.
Well what about you?
The sound of a fire-fight echoes in the distance. The boat comes to a hasty stop, and the other men clutching their rifles, climb over the hull and into the hip high water.
The sergeant screamed for everyone to leave the boat and march upon the beach.
| |
Feel free to have the subreddit be about someone else if you wish, like me. | [WP] You're just surfing Reddit, constantly clicking on the Random button. Until ... you find a subreddit, dedicated to not only following and discussing your activities online, but also your real life. | *click* *click* *click* *click*
"Ugh, even reddit gets boring."
*click* *click*
r/hitlerinsocks
"Why does that even exist?? And how is there so much content??"
r/waytogoandruinit
"Huh. That's funny. Jesus fuck, 32,456,788 subscribers?? What even is this place?"
r/waytogoandruinit/top/
IAm the actress playing youknowwho's Mother! AMA! 11243points
"Dafuq??"
Clicking the hyperlink below the word "Verified:" my heart stops. I see my mother staring back at me. Only she has short blonde hair, rather than the long brown locks I know so well. She's holding a scrap of paper with the date 09/01/2176. Last month. I was on vacation that week. I return to the thread and scroll down. I can't stop myself. She tells them everything. All my secrets. All my insecurities. One commenter writes "I can't believe we're getting all this inside knowledge, are the producers ok with this??"
My mothers reply?
"Well this is as good a time as any to reveal it. What with the latest leaps in technology my "son" really can't keep up with the other robots and their simulations. We've seen a massive drop in people paying to entire the universe and/or influence the script. For that reason, we'll be discontinuing the whole thing at the end of July. This AMA is your chance to find out anything and everything about him. It's been a pleasure working with you folks, keep it up with the questions!"
I was stunned. What did this mean? I couldn't even comprehend it. Robots? Simulations? Just, what?? I walked to my fathers closet. Everything was just as he left it, 3 years ago. Was he even dead? Or did he just get bored of this world? Bored of me? Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck this.
I stepped outside, the cool air hitting my face as I looked out across the valley. For a moment, I felt free. I smelt the blossom in the trees across the road, and felt the sun, warm against my skin.
Slowly, the doors of the houses opposite opened, and one by one my neighbours stuck their heads out, open mouthed. I had their attention.
The barrel of the shotgun felt cool against the underside of my chin, and I felt it move with my voicebox as my final words rang out through the street.
"I don't know much about how this works...but I hope you all die with me."
*Bang.*
| There I was, clicking on the "random" button on reddit. I was really bored, none of these random subs interested me. Then I found one I had never seen before: /r/greenquartz. I checked the URL to make sure it wasn't /u/greenquartz, but then I glanced down at the subreddit. There were Imgur links to things I had done, some things I had done earlier that day...
There was an album all about my trip to the supermarket to buy some pasta. There was one of me sleeping the night before. There was one of me playing on my PS4...I was really freaked out. I pinched myself and made sure I wasn't dreaming, then I checked the account usernames. I was wondering if they were just my friends playing a prank, but they had been active years before this, so it couldn't be for the recently activated /r/greenquartz.
I refreshed the page, thinking this was still some kind of joke, when I noticed a new announcement had hit the top and was gaining tons of upvotes:
**/u/greenquartz discovers /r/greenquartz** |
Feel free to have the subreddit be about someone else if you wish, like me. | [WP] You're just surfing Reddit, constantly clicking on the Random button. Until ... you find a subreddit, dedicated to not only following and discussing your activities online, but also your real life. | *click* *click* *click* *click*
"Ugh, even reddit gets boring."
*click* *click*
r/hitlerinsocks
"Why does that even exist?? And how is there so much content??"
r/waytogoandruinit
"Huh. That's funny. Jesus fuck, 32,456,788 subscribers?? What even is this place?"
r/waytogoandruinit/top/
IAm the actress playing youknowwho's Mother! AMA! 11243points
"Dafuq??"
Clicking the hyperlink below the word "Verified:" my heart stops. I see my mother staring back at me. Only she has short blonde hair, rather than the long brown locks I know so well. She's holding a scrap of paper with the date 09/01/2176. Last month. I was on vacation that week. I return to the thread and scroll down. I can't stop myself. She tells them everything. All my secrets. All my insecurities. One commenter writes "I can't believe we're getting all this inside knowledge, are the producers ok with this??"
My mothers reply?
"Well this is as good a time as any to reveal it. What with the latest leaps in technology my "son" really can't keep up with the other robots and their simulations. We've seen a massive drop in people paying to entire the universe and/or influence the script. For that reason, we'll be discontinuing the whole thing at the end of July. This AMA is your chance to find out anything and everything about him. It's been a pleasure working with you folks, keep it up with the questions!"
I was stunned. What did this mean? I couldn't even comprehend it. Robots? Simulations? Just, what?? I walked to my fathers closet. Everything was just as he left it, 3 years ago. Was he even dead? Or did he just get bored of this world? Bored of me? Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck this.
I stepped outside, the cool air hitting my face as I looked out across the valley. For a moment, I felt free. I smelt the blossom in the trees across the road, and felt the sun, warm against my skin.
Slowly, the doors of the houses opposite opened, and one by one my neighbours stuck their heads out, open mouthed. I had their attention.
The barrel of the shotgun felt cool against the underside of my chin, and I felt it move with my voicebox as my final words rang out through the street.
"I don't know much about how this works...but I hope you all die with me."
*Bang.*
| "Time to get me some karma! The good kind, Reddit-made, not the real life kind." I was narrating my actions. I browsed through random subreddits, searching for some karma-worthy posts.
"Huh."
I took one glance and there was a subreddit with my username.. Weird. I clicked on it with confidence; it's not everyday you have a sub.
Woah.. a comment about me! The first post was about me browsing WritingPrompts. 2spooky4me. I was curious though, so I clicked the post above it. "He's found us."
/r/AOldUsername |
Feel free to have the subreddit be about someone else if you wish, like me. | [WP] You're just surfing Reddit, constantly clicking on the Random button. Until ... you find a subreddit, dedicated to not only following and discussing your activities online, but also your real life. | Like any other weekday evening, after several dull hours in high school, I returned home to simply flop into bed and browse Reddit on my laptop. There was nothing new on the front page; I had already explored the day's trending topics. I read all the news articles, longed at the cute cat pictures, and even rolled my eyes at the half-assed reposts of showerthoughts. After a few pages of nothing, my eyes glanced at the random button. Perhaps that would bring me refreshing content, something I'd enjoy? I clicked it once. A fan page for some actress, not exactly my kind of entertainment. I clicked again. Ew, people are into this?
It took me almost a dozen tries until I had found something worth my time, and calling it interesting would be an understatement. It... It was a subreddit about me! The newest post, "/u/Paradoxmoron finds this subreddit" had almost half a thousand upvotes already, but was posted less than a minute ago. All my previous endeavors had been kept track of here. All the subreddits I had just passed by, my reactions to them, and when I went back farther, even my school activities were noted! There were a ridiculous amount of readers online, more than I'd like to think about, and the subscribers had been a dozen times that! It was all so... Well. I had no idea what to think about it. How could I? This was insane, it was unreal!
I decided, in a moment of courage, to delve into the comments of the most recent one, the post about my discovery of the subreddit. The highest rated comment said something along the lines of, "Hello, PM!" with a link to a gif of some actor waving, and an almost unnoticeable dickbutt in the background. Other comments discussed somewhat unrelated topics, like my personal life and dietary routine, mini flame wars and absurd arguments erupting immediately afterwards. Their opinions all varied, unusual for the mostly hive-minded Reddit community I was used to. And, it seems either the moderators of the subreddit were lazy, or were actually decent; There wasn't a single deleted comment amidst the hundreds of vulgar opinions shared.
After losing myself in the comment section for almost half an hour, I simply shut my laptop and went to bed. That's enough internet for tonight... | Click
Click
Click
'/r/classicderence'
'Who does she think she is?'
'OMG have you seen his reddit history LOL'
'Actually, *he's* a *she*...'
'This - what is wrong with people?'
'Upvoting this'
'OPs mom'
'Not even sure what relevance this person has here?
'MOMS SPAHGHETTTI'
'Go home Eminem, you're drunk'
'Username doesn't check out - not classic at all'
Edit: Thank you for the gold kind stranger!' |
Feel free to have the subreddit be about someone else if you wish, like me. | [WP] You're just surfing Reddit, constantly clicking on the Random button. Until ... you find a subreddit, dedicated to not only following and discussing your activities online, but also your real life. | *click*
r/holdmybeer
*click*
r/blunderyears
*sip of pepsi*
*click*
r/currently_on_toilet
*click*
r/childrenfalli-
My cursor does a bit of a double take before shooting up to the back button. Sure enough, it brings me to a subreddit titled r/currently_on_toilet . I chuckle, finding it amusing to have found a community of like minded redditors who also browse from the old porcelain throne. It truly is the best place to use Reddit.
The description of the sub reads "To follow and discuss the activities of [my full name].
I hear a wet *plop* underneath me, despite having finished my business ten minutes ago. And, for the first time in my life, I have a bigger issue on my mind than the water now on my ass hole.
The current top post is a thread to discuss soda choice. I click on it and see and see a circlejerk in the comments praising my choice and scorning Coke. Hey, these people might be creeps, but at least they have good taste.
Going to Top> All Time, I see a video of what appears to be a 17 year old me jerking off.
Holy shit.
Scrolling down, several more disturbing posts appear on my screen. Pictures of my current house, discussions of my sleep schedule, graphic close ups of my old dog after it got hit by a car.
That's when I see it. An announcement post, one minute old.
**He's Found It**
Someone knocks on the bathroom door.
*plop*
| Click
Click
Click
'/r/classicderence'
'Who does she think she is?'
'OMG have you seen his reddit history LOL'
'Actually, *he's* a *she*...'
'This - what is wrong with people?'
'Upvoting this'
'OPs mom'
'Not even sure what relevance this person has here?
'MOMS SPAHGHETTTI'
'Go home Eminem, you're drunk'
'Username doesn't check out - not classic at all'
Edit: Thank you for the gold kind stranger!' |
Feel free to have the subreddit be about someone else if you wish, like me. | [WP] You're just surfing Reddit, constantly clicking on the Random button. Until ... you find a subreddit, dedicated to not only following and discussing your activities online, but also your real life. | *click*
r/holdmybeer
*click*
r/blunderyears
*sip of pepsi*
*click*
r/currently_on_toilet
*click*
r/childrenfalli-
My cursor does a bit of a double take before shooting up to the back button. Sure enough, it brings me to a subreddit titled r/currently_on_toilet . I chuckle, finding it amusing to have found a community of like minded redditors who also browse from the old porcelain throne. It truly is the best place to use Reddit.
The description of the sub reads "To follow and discuss the activities of [my full name].
I hear a wet *plop* underneath me, despite having finished my business ten minutes ago. And, for the first time in my life, I have a bigger issue on my mind than the water now on my ass hole.
The current top post is a thread to discuss soda choice. I click on it and see and see a circlejerk in the comments praising my choice and scorning Coke. Hey, these people might be creeps, but at least they have good taste.
Going to Top> All Time, I see a video of what appears to be a 17 year old me jerking off.
Holy shit.
Scrolling down, several more disturbing posts appear on my screen. Pictures of my current house, discussions of my sleep schedule, graphic close ups of my old dog after it got hit by a car.
That's when I see it. An announcement post, one minute old.
**He's Found It**
Someone knocks on the bathroom door.
*plop*
| Like any other weekday evening, after several dull hours in high school, I returned home to simply flop into bed and browse Reddit on my laptop. There was nothing new on the front page; I had already explored the day's trending topics. I read all the news articles, longed at the cute cat pictures, and even rolled my eyes at the half-assed reposts of showerthoughts. After a few pages of nothing, my eyes glanced at the random button. Perhaps that would bring me refreshing content, something I'd enjoy? I clicked it once. A fan page for some actress, not exactly my kind of entertainment. I clicked again. Ew, people are into this?
It took me almost a dozen tries until I had found something worth my time, and calling it interesting would be an understatement. It... It was a subreddit about me! The newest post, "/u/Paradoxmoron finds this subreddit" had almost half a thousand upvotes already, but was posted less than a minute ago. All my previous endeavors had been kept track of here. All the subreddits I had just passed by, my reactions to them, and when I went back farther, even my school activities were noted! There were a ridiculous amount of readers online, more than I'd like to think about, and the subscribers had been a dozen times that! It was all so... Well. I had no idea what to think about it. How could I? This was insane, it was unreal!
I decided, in a moment of courage, to delve into the comments of the most recent one, the post about my discovery of the subreddit. The highest rated comment said something along the lines of, "Hello, PM!" with a link to a gif of some actor waving, and an almost unnoticeable dickbutt in the background. Other comments discussed somewhat unrelated topics, like my personal life and dietary routine, mini flame wars and absurd arguments erupting immediately afterwards. Their opinions all varied, unusual for the mostly hive-minded Reddit community I was used to. And, it seems either the moderators of the subreddit were lazy, or were actually decent; There wasn't a single deleted comment amidst the hundreds of vulgar opinions shared.
After losing myself in the comment section for almost half an hour, I simply shut my laptop and went to bed. That's enough internet for tonight... |
[WP] After living an unremarkable life, you die. In the afterlife you're judged and sent to heaven. Once there you learn that across all time, only fifteen other people have made it to heaven and none of you know why. | Desmond found himself in a large, empty office. There was a floating bright white desk and behind that a bright white office chair with an equally luminescent coat on it. Desmond looked around and saw nothing but a framed employee of the month picture awarded to a "Petra". He looked at his clothes and realized they were as sparkling white as everything else.
"Hello?", he shouted warily.
No reply. It was starting to come back to him now, his home, his wife, her cancer, his fall.
"Hello?", he said again a little louder.
A young brown-haired lady arched her head around the door frame. "Oh.", she said, "You're finally here!". Her spectacles, freckled nose and bright red lipstick expressed a shocked and inquisitive look. She walked in with a bundles of files in hand and threw them clumsily on the desk. She readjusted her glasses and sat down on her side of the desk.
Desmond looked at her, mouth agog and just stood there.
"Take a seat, Desmond", she said.
He sat.
"So...er...Welcome to heaven. Well done on being a good person down on earth and all that. God has deemed you worthy of a seat at his exclusive club for the rest of eternity. So...er... you died. As you can probably guess and you died of...". Her slender fingers flicked through one of the files..."suicide. You died of suicide. I'm guessing you probably knew that. Well anyway. This is heaven where all your hopes, dreams and fantasies can come true. Anything you could want you can have. You can live a hundred billion lives in one day and still be home in time for tea. Riches, fame, power anything..."
"my wife...", he interjected, "is my wife here?".
"well...er...thats complicated", She timidly replied.
"what do you mean? complicated?", he answered.
"well. *Your* wife. Her soul. Her essence. The person she was has blinked out of existence. That's what God does with souls that don't make it. Her time on earth was happy yet short and this is how it ended. None of that barbaric hell malarkey you go on about on earth. Its complicated you see, you and..."
He stood up leaning over the desk forcefully and interrupter her, "What do you mean she isn't here? She was kinder, better and more spiritual than me?! How in hell am I here and she isn't."
She meekly said, "Sir, If you could kindly take a seat I could explain a little more."
Desmond saw the startled look in her eyes, the way she was shriveled to the back of her seat and the rise and fall of her chest increasing. Guilt washed over him and he sat down silently.
Petra straightened back up, put her hands on the table and said, "like I said before: complicated. God is...er...quite exclusive when it comes to who gets into heaven. So far only 15 people have made it. Your wife's soul isn't here but this is your heaven. All your fantasies can come true." She snapped her fingers and they transported back to his kitchen. "If you want to spend a hundred million years with the perfect version of your wife you can!" His wife was by the oven, more beautiful than ever, picking up a peacon pie out of the oven, his favorite. The orange light of sunset was streaming through the window "and all those annoying habits of hers vanish! You know that annoying thing she did with her teeth? Gone! Her stealing all the sheets? Not anymore! Is she too anxious for you? Not anymore!" His wife smiled at Desmond, gave him a kiss on the cheek and said "Hello handsome".
Desmond sat there in shock. Petra put her hand out to Desmond's shoulder and looked at him with her pale blue eyes. "like I said, Desmond, Anything you want.", she said comfortingly. She continued "you could spend eternity with the perfect version of your wife and you'd still be able to do anything else on top of that."
"You want fame?", she clicked her fingers again and they teleported, he stood, guitar in hand, in front of a huge audience of undying fans all screaming their love for him.
"Power?" she clicked and they teleported again, this time Desmond was sitting in the Oval Office at the White house with a group of army officers stood before him.
"Or perhaps a more...er...simple fantasy is what you're after" they teleported again, this time they were sitting in a pool and a Desmond was surrounded by a hundred of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. The ones closest to him touching and kissing him. "We missed you Desmond", "We're so glad you're here", "I want you Desmond" were all the things he heard while the group continued to touch him.
He heard a click again and they were back in the office. Petra sat there with a grin on her face. Her hair slightly disheveled from all the movement. "like I said: anything, everything, forever." She clicked again and Desmond lived a hundred thousand lives each more beautiful than the last in the blink of an eye.
"Wow." Desmond said.
She laughed and stretched her arms. "I hope you enjoyed the show Desmond. I always feel its important to show people rather than tell people the full extent of heaven otherwise you don't really get the picture. Plus i don't get to do it very often considering only sixteen people, including you, have made it to heaven."
"Only Sixteen people have made it to heaven? how?", he said.
Petra shrugged, "I don't know really, I guess god is a lot more picky than you humans think he is. Thinking about it now Desmond you're probably going to be one of the last newcomers considering what's going to happen on earth."
"Whats going to happen on earth?", he asked.
She clicked her fingers again. This time they were in an extremely overcrowded hospital. There was blood all over the floors and people screaming and groaning while other people bustled about. There were patients on the floor, children crying and disheveled doctors and nurses running about everywhere. Petra looked around glumly "In the year 2050 a biological weapon created by the US government accidentally gets released into the general population. It works incredibly quickly, contaminates easily and leads to an incredibly painful death. Humanity doesn't stand a chance. And there's nothing we can do to stop it..."
She sighed, "well...nothing *I* can do to stop it. I suppose you could, if you really wanted to. But that's crazy talk really."
"What?", Desmond exclaimed, "How can I stop it."
"Peoples souls.", She replied, "That's were miracles come from. You can decide to stop the apocalypse but then you're soul would blink out of existence. But anyway that's crazy talk, what's a couple billion lives compared to an eternity in heaven".
Desmond pondered on this and then agreed. He could live 10 billion lives in a minute. He could live in 100 billion worlds of his creation for longer than all of them put together and still have room for more. "Yeah" he said "I suppose you're right."
"Right," Petra absentmindedly said "Although, I suppose that if humanity did survive this apocalypse that could potentially lead to a person or two entering heaven over the next couple millennia."
Desmond hadn't thought of that. He supposed that giving up eternity was understandable if it allowed more people to live in eternity. That and saving the lives of everyone on earth could justify the decision. But could he really do that. Could he really give up an eternity for the off chance that humanity survives long enough for more people to enter heaven?
"Hey Petra, if humanity did survive how long would you say it would be before another person enters heaven?", Desmond asked.
Petra blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "Oh, its usually once every 2 millennia or so, though I suppose with population growth and the increasing the number of lives and therefore deaths on earth we could probably look forward to another person in say...about 500 years or so. That is if humanity survives till then." She looked at Desmond closely now.
Desmond looked to his shoes. 500 years. Did he really think humanity would survive long enough for it to be worth it. Even then he'd lose his eternity. With all these nuclear weapons, global warming, overpopulation and the like, did he really think humanity could come even close to that long? No. No he did not.
"yeah, like you said...crazy talk", Desmond nervously laughed. "c'mon let's go". He clicked his fingers and they were back in the office.
Petra sat there in her chair, looked at him morosely and sighed. "Oh Desmond, I really thought you were close to making the right decision. Most people are so selfish they don't even give the choice of the sacrifice a moments notice. They just skip ahead, ignoring what they've just seen and try to get started on their eternity in heaven. You really thought about it. Barely anybody makes it to the stage where they contemplate their faith in humanity.
"Wait, what do you mean?", Desmond asked.
Petra continued, "Whether humanity will survive long enough to make your sacrifice worth it and allow more people to get into heaven. Its funny y'know, all these churches and religions, they all talk about people having faith in God but what God is really looking for is for people to have faith in humanity...to believe they'd be strong enough to survive...and to act selflessly to choose the right decision. Don't give yourself too hard a time Desmond even the great spiritual leaders and saints fail in the final test once they've had a taste of heaven."
Petra laughed, "I was really rooting for you Desmond, really hoping you could be number 16 on the list. I even skewed the facts a bit to give you an extra chance. I guess it was never meant to be.
"I don't understand...", Desmond said.
Petra said softly, "The whole virus thing was made up by yours truly. 15, Desmond. 15 people in the entirety of existence have been willing to give themselves up because they had faith in humanity."
"And now," she said, "your existence has come to an end."
She clicked her fingers once more and Desmond blinked out of existence. She packed up her files and walked through the door.
| As the Gate to Heaven opened Steven was still trying to corral the emotions running through him. He'd seen the Archangel Michael's face when Peter had decreed that he should be, as he Peter had put it, "Heaven Sent". Both Gabriel and Uriel had shouted with, what Steven had thought was astonishment but when he looked closer he could see it was more consternation than anything else. It was as if they wanted to argue, but couldn't. Steven had caught a glimpse of Peter and, honestly, he wouldn't want to cross the man.. angel? God? The fact that he was even in this position was still astounding and a tough bite to swallow.
Steven took a few tentative steps forward. The ground, if you could call it that, was actually just clouds but when walked upon had the consistency of a Costco floor. It felt almost, cement-like. Steven leaned down and ran his hand through the cloud. Eerie. He could reach down further than the cloud he was standing on. Almost as if the "floor" was only underneath the soles of his feet.
As he walked he noticed that there were "hills" within the clouds. There weren't actual hills, but his feet found hill-like terrain as he walked through the clouds. The Sun was always shining. Always. No matter which direction you looked the Sun was in front of you. Steven was just cresting a hill when he heard a shout.
"Hey, Hey you! Over here!"
Looking to his left, directly into the Sun, Steven saw a silhouette. More than one actually. At first guess it seemed around ten, as he got closer and was able to count it was fifteen.
"Hey there." the man said.
"Afternoon" Steven replied.
"Actually," one of the ladies chimed in "..it's about 2am I believe."
"Well, good morning then" Steven said as he smiled.
"Morning"
"Dobro jutro"
"Godmorgen"
"Mornin to ya"
"Bore da"
"Goeie more"
And on and on until all fifteen had said good morning.
"My name is Silas, if you have any questions you're more than welcome to ask me. I'm the longest tenured English speaking Heaven Sent, Adisa is the longest Heaven Sent that we've found but she's Afrikaan and has so far struggled at the nuances of the English Language."
Silas smiled towards Adisa. Adisa stuck out her tongue.
"Where are the rest of the people?" Steven asked.
"Uh..well. As to that we don't know. We have an idea but we don't know for sure."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Silas said as he looked to the group
Before Silas could continue Adisa spoke up. "What mean is fifteen only."
"Fifteen only? Fifteen people in the entirety of Heaven? Where did the rest of all of the Civilizations throughout history go?" exclaimed Steven.
"We don't know." spoke a man. "Henry." He said as he reached out his hand.
Silas spoke, "Adisa was here before me, at one point another man named Achilles was here, and before you ask yes he was Greek, and we do think he was the actual Achilles. But before we could get down to it he just up and disappeared while out running."
"I should be skeptical, but the fact that I'm standing on clouds, that the Sun is facing me wherever I turn, and that I saw Archangles... Whatever. But.. why just us? What did we do in life, or didn't do in life to make us special?"
"For that we don't know." Silas said. "Here, come. Let's show you the city, or town to be more precise."
Steven fell into step behind Adisa, and next to Henry.
"What do you do here, what can you do here?"
"Oh, well... you can do anything. We can create anything we want out of the clouds." As he said it, he reached down and grabbed a hold of a cloud. As he brought his hand up there was a red, ripe, delicious strawberry. He took a bite and smiled. "Anything."
"It's how we make our homes" spoke one.
"We don't need homes though Tarik." spoke another.
"They're both right." said Silas. "We can make whatever we want. But we don't really need homes, or beds, or food. You'll find that you don't get tired, you don't get hungry, you feel no pain, and you're generally.. just happy. But we do make homes. It's tough breaking the habit."
In the distance Steven could see structures. As they got closer he realized they were the homes that Henry and Tarik and Silas had talked about. Some were simple. Wood or straw thatched together. Some were magnificent. There was a castle, with a moat. *That must have taken forever to make* Steven thought.
"I know what you're thinking." Tarik said. "It didn't take that long to make. You can kinda cheat the system by holding your hand in the clouds and thinking about the house that you'd like. Takes a bit longer because you might accidentally forget something inside the house, but you can always bring some clouds in and remodel."
"Try it" Adisa said.
Holding his hand in the clouds Steven closed his eyes. He thought back. Back to when he was a child. Back to when his Mother and Father had moved to that house in Oklahoma. It was a single-wide trailer. Four wooden steps lead up to the rickety door. They lived there for six years, until he was twelve. Until it was torn down by a tornado. Those were the happiest years of his life up until he had met his wife. His mother had passed in that house, so had his father.
As he opened his eyes he realized there were tears in them. Looking up he saw it. The four steps, the thatched siding. The white bar across the bottom that was half ply-wood half metal. Moving forward he took the first step up and felt that knowing wobble of the stairs. His father had always meant to build a new one but had just never gotten to it. Opening the door he could smell it. The cider. They always kept cider. He turned around.
Motioning to the others he said, "Come on in, let me show you the house that I grew up in."
Silas smiled as he took his first step up. BAM "Ouch! Shit! Ouch.. Holy mother of god. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my goodness that hurt" he yelled as he stubbed his toe.... and promptly disappeared. | |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | I'm sorry
I tried to stay awake.
I've tried everything. I can't keep my eyes open forever. It happens if I blink for too long.
I know I'm a hateful little shit. It keeps people alive. I tried everything I could to get you to hate me, to get you to leave me alone, but it didn't work. Why couldn't you have left me alone?
Everyone who loves me dies. And it's my fault.
At least, that's what my mother says. | My grandmother always told stories of the past, one tale in particular always kept my attention, she always looked so sad when she told it. It was the tale of The Uncreated Ones.
It went something like this. Long ago a being entered our reality, a being of such power it tore reality asunder by mere presence, it wandered our world for a long time and in doing so it left rifts, most healed but there are still some open to this day.
The Uncreated Ones are those unlucky enough to walk into one of these rifts, you see the rifts taint the ones that step though it, slowly reality starts ignoring them, it starts with the future, slowly all plans that include the Uncreated One are forgotten, then comes the present, people forget they spoke to you mere minutes after, words you write down disappear, and even most actions are seen as odd coincidences rather then your work.
But the worst, the worst is when your past disappears, your parents no longer recognize you or even know they had a child, marks you made on the world fade or are claimed as the work of another.
Now your probably wondering why the Uncreated don't just kill themselves, but unfortunately for them even death no longer claims them as one of his own, they are doomed to spend the rest of their life alone, as not even the Uncreated themselves can remember another Uncreated.
Now you're probably wondering why i'm telling you all this, you see i am one of the Uncreated, you are my grandmother and this is goodbye. | |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | It hardly makes sense to be afraid of the guy chained up in the barn any more. He's been there since it was built some time in the 1880s... What's that like 130 years? And in that time he's only ever hurt a dozen people and... Between you and me I know more'n half of 'em weren't accidents at all.
He never ever stops tugging at those chains and that used to scare me. When I was young I'd hear a groan, or a crack or a clang outside my bedroom window and be horrified he had finally gone and done it. There was a nasty mangled mess of a man with broken chains all over his body that was about to start sprinting toward the house and nothing could stop him.
All those years and it never did happen. Came too close too many times but we're more than ready for that.
See, I was mistaken as a boy. He's not unstoppable just... Not stoppable forever. Every chain that lays on his body during the day starts to rust before the next morning and is brittle as shale within 6 weeks. Ever board nailed in his path rots in a matter of days. Birds and plants drop dead if he doesn't rip them apart first. I tried my hand at killin him once; every boy in my family has. Buckshot. Kerosine. Combine harvester. All were good fun and all but didn't leave him any worse for ware. Me I fancied myself a strong young man so I took to him with an old wood splitting axe. I'd felled trees all month to get ready. I'd be the one to get his head off, dirty staring eyes and all.
I'm sure you can guess how that went. A dull rusty axe with a crack down the handle and a look like it'd been burnt and sunk in a swamp and smashed with a jack hammer all in a row. His neck looked as sickly and leathery as ever but it bore no cut or break. That's when I finally stopped being afraid of him.
That broken axe is a blessing to me. It all made sense after all. He ain't a man at all, just a thing, a force. I couldn't cut him down any more than I could cut down every tree in the forest or flattened a mountain range or empty the sea. He is still a dangerous thing but he kills fewer than river rapids, hurricanes or cave-ins every year. As regular folks we don't get to end problems; all we do is slow them down... Keep them in rusty chains in a rotting barn less than 80 yards from the room I sleep. | My grandmother always told stories of the past, one tale in particular always kept my attention, she always looked so sad when she told it. It was the tale of The Uncreated Ones.
It went something like this. Long ago a being entered our reality, a being of such power it tore reality asunder by mere presence, it wandered our world for a long time and in doing so it left rifts, most healed but there are still some open to this day.
The Uncreated Ones are those unlucky enough to walk into one of these rifts, you see the rifts taint the ones that step though it, slowly reality starts ignoring them, it starts with the future, slowly all plans that include the Uncreated One are forgotten, then comes the present, people forget they spoke to you mere minutes after, words you write down disappear, and even most actions are seen as odd coincidences rather then your work.
But the worst, the worst is when your past disappears, your parents no longer recognize you or even know they had a child, marks you made on the world fade or are claimed as the work of another.
Now your probably wondering why the Uncreated don't just kill themselves, but unfortunately for them even death no longer claims them as one of his own, they are doomed to spend the rest of their life alone, as not even the Uncreated themselves can remember another Uncreated.
Now you're probably wondering why i'm telling you all this, you see i am one of the Uncreated, you are my grandmother and this is goodbye. | |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | It hardly makes sense to be afraid of the guy chained up in the barn any more. He's been there since it was built some time in the 1880s... What's that like 130 years? And in that time he's only ever hurt a dozen people and... Between you and me I know more'n half of 'em weren't accidents at all.
He never ever stops tugging at those chains and that used to scare me. When I was young I'd hear a groan, or a crack or a clang outside my bedroom window and be horrified he had finally gone and done it. There was a nasty mangled mess of a man with broken chains all over his body that was about to start sprinting toward the house and nothing could stop him.
All those years and it never did happen. Came too close too many times but we're more than ready for that.
See, I was mistaken as a boy. He's not unstoppable just... Not stoppable forever. Every chain that lays on his body during the day starts to rust before the next morning and is brittle as shale within 6 weeks. Ever board nailed in his path rots in a matter of days. Birds and plants drop dead if he doesn't rip them apart first. I tried my hand at killin him once; every boy in my family has. Buckshot. Kerosine. Combine harvester. All were good fun and all but didn't leave him any worse for ware. Me I fancied myself a strong young man so I took to him with an old wood splitting axe. I'd felled trees all month to get ready. I'd be the one to get his head off, dirty staring eyes and all.
I'm sure you can guess how that went. A dull rusty axe with a crack down the handle and a look like it'd been burnt and sunk in a swamp and smashed with a jack hammer all in a row. His neck looked as sickly and leathery as ever but it bore no cut or break. That's when I finally stopped being afraid of him.
That broken axe is a blessing to me. It all made sense after all. He ain't a man at all, just a thing, a force. I couldn't cut him down any more than I could cut down every tree in the forest or flattened a mountain range or empty the sea. He is still a dangerous thing but he kills fewer than river rapids, hurricanes or cave-ins every year. As regular folks we don't get to end problems; all we do is slow them down... Keep them in rusty chains in a rotting barn less than 80 yards from the room I sleep. | A man with a tired desperation on his face stands in front of his apartment door with his eyes closed. He takes a deep breath, makes sure he has his keys and exits the door. The dim, buzzing lights in the stairway are barely enough to illuminate his worn-out clothing and his unkempt hair. The man walks with fast, shuffling steps to the elevator while hanging his head as low as he can. Before entering the elevator, he looks up slightly to make sure it is empty.
The elevator is quiet. There is nothing to do, except think.
-She knows where I am.
-She's waiting for me.
-No, she's not - Did I bring everything? My keys, my phone...
*DON'T IGNORE ME, BOY.*
The man pats himself down and the desperation turns into panic. He frantically searches his pockets until he finds it: an unused steel knife with a plastic handle. He holds it in his hand while keeping it hidden. He shakes with adrenaline as the first bead of cold sweat drips from his eyebrow. His grip is tight; he is ready to use the knife.
When the elevator opens, he rushes out as fast as he can without running. With fast, shuffling steps he makes his way outside to the soothing tranquility of the night. An almost perfectly full moon lights his way to the car. The pathetic, rusty car that people laugh at him for. If it wasn't the car, it would be something else.
He knows the way. There's no traffic at night. Whenever he drives, he tends to drift off into his thoughts.
-She's never in the car.
-She hates the car.
-But she didn't used to be in the bathroom either-
He turns on the radio. It's the same talk radio channel as always.
"...what's so hard to understand about this?! It's made perfectly clear in the Bible: THOU SHALT NOT KILL!"
"So even raped women shouldn't be able to have abortions? The defining aspect of our country is freedom. Where is the freedo-"
"GOD COMES BEFORE THE COUNTRY! THOU SHALT NOT KILL!"
"Please let her finish, mr. Epps. I understand you feel strongly about this but you must wait for your turn."
"I should have had you aborted."
*IT'S LIKE YOU DON'T EVEN LOVE ME.*
A cold hand brushes against his as it rests on the gear stick. He screams hysterically from the bottom of his lungs as he puts his entire bodyweight on the brake pedal. The car comes into a stop in the middle of the road. She's in the passenger seat and he can feel her getting closer as he desperately tries to remove his seat belt.
*I GIVE YOU MY LIFE AND YOU HATE ME*
Without hesitation he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the knife. She begins to laugh: "Did you steal that from the neighbour's little girl? She's cute, isn't she?" Her bathrobe is open again "Not nearly as cute as I am though, is she? That little bitch."
He raises the knife to his throat and pushes it in with with one sharp thrust. | |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | It hardly makes sense to be afraid of the guy chained up in the barn any more. He's been there since it was built some time in the 1880s... What's that like 130 years? And in that time he's only ever hurt a dozen people and... Between you and me I know more'n half of 'em weren't accidents at all.
He never ever stops tugging at those chains and that used to scare me. When I was young I'd hear a groan, or a crack or a clang outside my bedroom window and be horrified he had finally gone and done it. There was a nasty mangled mess of a man with broken chains all over his body that was about to start sprinting toward the house and nothing could stop him.
All those years and it never did happen. Came too close too many times but we're more than ready for that.
See, I was mistaken as a boy. He's not unstoppable just... Not stoppable forever. Every chain that lays on his body during the day starts to rust before the next morning and is brittle as shale within 6 weeks. Ever board nailed in his path rots in a matter of days. Birds and plants drop dead if he doesn't rip them apart first. I tried my hand at killin him once; every boy in my family has. Buckshot. Kerosine. Combine harvester. All were good fun and all but didn't leave him any worse for ware. Me I fancied myself a strong young man so I took to him with an old wood splitting axe. I'd felled trees all month to get ready. I'd be the one to get his head off, dirty staring eyes and all.
I'm sure you can guess how that went. A dull rusty axe with a crack down the handle and a look like it'd been burnt and sunk in a swamp and smashed with a jack hammer all in a row. His neck looked as sickly and leathery as ever but it bore no cut or break. That's when I finally stopped being afraid of him.
That broken axe is a blessing to me. It all made sense after all. He ain't a man at all, just a thing, a force. I couldn't cut him down any more than I could cut down every tree in the forest or flattened a mountain range or empty the sea. He is still a dangerous thing but he kills fewer than river rapids, hurricanes or cave-ins every year. As regular folks we don't get to end problems; all we do is slow them down... Keep them in rusty chains in a rotting barn less than 80 yards from the room I sleep. | I'm sorry
I tried to stay awake.
I've tried everything. I can't keep my eyes open forever. It happens if I blink for too long.
I know I'm a hateful little shit. It keeps people alive. I tried everything I could to get you to hate me, to get you to leave me alone, but it didn't work. Why couldn't you have left me alone?
Everyone who loves me dies. And it's my fault.
At least, that's what my mother says. | |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | I was falling asleep. The news anchor on the screen across the room turned to an incoherrent drone as I began to slip from reality. I loosened my grip on the remote. Household items were illuminated by television light, dancing shadows and shapes. My eyes fluttered as a weight of sleep blanketed my body.
"Hello Sarah."
the voice was dry and had a quality like it came from somewhere far away.
I'd forgotten him. By God I'd forgotten him! I wasn't supposed to forget him. He appeared slowly out of the muffled lights and sounds of the fading world, between where I lay and the ceiling. I was on my back now, sprawled across the couch, breathing heavily.
the last time I'd seen him felt like another lifetime ago. He had introduced himself as the conversationalist, he'd asked me to do something. Why couldn't I remember?
I tried to make a sound, I tried to scream but with my every effort could only produce a weak and diluted moan. My mind was fighting to stay awake, trapped in an immovable cage. WAKE UP! I yelled it over and over in my head.
"We need to talk."
He half hovered, half leaned over me. One of his heads, the one speaking, tilted at an odd angle to hold eye contact. He shimmered, like a shadow cast from the ever changing light of the tv.
"I want to get to know you better. Have you thought about the offer I made you the last time we spoke? You know, I meant what I said."
His smile was something that stood out on his otherwise shadowed face. It landed somwhere between amused and expectant. It would flicker larger sometimes and his eyes would catch the light, visible for an instant.
I shook my head with every bit of energy I could muster but to little effect. It fell to the side instead.
"I see."
the conversationalist adjusted himself bringing his face so that it blocked my view of the televesion.
"I don't want this to be a one-sided conversation Sarah. I want to hear from you, try harder to remember. My offer still stands. I'm going to extend it. You have until the next time I see you to make your choice. Just talk to me! I just want to talk with you! You don't want to be asleep forever do you?!"
He wavered uncontrollably as he grew excited, drawing closer to my face.
"it's your life next time Sarah! I know I'll hear from you soon."
he reached with sinewy arms and pinched at my folded elbow with his long, dark fingers.
I'd just woken from a dream. It was terrible, not the dream itself, just the feeling of it. I don't remember what it was about but It felt real. Like that thing people get when they sleepwalk, what do you call it? Something like transcendant dreaming I think. Or translucent, I can't recall. I think I might be a sleepwalker, the skin on my elbow smarts like I ran it into something. Maybe I should dial back on the evening snacks. Anyway, I'm going to bed now. It's late, and whatever it was I was supposed to do this evening will have to wait until tomorrow. It can wait. It will be there tomorrow. I just need to sleep... | The quiet followed me. Not silence, never silence, just the quiet.
I ran, boots smacking against the pavement. Except… they sounded distant, or like my ears were full of water. The cars hummed by in bursts of air, nearly pushing me over. Horns whimpered and tires stuttered and even the trains tiptoed.
Trying to think, I couldn't hear my thoughts. The quiet world too loud. I didn't know how to shout my thoughts, but I tried. Didn't know how to listen carefully to my thoughts, and I failed. All I could do was panic.
My heart beat, until the pulsing in my ears was all I could hear. My breathing quickened.
I watched my vision shrink, eyes erratic as they kept trying to see beyond my peripheral. Closed in, losing connection to the world. Until, all I could make out were my hands in front of me.
Unable to hear my thoughts, I didn't know if I told my hands to move.
The quiet silenced me. | |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | ...
In the summer of 1992, John and Janice Marsh from Syracuse, New York arrived home from their vacation overseas only to discover that their leather recliner had been replaced with a material consistent with human skin. It was the only thing out of place in the entire establishment. Upon closer inspection, it appeared that the recliner had hairs growing out of it, and had a prominent pulse and numerous veins on its side.
John talked to his neighbors, who claimed no one had been in or out of their house in the time that they were gone. Reluctantly, he gave in to Janice's pleas and contacted the police, concerned that someone had broken into their home. Officer James Hawthorne and Officer Dana Worth responded to the call and examined the chair. Bewildered, he insisted that he search the rest of the house, to which John and Janice complied. Officer Hawthorne stepped into the basement and walked down the steps while Officer Worth examined the upstairs.
That was the last time John and Janice saw Officer Worth.
All they heard was a dull *'thump',* then silence.
Officer James Hawthorne rushed up the stairs and found a bloody hand mark on a nearby closet, a closet that John and Janice had claimed to have never existed before. Opening it revealed a dark passageways with pulsating flesh-like walls and blue veins intertwining with one another beneath its bloated surface. Most of all, the stench was overwhelming, which Janice described as a '*mixture of ash, rotting fish and shit.*'.
Calling for backup was Officer Hawthorne's first reaction. However, his radio was unable to work. Furthermore, neither the Marsh couple nor the officer could escape the house. Something was actively jamming their cell phone signals, which sent Janice into a panic attack.
It was then that they noticed something...strange.
The walls had changed.
All of them consisted of human skin, but had a variety of lacerations and other injuries inflicted on them. Several faces of numerous ethnicities and genders were scattered throughout the house, planted in the walls. They also appeared to be alive. When touched, the faces screamed for the longest time.
Breaking through the windows was no longer an option, for they have been covered in a thick brown webbing of unknown origin.
As the minutes dragged into hours, their own home began to transform. The wood of their tables turned to boiled skin, the legs morphing into actual legs. Turning on the sink did not cause water to pour. Instead, it was blood.
Armed with knives, John and Officer Hawthorne attempted to cut their way out. Blood spilled all over them as a result, flooding the bathroom with human essence and feces.
When John came to check onto his wife, he found her bound to the opposite wall facing what remained of their kitchen. She was unable to move, with some sort of webbing forming over her mouth.
Janice screamed and screamed, her muffled cries joining the thousand faces in their house of horrors. Desperate, John tried to cut her out, but it was no use.
The house had claimed her.
Days passed, and she sunk further and further into the walls, until only her face was present.
Officer Hawthorne was next, after he disappeared while exploring the basement.
Insanity claimed John, and soon...so did the house.
Authorities arrived at their address two weeks later, when the mailman reported blood seeping from the gutter. They spent hours trying to open the doors, but when they finally managed to peek inside...all of them regretted visiting 15 Sunrise Lane.
...
| The can of cold soda popped open. Henry leant back against his wooden chair, heard the creak and took a long, satisfied slurp. He crossed his legs beneath the desk and leant back over his book, tapping on the desk with the eraser end of his pencil. The library at night lay silent and still. Outside seemed half a world away, beyond the thick windows, the dark shut out by the cosy lamps set in each cubicle.
Night pressed up against the windows; a stranger left out in the cold, and the wind tapped on the glass. A shiver moved down Henry's spine and he twitched his his seat. The tapping on the glass continued. Once Henry had dated a girl with long, lacquered fingernails, and she used to run them across tables and chairs while she waited for things. The sound now was the same; drawn out and impatient.
Over Henry came the distinct feeling of being watched. Far below him in the library he heard the sound of high heels clacking across wood, but the sound faded as though muffled. The light in his cubicle wavered like a candle flame and outside the dark became fierce. No longer contented with its outside realm, it pushed against the frames and tested the creaking wood. The hair on Henry's neck rose. He ceased his tapping pencil. The wind a plaintive cry.
*Hungry*
The wind whined. Beside him, the light stuttered again and faded. On the windowsills of the library, the dark crept in. Like a seeping stain it spread, crawling over the wooden floor. Henry bent his head to his book, but gooseflesh rose on his arms and from somewhere came a high pitched screech; the sound of nails on a chalkboard.
*Cold*
The dark whispered. In the pit of Henry's stomach, his courage turned to ice. An old fear overtook him, old and inescapable as time itself. Winking out, the light fled and the library was cast into gloom. Long and blue, Henry's shadow faced the wrong way, against the faint glow of the moon. The dark grew about him, and the wind cried harder.
There were old things in the night; cold things in the night; *hungry* things in the night. Henry sat frozen to his seat as his shadow stood tall. A blue hand reached for him. The fingers felt cold, they gripped his wrist. Henry opened his mouth to scream and the night filled his throat.
*The old ones are coming.*
| |
[WP] Tell a horror story with the most unsettling original monster you can come up with. | The monster sat there immobile. It hardly ever perceptibly moved, except to lash out at whatever came near it. Big, hairy arms. It breathed smoke and fire. Rumor is that it was a man once until magical potions had changed it into what it had become.
Many times as I'd try to pass its lair, it had lashed out to burn me, bruise me, break me. It's howls and roars had always assaulted me as long as I can remember. My only hope was to survive each day and make it to the next.
Sometimes I was able to get past it unscathed, but I always had to return here. It may have been sleeping. I hope it slept now. I turned the handle to the door that protected me and crept down the hallway that led to where it lay. A tactic that I sometimes used to sneak by it was to remove my shoes so that I made as little sound as possible. I tried to employ that today. Nearing the beast, I held my shoes in my hand and crept, one slipped from my hand and fell to the floor, perfectly flat, making a smacking sound. In a normal place, the noise would have been just a lump and any sound would die quickly. Here, with my anxiety, in this situation, the sound was a loud boom echoing everywhere.
The beast rose and reached out to grab me with those big, stinky hairy arms and caught me. "Aaarragggghhh!" it roared. "You know to never wake me up!" it bellowed and pulled me closer with it's left hand while a slap came across from the right, staggering me. "Goddammit!" he said. "Before you leave, get me a beer" he grunted threateningly. He let me go and reached around to the other side of his recliner where he always sat. Grabbed a cigarette and lit it. I turned to the kitchen, my face throbbing.
"OK Daddy" I replied meekly. | The can of cold soda popped open. Henry leant back against his wooden chair, heard the creak and took a long, satisfied slurp. He crossed his legs beneath the desk and leant back over his book, tapping on the desk with the eraser end of his pencil. The library at night lay silent and still. Outside seemed half a world away, beyond the thick windows, the dark shut out by the cosy lamps set in each cubicle.
Night pressed up against the windows; a stranger left out in the cold, and the wind tapped on the glass. A shiver moved down Henry's spine and he twitched his his seat. The tapping on the glass continued. Once Henry had dated a girl with long, lacquered fingernails, and she used to run them across tables and chairs while she waited for things. The sound now was the same; drawn out and impatient.
Over Henry came the distinct feeling of being watched. Far below him in the library he heard the sound of high heels clacking across wood, but the sound faded as though muffled. The light in his cubicle wavered like a candle flame and outside the dark became fierce. No longer contented with its outside realm, it pushed against the frames and tested the creaking wood. The hair on Henry's neck rose. He ceased his tapping pencil. The wind a plaintive cry.
*Hungry*
The wind whined. Beside him, the light stuttered again and faded. On the windowsills of the library, the dark crept in. Like a seeping stain it spread, crawling over the wooden floor. Henry bent his head to his book, but gooseflesh rose on his arms and from somewhere came a high pitched screech; the sound of nails on a chalkboard.
*Cold*
The dark whispered. In the pit of Henry's stomach, his courage turned to ice. An old fear overtook him, old and inescapable as time itself. Winking out, the light fled and the library was cast into gloom. Long and blue, Henry's shadow faced the wrong way, against the faint glow of the moon. The dark grew about him, and the wind cried harder.
There were old things in the night; cold things in the night; *hungry* things in the night. Henry sat frozen to his seat as his shadow stood tall. A blue hand reached for him. The fingers felt cold, they gripped his wrist. Henry opened his mouth to scream and the night filled his throat.
*The old ones are coming.*
| |
[WP] You have had bad vision your entire life, and have always worn glasses or contacts to remedy it. One day, you lose your glasses, and realize that certain people around you still appear perfectly clear to you. | I can never find my glasses if I'm not wearing them, or they aren't somewhere I've put them myself, like my bedside table, two inches to the left of my alarm clock with obsessive compulsive levels of accuracy. So when they fell off on the bus, I thought I was screwed.
A young gentleman came to the rescue when he saw me scrabbling for the lenses, which were not even a foot from me.
"Excuse me, miss? It appears you dropped your glasses." He held them out to me, and I looked up. Strangely, compared to the rest of my surroundings, he seemed to give off an aura of sorts.
I could see him with stunning sharpness, standing there holding my glasses, some kind of instrument case slung over his back.
"Th-thank you." I stammered, taking my glasses back. I put them on, and the world returned to clarity.
"Not at all." The bus stopped, and he disembarked, and I forgot all about the encounter for a while. It wasn't until later, watching the news, that I even recalled it. A picture of the young man that helped me was displayed on the screen, above the caption:
*57 dead in school shooting. Suspect in custody.* | \#true story
So yeah, this is not really a writing prompt, or is it?
Anyways, when I was young my vision was pretty bad---I always wore thick glasses to school and I was the nerd of the class. Beneath my glasses, I was weak, timid and defensive. I'm the weakest link in the school, the goto person when you're looking for someone to bully.
It was until year 8 when I was slapped by a bully in school. My glasses fell off. Everyone expected me to panic and duck to look for my glasses.
But I didn't. I noticed I could still see clearly. The sonovabitch's face still clear in front of me. I slapped him back.
He punched me.
Can you believe it? HE PUNCHED ME!
A gentleman, punched my nose bloody when all I did was fight back.
You wouldn't believe how much shock I was in. I was crying, legitimately crying. From rage.
It was that day I began the transformation to being the queen bitch of the universe. | |
[WP] Charlie has received one of 5 golden tickets to visit Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory! Little does Charlie know, but the chocolate factory is merely a front for Willie Wonka's massive Cocaine Empire, and Wonka needs a successor | "So what do you think, kid?"
The only reaction Willy Wonka could bring about from the little Charlie was a blank stare. He had a feeling it would end this way. Sighing deeply, Mr. Wonka rubbed his temples and considered what he would do next. His life secret was now in the dirty hands of a 12-year old kid, and he didn't even think this was a good idea in the first place! His wife had talked him into it, the bitch.
"Mr. Wonka?" A tiny voice broke the silence and received Willy's full attention.
"Yes? Yes, child! What is it?!" He desperately cried back.
"I think I would like to do this -- become your successor, I mean," Charlie calmly said to the wide, gleaming eyes of the man that stood above him. Willy let out a sigh of relief and smiled, thankfully looking up at the sky. The connection felt between these two newly introduced friends could only be described in the implication of that of a relationship between two aspiring students -- Everything was wonderful in that one moment. The weight lifted off of Willy's chest was remarkable. Now all he had to do was teach the kid how to cook, and he'd be free. He was about to lead his now apprentice to the main part of the factory, but it was at that moment that they heard the knocks. Five loud thuds, turning the air around them colder with each forceful impact. Willy Wonka was frozen in place. Charlie was looking at the entrance of the factory curiously. He thought better of himself than to announce that nobody should be knocking on the doors of a factory any later than 9:00, as the thought was already looming above them.
"This is the DEA! Open up immediately, or we'll have to do it for you!"
Mr. Wonka inhaled sharply, peering over at Charlie. "Okay, now, kid," he whispered cautiously, "Listen carefully. I-"
The large wooden doors burst open, suddenly creating an atmosphere devoid of life. Five armored DEA agents were behind it, now quickly shuffling in, pointing guns at the two criminals standing there like deer in the headlights.
"Don't move!"
Mr. Wonka slowly regained composure, straightened his rainbow bow-tie, and cleared his throat. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" he said with brisk confidence.
Oh boy, was this going to be a hard one to talk his way out of. | Sorry for any grammatical errors. This is not English class, I am not your English student, and you are not my English teacher. With that being said, feel free to correct me just be nice about it.
"Snfffffffffffffffff"
*tap* *tap* *tap* *tap*
"Snfffffffffffffffffffffff"
"Ahhhhhhh"
The wide eyed Wonka exclaimed after snorting a line of his Willy White. This did not really surprise me though. People say that they would never do cocaine because all of the negative stigma's that come with it. But we all know that the reason we don't all do cocaine is because we simply can't afford it. That's where Willy come's in.
At first site when walking up to his factory, it looks as it is labeled, a candy factory. However, for a factory that was made in the 20's, every cosmetic detail was updated to look as if the building was built yesterday. Willy had money. Which wasn't very surprising given the success of his brand. But how did Willy make his brand successful? How did he go from making candy bars in a tiny candy shop in NY to being able to find his name in any store across the nation.
"Snffffffffffffff"
"Coke" Wonka mumbled
"Guys love it, girls love it, your favorite soda is named after it, and ya' can just never get enough of it"
"Ya' wanna know somethin Charlie!?" Wonka muttered while looking in his coat pocket for a match to light is cigar
"W-w-what's is it Mr. Wonka" Charlie stuttered timidly
"Ya know why they took coke out of Coca-Cola cola don't ya?"
"W-w-why is that Mr. Wonka"
"Because they didn't need it anymore" Bellowed Wonka
"Why" Charlie quietly asked
"Because you idiot! Ya don't need coke for something to be Coke"
Willy proceeds to light his cigar. The room become warily silent for a good 10 seconds. Wonka stares at Charlie the entire time but isn't really looking at Charlie. It's almost as if he is looking through him. You know that million mile stare that some veterans have after war. That. It almost looks as if he is looking in a mirror in his own head.
"Here at our "chocolate" factory we give the people what they want"
"What do people want sir?"
Willy's eye lighten up as he squeals "They want to be happy!"
"And do you know how I'll make em' happy!?" Wonka shouted
"No sir I don't"
"Imma give em Coke!" Screamed Wonka
"Isn't that illegal though sir?" Charlie muttered
*Wonka take a deep breath then laughs under his breath*
"Silly boy! you have so much to learn!"
"I don't know if I want to learn" Charlie murmured
"Do you know what happiness is Charlie"
"Yes!" Charlie declared
"Then what is it?" The factory owner hissed
"It's when you put a lot of hard work into something and then you get the gratification from yourself for accomplishing something, weather it be from working out, getting a job with the goal of progressing yourself, or putting effort into mutual relationships. That's what I believe makes people happy Mr. Wonka."
Willy smirks then proposes "What if you could skip all of that bullshit?"
Charlie scoffed proclaiming "What bullshit!?"
"Ya know, all that effort you people like to put into your "relationships" and "well-being" that you care so much about. What if all you needed to be happy was money"
"Money can't buy you happiness!" Charlie interjected
"I beg to differ" hissed Willy as he takes another puff on his cigar. "What if I told you happiness is just a chemical in your head" Wonka scoffed.
"Snnnnnnnfffffffffff"
"And I just snorted a line of it"
"What does any of this have to do with candy" asked Charlie.
"EVERYTHING!" Willy barked. "Just Because you can't put cocaine in your candy does not mean you can't put some Coke in it" Wonka exclaimed brashly.
"That makes no sense!" proclaimed Charlie.
"Yes it does, you just don't understand what I mean by Coke yet. Coke is everything from the brand of the product to the chemicals that make up the product. This is why not just any no body can throw their hand in and start concocting a drink or food that will compete with the likes of Coke, Dr. Pepper, Frito Lay, or even my little chocolate factory. This shit is down to a fucking science! They got people that know exactly what chemicals will make your neurons fire in your little head telling you "this stuff is the shit!". It's fucking coke but just with a different chemical composition. It's genius!" Proclaimed Wonka. "Now why does Coke taste better then Dr. Pepper?"
"Because it's America's real choice when it comes to soda?" Charlie blurted
"No you idiot! Those words mean without the money that they put behind them! Coke doesn't taste better than Dr. Pepper and Dr. Pepper doesn't taste better than Coke. While some people might prefer one drink over the other the overall consumption of the drink relies on the amount of branding each company uses. They have a drug, they just have to make sure customers are able to find their product."
"That still doesn't explain why Coke does better than Dr. Pepper"
"It is named after everyone's favorite drug isn't it?"
Wonka replied
"So!?" Charlie snarled
"Don't you find it a little strange that the most common drink found in the world shares the same name as one of the most wonderful drugs found under the sun!"
"I don't know if I'd say wonderful, but I will agree, that is a bit weird"
"Have you ever stopped to think about why that is?"
"I haven't really given it much though."
"Snnnnnnnnnffffffffff"
"It all started in the 20's. Back when I made all of my product in a shitty candy store in uptown Boston. Cocaine was still being tested by the government for its medicinal properties and there weren't any real restriction on whether or not we could put it in food yet, so we did. It took us years to find that happy medium where a consumer could consume our products without worrying of an over dose while still getting them that fix that keeps them coming back. That's when we hit big. All of the major food suppliers businesses exploded giving us riches we could not have foreseen. In that moment, we had defeated our biggest competition, home cooked meals. We had a product and a brand that no mother cooking at come could compete with. Then the FDA came in and made us stop the production of cocaine in our food products. Our business took a hit but because of the brand we had instilled. We had time to research and figure out how we could put the "coke back in Coke". That's when every major food company in the United States started using artificial flavoring that is essentially the "Coke" we find in our food we eat today"
"Snnnnnnnnnnnnnnnfffffffff"
"Now I got a question for you Charlie"
"Snnnnnnnnnnnnnnffffffffffffffff"
"Ahhhhhh"
"Are you ready to take over" Willy mumbles as he collapses over from a cocaine induced over dose.
| |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | I was ready.
There was nothing standing between me and *the man* who pulled the strings.
First, I called his name. *"Hello, Marmalade."* but that wasn’t the word I was looking for.
He looked confused.
I looked confused.
He turned to me and asked where I had come from. I told him my mother.
Again, he looked confused. All I remember was a lot of confusion in those few moments.
At the very least, they got me where I wanted to be.
It must have looked perfect. *“A true assassin”* I thought - though that all went to pot when I chose to stab him with a banana.
About 12 hours later they released the cuffs and I was a free man again.
They asked for my signature, but unfortunately they gave me a red pen.
This just won’t do, I thought. I am not a teacher! so I asked for a blue pen and the man said they had ran out of ink, *“so just do it with that”.*
There was something about what he had said. Thankfully, time travel was possible. I thought, “how convenient!” and snuck out with this mighty fine symbol of a pen.
Now, instead of stabbing him with a banana I stabbed him with the pen. It was perfect. He died from internal wounds. I even got his name right, too!
The next few days were riot-haven, and all lived unhappily ever after. | It was September 17, 1787. Mr Hancock was preparing to me the initial signature on the Constitution when.... Hey guys, why don't we use my new American invention "the pen" to sign this instead of that British quill?
OH, okay - sure. Hmm. It doesn't seem to be working?
OH, just start drawing little circles it'll get started soon.
RRRRIIIPP!!!
Oh no! The Constitution is destroyed!!
The weird new guy ran away and dropped a banana peel behind him.
Bananas started running amok, it wasn't triploid for some reason, but the gross grainy diploid kind. They took over everything.
My mastery of the butterfly effect was for nothing... All the butterflies wanted was Bananas... There's nothing else left. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | Thirty one long, grueling months. Thirty. One. Months.
I had known what it would take. We all did, if we thought about it--really *looked*--instead of just taking in what they fed us.
I laughed to myself as he strode to the podium. It had taken so little to begin. I had placed one banana peel in a trash can in Hoboken. I had put one small mark on a child's test as a substitute teacher in Waukegan. I had sat in the last free seat on the last run of The Boss in St Louis. A Six Flags, I think.
Each thread intimately woven into the tapestry so deftly, so quickly. Each individual chime, ringing out across the minutes, the miles, to join in one strong, beautiful chorus in this moment.
My father would be a fine man in that office.
Better shift my dress to the left in
3, 2, 1....wouldn't want to go to war with Pakistan quite THAT early.
Yeah, Daddy will be just fine as president.
I listen as he begins the most important part of the day.
"I, Donald J Trump, do hereby swear..." | It was September 17, 1787. Mr Hancock was preparing to me the initial signature on the Constitution when.... Hey guys, why don't we use my new American invention "the pen" to sign this instead of that British quill?
OH, okay - sure. Hmm. It doesn't seem to be working?
OH, just start drawing little circles it'll get started soon.
RRRRIIIPP!!!
Oh no! The Constitution is destroyed!!
The weird new guy ran away and dropped a banana peel behind him.
Bananas started running amok, it wasn't triploid for some reason, but the gross grainy diploid kind. They took over everything.
My mastery of the butterfly effect was for nothing... All the butterflies wanted was Bananas... There's nothing else left. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | As i watched the small child play around in the zoo completely unsupervised by his parents. i realized something. Something that would change a nation forever. But could i pull it off? I would have to, for the revolution on begin he must die.
I quickly check my pockets to see if i could make it happen. A banana from my mid-afternoon snack and a red pen i stole from the bank.
Shit. No way to pull this off, it wasn't possible.
...
Wait. That could work.
I laugh out loud looking down on the young boy who would start a global revolution without ever realizing it.
I quickly write in big words "CANDY" With a crudely drawn picture of one on the banana peel with arrows pointing to the east.
It was perfect, no way my plan could fail.
I hurriedly slip towards the lone kid. I quietly throw the banana peel on the ground in front of the kid. I make sure the arrow points at the Gorilla Cage.
With that done i walk away, slowly out of the gates of the zoo as i hear a single gunshot behind me.
I can only grin as i think of the revolution that will tear the united states apart. | It was September 17, 1787. Mr Hancock was preparing to me the initial signature on the Constitution when.... Hey guys, why don't we use my new American invention "the pen" to sign this instead of that British quill?
OH, okay - sure. Hmm. It doesn't seem to be working?
OH, just start drawing little circles it'll get started soon.
RRRRIIIPP!!!
Oh no! The Constitution is destroyed!!
The weird new guy ran away and dropped a banana peel behind him.
Bananas started running amok, it wasn't triploid for some reason, but the gross grainy diploid kind. They took over everything.
My mastery of the butterfly effect was for nothing... All the butterflies wanted was Bananas... There's nothing else left. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | It was September 17, 1787. Mr Hancock was preparing to me the initial signature on the Constitution when.... Hey guys, why don't we use my new American invention "the pen" to sign this instead of that British quill?
OH, okay - sure. Hmm. It doesn't seem to be working?
OH, just start drawing little circles it'll get started soon.
RRRRIIIPP!!!
Oh no! The Constitution is destroyed!!
The weird new guy ran away and dropped a banana peel behind him.
Bananas started running amok, it wasn't triploid for some reason, but the gross grainy diploid kind. They took over everything.
My mastery of the butterfly effect was for nothing... All the butterflies wanted was Bananas... There's nothing else left. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | I was ready.
There was nothing standing between me and *the man* who pulled the strings.
First, I called his name. *"Hello, Marmalade."* but that wasn’t the word I was looking for.
He looked confused.
I looked confused.
He turned to me and asked where I had come from. I told him my mother.
Again, he looked confused. All I remember was a lot of confusion in those few moments.
At the very least, they got me where I wanted to be.
It must have looked perfect. *“A true assassin”* I thought - though that all went to pot when I chose to stab him with a banana.
About 12 hours later they released the cuffs and I was a free man again.
They asked for my signature, but unfortunately they gave me a red pen.
This just won’t do, I thought. I am not a teacher! so I asked for a blue pen and the man said they had ran out of ink, *“so just do it with that”.*
There was something about what he had said. Thankfully, time travel was possible. I thought, “how convenient!” and snuck out with this mighty fine symbol of a pen.
Now, instead of stabbing him with a banana I stabbed him with the pen. It was perfect. He died from internal wounds. I even got his name right, too!
The next few days were riot-haven, and all lived unhappily ever after. | With the red pen I elected Donald trump for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
Edit: oh so the Hillary ones are better I see how it is.
With the red pen I elected Hillary Clinton for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
They both suck. Deal with it
| |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | Thirty one long, grueling months. Thirty. One. Months.
I had known what it would take. We all did, if we thought about it--really *looked*--instead of just taking in what they fed us.
I laughed to myself as he strode to the podium. It had taken so little to begin. I had placed one banana peel in a trash can in Hoboken. I had put one small mark on a child's test as a substitute teacher in Waukegan. I had sat in the last free seat on the last run of The Boss in St Louis. A Six Flags, I think.
Each thread intimately woven into the tapestry so deftly, so quickly. Each individual chime, ringing out across the minutes, the miles, to join in one strong, beautiful chorus in this moment.
My father would be a fine man in that office.
Better shift my dress to the left in
3, 2, 1....wouldn't want to go to war with Pakistan quite THAT early.
Yeah, Daddy will be just fine as president.
I listen as he begins the most important part of the day.
"I, Donald J Trump, do hereby swear..." | With the red pen I elected Donald trump for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
Edit: oh so the Hillary ones are better I see how it is.
With the red pen I elected Hillary Clinton for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
They both suck. Deal with it
| |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | As i watched the small child play around in the zoo completely unsupervised by his parents. i realized something. Something that would change a nation forever. But could i pull it off? I would have to, for the revolution on begin he must die.
I quickly check my pockets to see if i could make it happen. A banana from my mid-afternoon snack and a red pen i stole from the bank.
Shit. No way to pull this off, it wasn't possible.
...
Wait. That could work.
I laugh out loud looking down on the young boy who would start a global revolution without ever realizing it.
I quickly write in big words "CANDY" With a crudely drawn picture of one on the banana peel with arrows pointing to the east.
It was perfect, no way my plan could fail.
I hurriedly slip towards the lone kid. I quietly throw the banana peel on the ground in front of the kid. I make sure the arrow points at the Gorilla Cage.
With that done i walk away, slowly out of the gates of the zoo as i hear a single gunshot behind me.
I can only grin as i think of the revolution that will tear the united states apart. | With the red pen I elected Donald trump for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
Edit: oh so the Hillary ones are better I see how it is.
With the red pen I elected Hillary Clinton for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
They both suck. Deal with it
| |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | With the red pen I elected Donald trump for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
Edit: oh so the Hillary ones are better I see how it is.
With the red pen I elected Hillary Clinton for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
They both suck. Deal with it
| |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | “Three years, twenty two days, thirty two seconds.” The man in black gives me an empty stare. I exhale. Every single time they hire me, it’s like they forget the magic I can work. I rustle around in my paper-bag lunch. The man is getting anxious, he looks nervously around the room, eyeing the mirrored glass and the security door propped open lazily with one of my shoes. I continue.
“If I didn’t stick my shoe in there we’d be locked inside a Russian military base. Neither of us wants that. Though if you want to take down the American government, perhaps you’re more Russian than either of us thought, mm, comrade?” He’s not amused. Oh well. I’m not being paid for my humor. I dump the remainder of my lunch onto the cold steel table between us. I rip the paper bag open, and motion to the man for a pen. He doesn’t comprehend. Drawing salary from the government is like drawing water from a stone.
“Your pen. Please.” He fumbles in his pocket briefly before retrieving a disappointing red Bic.
“…Don’t you stiffs make a reasonable salary? Buy yourself something less embarrassing." I list my fee, bite my lip, and add another zero for good measure. I slide the piece of paper back to the man, he places it in his breast pocket without peeking. How very orthodox. He must be new. I put my feet up and sigh, retrieving an overripe banana. I nibble at the parts that haven’t yet turned to mush. At length the man in black speaks.
“Sir. If I may, must we stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary?”
I laugh. “We are going to stay here for exactly as long as is absolutely necessary.” My watch beeps. “Speak of the devil.” I get to my feet. “Let’s walk and talk, bub.” I pocket the pen, and proceed out the door.
I stride up through the labyrinthine tunnels of this compound. Every corner I turn is met with the backs of Russian security agents rotating through their guard. I follow mere seconds behind, cheating my way to the surface. The man in black is sweating. It’s cute. I almost feel bad for what I have to do. We’re at the security desk at the back of the building. The uptight agent with the hair-bun has gone to get her coffee. I slip behind the desk and retrieve a pair of keys. I turn to the man in black and point to the corridor in front of us.
“Wait here, five seconds. Then follow.” He nods. I continue around the corner and make for the rear exit. I drop the peel of the rotten banana from my pocket as I leave his view. He follows and I turn to see him off. He rounds the corner. He does his best Charlie Brown impression and I salute him. The crash of 200 lbs of secret agent is followed summarily by the porcelain crack of a coffee mug and panicked Russian. I make my way out the door as the exits electronically seal, hopping on an unnamed general’s Suzuki and retrieving the helmet generously left at its side.
The airport is at a stand-still. Something about a security incident at a nearby military base. I’m given a customs form to fill ahead of time. I retrieve my new red pen and fill my form to the dulcet tones of senior staff attempting to placate travelers over the PA. A scruffy short man asks me for my pen when I’m finished. I oblige, and head to my terminal. My job is done. I check the balances of my offshore accounts. Funds have been deposited as agreed. That’s my little game. I have no idea how they always know what to pay me. After all, I always dispose of the man to see my price. I’m sure someone else is out there that I never want to meet. But I guess that’s a story for another time.
Oh? You say. That’s all? You ask. Well, yes, and no. That’s all I have to do. The rest is set in motion. Three years, twenty-two days, thirty-two seconds of motion.
The agent I spoke with? He’s interrogated. He’s tortured. Everything you might expect. Eventually he has enough. They break him. They own him. He is Russian by the time America agrees to trade for his safe passage home. He returns to America; it turns out access to the email accounts of top U.S. government employees is easily gained.
The pen? Well that one’s cuter. The red ink on that friendly man’s customs form attracts just a little too much attention when we cross the border on the American side. They pull him aside. They hold him for three hours. He’s a bit of a socialist you see. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he’s quick to jump ship to Canada. Crisis averted. His actions in a small state would have turned one too many votes against the two-party status quo. An early and unexpected lead for an independent presidential candidate would have, against all odds, snowballed into a novel era of American socialism. For better or worse, even I couldn’t say.
But that’s not all. That’s amateur hour. The pen kept travelling. Lost and found in four different airports until it arrived on an airstrip in the middle-east. From there it found its way into the mountains next to a war-zone visited by one American foreign diplomat who would later run for president. While the rest of the small rebel troupe was taking potshots at the poor lady, the one sniper who would have hit her was busy slacking off and sketching an olive tree.
So she lives. Hillary Clinton lives, albeit one disgruntled ex-American leaks her emails. Bernie Sanders loses the democratic nomination when no miraculous snowball materializes. It could have happened, I swear. Either way, if you were wondering, that aborted immigrant actually has a family and a happy life in Edmonton now. And Trump? Well, I’ll be honest. I can’t take any credit for Trump. That’s what we in the business call an unstoppable force. That’s the kind of shit-show you plan around. So I did. And now we’re here. Two candidates nobody in their right mind wants to vote for.
This country will tear itself apart any day now.
...Ah. Now you're wondering: But what about the shoe? Now that's a secret.
Edit: Didn't expect this kind of response, thank you all for reading, and thank you kind benefactor for the gold!
| With the red pen I elected Donald trump for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
Edit: oh so the Hillary ones are better I see how it is.
With the red pen I elected Hillary Clinton for president after investing heavily in vault tec stocks. As I sat there eating my banana inside the safety of my vault, I suddenly realized that after nuclear Armageddon stocks were useless... Shit.
They both suck. Deal with it
| |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | As i watched the small child play around in the zoo completely unsupervised by his parents. i realized something. Something that would change a nation forever. But could i pull it off? I would have to, for the revolution on begin he must die.
I quickly check my pockets to see if i could make it happen. A banana from my mid-afternoon snack and a red pen i stole from the bank.
Shit. No way to pull this off, it wasn't possible.
...
Wait. That could work.
I laugh out loud looking down on the young boy who would start a global revolution without ever realizing it.
I quickly write in big words "CANDY" With a crudely drawn picture of one on the banana peel with arrows pointing to the east.
It was perfect, no way my plan could fail.
I hurriedly slip towards the lone kid. I quietly throw the banana peel on the ground in front of the kid. I make sure the arrow points at the Gorilla Cage.
With that done i walk away, slowly out of the gates of the zoo as i hear a single gunshot behind me.
I can only grin as i think of the revolution that will tear the united states apart. | I was ready.
There was nothing standing between me and *the man* who pulled the strings.
First, I called his name. *"Hello, Marmalade."* but that wasn’t the word I was looking for.
He looked confused.
I looked confused.
He turned to me and asked where I had come from. I told him my mother.
Again, he looked confused. All I remember was a lot of confusion in those few moments.
At the very least, they got me where I wanted to be.
It must have looked perfect. *“A true assassin”* I thought - though that all went to pot when I chose to stab him with a banana.
About 12 hours later they released the cuffs and I was a free man again.
They asked for my signature, but unfortunately they gave me a red pen.
This just won’t do, I thought. I am not a teacher! so I asked for a blue pen and the man said they had ran out of ink, *“so just do it with that”.*
There was something about what he had said. Thankfully, time travel was possible. I thought, “how convenient!” and snuck out with this mighty fine symbol of a pen.
Now, instead of stabbing him with a banana I stabbed him with the pen. It was perfect. He died from internal wounds. I even got his name right, too!
The next few days were riot-haven, and all lived unhappily ever after. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | I was ready.
There was nothing standing between me and *the man* who pulled the strings.
First, I called his name. *"Hello, Marmalade."* but that wasn’t the word I was looking for.
He looked confused.
I looked confused.
He turned to me and asked where I had come from. I told him my mother.
Again, he looked confused. All I remember was a lot of confusion in those few moments.
At the very least, they got me where I wanted to be.
It must have looked perfect. *“A true assassin”* I thought - though that all went to pot when I chose to stab him with a banana.
About 12 hours later they released the cuffs and I was a free man again.
They asked for my signature, but unfortunately they gave me a red pen.
This just won’t do, I thought. I am not a teacher! so I asked for a blue pen and the man said they had ran out of ink, *“so just do it with that”.*
There was something about what he had said. Thankfully, time travel was possible. I thought, “how convenient!” and snuck out with this mighty fine symbol of a pen.
Now, instead of stabbing him with a banana I stabbed him with the pen. It was perfect. He died from internal wounds. I even got his name right, too!
The next few days were riot-haven, and all lived unhappily ever after. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | As i watched the small child play around in the zoo completely unsupervised by his parents. i realized something. Something that would change a nation forever. But could i pull it off? I would have to, for the revolution on begin he must die.
I quickly check my pockets to see if i could make it happen. A banana from my mid-afternoon snack and a red pen i stole from the bank.
Shit. No way to pull this off, it wasn't possible.
...
Wait. That could work.
I laugh out loud looking down on the young boy who would start a global revolution without ever realizing it.
I quickly write in big words "CANDY" With a crudely drawn picture of one on the banana peel with arrows pointing to the east.
It was perfect, no way my plan could fail.
I hurriedly slip towards the lone kid. I quietly throw the banana peel on the ground in front of the kid. I make sure the arrow points at the Gorilla Cage.
With that done i walk away, slowly out of the gates of the zoo as i hear a single gunshot behind me.
I can only grin as i think of the revolution that will tear the united states apart. | Thirty one long, grueling months. Thirty. One. Months.
I had known what it would take. We all did, if we thought about it--really *looked*--instead of just taking in what they fed us.
I laughed to myself as he strode to the podium. It had taken so little to begin. I had placed one banana peel in a trash can in Hoboken. I had put one small mark on a child's test as a substitute teacher in Waukegan. I had sat in the last free seat on the last run of The Boss in St Louis. A Six Flags, I think.
Each thread intimately woven into the tapestry so deftly, so quickly. Each individual chime, ringing out across the minutes, the miles, to join in one strong, beautiful chorus in this moment.
My father would be a fine man in that office.
Better shift my dress to the left in
3, 2, 1....wouldn't want to go to war with Pakistan quite THAT early.
Yeah, Daddy will be just fine as president.
I listen as he begins the most important part of the day.
"I, Donald J Trump, do hereby swear..." | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | Thirty one long, grueling months. Thirty. One. Months.
I had known what it would take. We all did, if we thought about it--really *looked*--instead of just taking in what they fed us.
I laughed to myself as he strode to the podium. It had taken so little to begin. I had placed one banana peel in a trash can in Hoboken. I had put one small mark on a child's test as a substitute teacher in Waukegan. I had sat in the last free seat on the last run of The Boss in St Louis. A Six Flags, I think.
Each thread intimately woven into the tapestry so deftly, so quickly. Each individual chime, ringing out across the minutes, the miles, to join in one strong, beautiful chorus in this moment.
My father would be a fine man in that office.
Better shift my dress to the left in
3, 2, 1....wouldn't want to go to war with Pakistan quite THAT early.
Yeah, Daddy will be just fine as president.
I listen as he begins the most important part of the day.
"I, Donald J Trump, do hereby swear..." | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | According to the physics of the present day, the world is non-deterministic. The argument is that due to quantum fluctuations being probabilistic in nature, there is no way to truly know how the future will turn out.
That's a load of hogwash.
Sure, you may end up with an oxygen molecule moved by a centimeter or two, but on a macroscopic scale, nothing is going to change that much due to sheer randomness. Changes on the quantum scale only affect things on the quantum scale. If you want to change the visible world in its path through time, you need to make a change on a larger scale. Move a single molecule and you won't affect anything, but an entire cluster of molecules from the flap of a butterfly wing? Now we're in business.
I should probably explain myself. I'm a member of a secret organization which exists at the edges of time and works to influence the course of human history. We are able to see into the multiverse and watch the courses of infinitely many Earths, to determine what large-scale choices should be made for the betterment of the species. We then insert agents into the timeline to exert the changes which we determine will lead to the greatest growth long term. No matter what, we must always weigh the long term benefits to be more important than short term suffering.
The main problem is that time is hard to affect. Much like inertia makes it difficult to move the course of a large object through space, temporal inertia makes it difficult to move the course of time. Also like regular inertia, there are two ways to overcome temporal inertia: a large force in a short time, or a small force over a long time. In our organization, we almost always choose the smallest possible forces; the smallest possible changes that can then compound upon each other to cause the desired effect.
Which is what brings me here today. The US presidential election of 2040 will be between two raging psychopaths, and the incited hatred will be the spark for a nuclear war, no matter who wins. There are too many variables at play here for a normal approach to work, but we must still actively influence as little as possible.
Our plan is to enact slight changes which will culminate in the collapse of the US government in 2037. We have had people working behind the scenes for several decades now, in politics, the media, the entertainment industry. We set up Reagan with the idea of trickle-down economics, knowing that it would cause income inequality to rise. We sparked both of the Gulf Wars, knowing full well that the area was volatile and likely to lead to increased worldwide terrorism. We even gave Trump the idea to run for president - we'll make sure he doesn't get elected, of course, but his actions (particularly when coupled with the actions of Clinton) will truly expose the extent of the corruption in the government to the American people. The general outrage that so many are already feeling will soon become focused on their leaders.
The stage has been set. The government will fall, and all it will take is a pen and a banana peel.
Oh, I hope you weren't expecting me to tell you how I was going to do it. I'm already cutting it close on the timing.
Just watch the news tomorrow. You'll see. | Right after the end of the message, the face of the young lady slowly disappeared in a pixel jam and an error window bounced to my eyes.
"Your files were corrupted".
I clicked the OK button, thus creating a small air gap under my mouse and making the passage of light through my glass desk optimal for a quite short fragment of time, making slightly burn the skin of my bare right foot, forcing my reflexes to act towards moving it in a very fast yet clear curb hitting my desk 1.03 seconds after the air gap.
This desk, now swaying in a barely visible and very slight motion back and forth makes the red pen losing the balance i gave it by setting it straight upwards and falling towards my foot finishing itself his very fast yet clear reflex curb and launching the red pen by a straight hit towards the bottom of the door where, exactly 0.79 seconds after the hit, the cartridge open itself under the pressure created by the shock.
At that exact time, the black postman knocks on the door and hears the loud click of the case separating the pencil lead and sees the beginning of the red ink flooding the floor under my door.
I'm waiting for the time to reach exactly 3.83 after the airgap, or one second after the knocking to yell in my best ghetto voice:
"I beg you not to do that officer!"
One tap of my nail on my glass desk to imitate the muffled sound of someone reloading his weapon, and waiting for another half second before hitting with all my might the screen of my computer.
For a full three seconds, i was able to hear the silence on the other side of the door.
In a quick motion, i grab the banana in the plastic bag on the other side of my desk, trying to minimize the sound emitted by the friction of plastic with itself as much as possible. I'm now walking with loud steps towards the door while peeling the banana in a way i could have 4 equal parts of the peel joining at its tail. I dip my finger in the red ink and write a word for each parts of the peel.
"Black lives don't matter"
We're now at 67.56 seconds after the air gap under the laser pointing mouse and i can hear the black postman running away as fast as possible from my studio. I take my phone and ring my boss.
"The government should change hands in about two months, we won't be discovered, the leader of the negro rights movement will be named Samuel DeBellisée, born in 1972 in Bâton Rouge, Louisiana."
92.93 seconds after the air gap, my boss says "Gosh, that was fast" | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | Right after the end of the message, the face of the young lady slowly disappeared in a pixel jam and an error window bounced to my eyes.
"Your files were corrupted".
I clicked the OK button, thus creating a small air gap under my mouse and making the passage of light through my glass desk optimal for a quite short fragment of time, making slightly burn the skin of my bare right foot, forcing my reflexes to act towards moving it in a very fast yet clear curb hitting my desk 1.03 seconds after the air gap.
This desk, now swaying in a barely visible and very slight motion back and forth makes the red pen losing the balance i gave it by setting it straight upwards and falling towards my foot finishing itself his very fast yet clear reflex curb and launching the red pen by a straight hit towards the bottom of the door where, exactly 0.79 seconds after the hit, the cartridge open itself under the pressure created by the shock.
At that exact time, the black postman knocks on the door and hears the loud click of the case separating the pencil lead and sees the beginning of the red ink flooding the floor under my door.
I'm waiting for the time to reach exactly 3.83 after the airgap, or one second after the knocking to yell in my best ghetto voice:
"I beg you not to do that officer!"
One tap of my nail on my glass desk to imitate the muffled sound of someone reloading his weapon, and waiting for another half second before hitting with all my might the screen of my computer.
For a full three seconds, i was able to hear the silence on the other side of the door.
In a quick motion, i grab the banana in the plastic bag on the other side of my desk, trying to minimize the sound emitted by the friction of plastic with itself as much as possible. I'm now walking with loud steps towards the door while peeling the banana in a way i could have 4 equal parts of the peel joining at its tail. I dip my finger in the red ink and write a word for each parts of the peel.
"Black lives don't matter"
We're now at 67.56 seconds after the air gap under the laser pointing mouse and i can hear the black postman running away as fast as possible from my studio. I take my phone and ring my boss.
"The government should change hands in about two months, we won't be discovered, the leader of the negro rights movement will be named Samuel DeBellisée, born in 1972 in Bâton Rouge, Louisiana."
92.93 seconds after the air gap, my boss says "Gosh, that was fast" | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | “Three years, twenty two days, thirty two seconds.” The man in black gives me an empty stare. I exhale. Every single time they hire me, it’s like they forget the magic I can work. I rustle around in my paper-bag lunch. The man is getting anxious, he looks nervously around the room, eyeing the mirrored glass and the security door propped open lazily with one of my shoes. I continue.
“If I didn’t stick my shoe in there we’d be locked inside a Russian military base. Neither of us wants that. Though if you want to take down the American government, perhaps you’re more Russian than either of us thought, mm, comrade?” He’s not amused. Oh well. I’m not being paid for my humor. I dump the remainder of my lunch onto the cold steel table between us. I rip the paper bag open, and motion to the man for a pen. He doesn’t comprehend. Drawing salary from the government is like drawing water from a stone.
“Your pen. Please.” He fumbles in his pocket briefly before retrieving a disappointing red Bic.
“…Don’t you stiffs make a reasonable salary? Buy yourself something less embarrassing." I list my fee, bite my lip, and add another zero for good measure. I slide the piece of paper back to the man, he places it in his breast pocket without peeking. How very orthodox. He must be new. I put my feet up and sigh, retrieving an overripe banana. I nibble at the parts that haven’t yet turned to mush. At length the man in black speaks.
“Sir. If I may, must we stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary?”
I laugh. “We are going to stay here for exactly as long as is absolutely necessary.” My watch beeps. “Speak of the devil.” I get to my feet. “Let’s walk and talk, bub.” I pocket the pen, and proceed out the door.
I stride up through the labyrinthine tunnels of this compound. Every corner I turn is met with the backs of Russian security agents rotating through their guard. I follow mere seconds behind, cheating my way to the surface. The man in black is sweating. It’s cute. I almost feel bad for what I have to do. We’re at the security desk at the back of the building. The uptight agent with the hair-bun has gone to get her coffee. I slip behind the desk and retrieve a pair of keys. I turn to the man in black and point to the corridor in front of us.
“Wait here, five seconds. Then follow.” He nods. I continue around the corner and make for the rear exit. I drop the peel of the rotten banana from my pocket as I leave his view. He follows and I turn to see him off. He rounds the corner. He does his best Charlie Brown impression and I salute him. The crash of 200 lbs of secret agent is followed summarily by the porcelain crack of a coffee mug and panicked Russian. I make my way out the door as the exits electronically seal, hopping on an unnamed general’s Suzuki and retrieving the helmet generously left at its side.
The airport is at a stand-still. Something about a security incident at a nearby military base. I’m given a customs form to fill ahead of time. I retrieve my new red pen and fill my form to the dulcet tones of senior staff attempting to placate travelers over the PA. A scruffy short man asks me for my pen when I’m finished. I oblige, and head to my terminal. My job is done. I check the balances of my offshore accounts. Funds have been deposited as agreed. That’s my little game. I have no idea how they always know what to pay me. After all, I always dispose of the man to see my price. I’m sure someone else is out there that I never want to meet. But I guess that’s a story for another time.
Oh? You say. That’s all? You ask. Well, yes, and no. That’s all I have to do. The rest is set in motion. Three years, twenty-two days, thirty-two seconds of motion.
The agent I spoke with? He’s interrogated. He’s tortured. Everything you might expect. Eventually he has enough. They break him. They own him. He is Russian by the time America agrees to trade for his safe passage home. He returns to America; it turns out access to the email accounts of top U.S. government employees is easily gained.
The pen? Well that one’s cuter. The red ink on that friendly man’s customs form attracts just a little too much attention when we cross the border on the American side. They pull him aside. They hold him for three hours. He’s a bit of a socialist you see. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he’s quick to jump ship to Canada. Crisis averted. His actions in a small state would have turned one too many votes against the two-party status quo. An early and unexpected lead for an independent presidential candidate would have, against all odds, snowballed into a novel era of American socialism. For better or worse, even I couldn’t say.
But that’s not all. That’s amateur hour. The pen kept travelling. Lost and found in four different airports until it arrived on an airstrip in the middle-east. From there it found its way into the mountains next to a war-zone visited by one American foreign diplomat who would later run for president. While the rest of the small rebel troupe was taking potshots at the poor lady, the one sniper who would have hit her was busy slacking off and sketching an olive tree.
So she lives. Hillary Clinton lives, albeit one disgruntled ex-American leaks her emails. Bernie Sanders loses the democratic nomination when no miraculous snowball materializes. It could have happened, I swear. Either way, if you were wondering, that aborted immigrant actually has a family and a happy life in Edmonton now. And Trump? Well, I’ll be honest. I can’t take any credit for Trump. That’s what we in the business call an unstoppable force. That’s the kind of shit-show you plan around. So I did. And now we’re here. Two candidates nobody in their right mind wants to vote for.
This country will tear itself apart any day now.
...Ah. Now you're wondering: But what about the shoe? Now that's a secret.
Edit: Didn't expect this kind of response, thank you all for reading, and thank you kind benefactor for the gold!
| Right after the end of the message, the face of the young lady slowly disappeared in a pixel jam and an error window bounced to my eyes.
"Your files were corrupted".
I clicked the OK button, thus creating a small air gap under my mouse and making the passage of light through my glass desk optimal for a quite short fragment of time, making slightly burn the skin of my bare right foot, forcing my reflexes to act towards moving it in a very fast yet clear curb hitting my desk 1.03 seconds after the air gap.
This desk, now swaying in a barely visible and very slight motion back and forth makes the red pen losing the balance i gave it by setting it straight upwards and falling towards my foot finishing itself his very fast yet clear reflex curb and launching the red pen by a straight hit towards the bottom of the door where, exactly 0.79 seconds after the hit, the cartridge open itself under the pressure created by the shock.
At that exact time, the black postman knocks on the door and hears the loud click of the case separating the pencil lead and sees the beginning of the red ink flooding the floor under my door.
I'm waiting for the time to reach exactly 3.83 after the airgap, or one second after the knocking to yell in my best ghetto voice:
"I beg you not to do that officer!"
One tap of my nail on my glass desk to imitate the muffled sound of someone reloading his weapon, and waiting for another half second before hitting with all my might the screen of my computer.
For a full three seconds, i was able to hear the silence on the other side of the door.
In a quick motion, i grab the banana in the plastic bag on the other side of my desk, trying to minimize the sound emitted by the friction of plastic with itself as much as possible. I'm now walking with loud steps towards the door while peeling the banana in a way i could have 4 equal parts of the peel joining at its tail. I dip my finger in the red ink and write a word for each parts of the peel.
"Black lives don't matter"
We're now at 67.56 seconds after the air gap under the laser pointing mouse and i can hear the black postman running away as fast as possible from my studio. I take my phone and ring my boss.
"The government should change hands in about two months, we won't be discovered, the leader of the negro rights movement will be named Samuel DeBellisée, born in 1972 in Bâton Rouge, Louisiana."
92.93 seconds after the air gap, my boss says "Gosh, that was fast" | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | As i watched the small child play around in the zoo completely unsupervised by his parents. i realized something. Something that would change a nation forever. But could i pull it off? I would have to, for the revolution on begin he must die.
I quickly check my pockets to see if i could make it happen. A banana from my mid-afternoon snack and a red pen i stole from the bank.
Shit. No way to pull this off, it wasn't possible.
...
Wait. That could work.
I laugh out loud looking down on the young boy who would start a global revolution without ever realizing it.
I quickly write in big words "CANDY" With a crudely drawn picture of one on the banana peel with arrows pointing to the east.
It was perfect, no way my plan could fail.
I hurriedly slip towards the lone kid. I quietly throw the banana peel on the ground in front of the kid. I make sure the arrow points at the Gorilla Cage.
With that done i walk away, slowly out of the gates of the zoo as i hear a single gunshot behind me.
I can only grin as i think of the revolution that will tear the united states apart. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
That's all it said, but I read the e-mail again, anyway. I read it a third time. *The KGB is defunct, isn't it? Our sleeper cell has been inactive for decades.*
I opened the attachment, and it didn't shed any light on the situation. It was a picture of a deer. I checked out the image for junk data, to see if more information was hidden in there, but there was nothing, just the usual EXIF data. I enlarged it, but that didn't help. I shouted "Enhance!" at my screen a few times, and all that did was earn me some strange looks from people in the coffee shop. I inferred it was included as a red herring.
I wasn't prepared for this. I didn't even have a gun anymore, I didn't have my old contacts, hell, I'd even thought of myself as American. *Do I even want to go through with this? Where do my loyalties lie?*
I read the e-mail again. POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE
This triggered a deeply ingrained response, and all of my concerns and anxieties disappeared as my training kicked in. I looked at my surroundings, and my expertise in Mario Kart compelled me to pick up a banana peel I saw on the ground. There was the incumbent President Frederik Mason, and his VP, Conseula Hernandez. They were expected to win again next month. But no, I knew that wouldn't work. The system was built to withstand any kind of external attack like that. The American democracy doesn't rest on one or two people. It rests with THE people.
*That's it, they're the ticket. These two will just allow me to reach the people. Now to place this banana peel strategically, pretend to slip on it, and...*
*SLIP! SLAM! SPLASH! GASP!*
I ducked behind a wall before anyone connected me to the shove that sent the nation's leaders plunging into the Cuyahoga River, which was once again on fire, because that's Cleveland for you. It worked better than I imagined. It was just like a cartoon. The hard part was over, then I only had to frame the opposition. *No, that's too obvious. I'm thinking like a Russian. They chose me for this because I'm no longer a Russian. Think, Ivan. How do you arouse the anger of the American people?*
That was when it hit me. I looked through my backpack for more tools, but found only a pen. A red pen. In October. I knew it was destined to work. I hastily wrote the damning apology. "Soz bout that, 2 much 2 drink. -The Beibs"
The following day, the United States declared war on Canada, marching proudly to the song "Blame Canada!" Immediately after the war declaration, a coup was attempted by an alliance of 40-something women and hockey fans.
I was so caught up in the moment that it was a week before I bothered to check my e-mail again. There was that e-mail, still sitting there. "POST: OPERATION RED DAWN IS LIVE," and the attached picture of a deer. There was also a follow-up e-mail, sent hours after the first, which would contain more detailed information, no doubt. Of course, my plan was already in motion, but I read it, anyway.
"LOL, auto-correct. I meant to say post-operation, dead fawn is alive. It's cute, isn't it? I saw it on Reddit. It's heart-warming how they were able to save the little guy from near death. So are we still on for lunch this Thursday?" | According to the physics of the present day, the world is non-deterministic. The argument is that due to quantum fluctuations being probabilistic in nature, there is no way to truly know how the future will turn out.
That's a load of hogwash.
Sure, you may end up with an oxygen molecule moved by a centimeter or two, but on a macroscopic scale, nothing is going to change that much due to sheer randomness. Changes on the quantum scale only affect things on the quantum scale. If you want to change the visible world in its path through time, you need to make a change on a larger scale. Move a single molecule and you won't affect anything, but an entire cluster of molecules from the flap of a butterfly wing? Now we're in business.
I should probably explain myself. I'm a member of a secret organization which exists at the edges of time and works to influence the course of human history. We are able to see into the multiverse and watch the courses of infinitely many Earths, to determine what large-scale choices should be made for the betterment of the species. We then insert agents into the timeline to exert the changes which we determine will lead to the greatest growth long term. No matter what, we must always weigh the long term benefits to be more important than short term suffering.
The main problem is that time is hard to affect. Much like inertia makes it difficult to move the course of a large object through space, temporal inertia makes it difficult to move the course of time. Also like regular inertia, there are two ways to overcome temporal inertia: a large force in a short time, or a small force over a long time. In our organization, we almost always choose the smallest possible forces; the smallest possible changes that can then compound upon each other to cause the desired effect.
Which is what brings me here today. The US presidential election of 2040 will be between two raging psychopaths, and the incited hatred will be the spark for a nuclear war, no matter who wins. There are too many variables at play here for a normal approach to work, but we must still actively influence as little as possible.
Our plan is to enact slight changes which will culminate in the collapse of the US government in 2037. We have had people working behind the scenes for several decades now, in politics, the media, the entertainment industry. We set up Reagan with the idea of trickle-down economics, knowing that it would cause income inequality to rise. We sparked both of the Gulf Wars, knowing full well that the area was volatile and likely to lead to increased worldwide terrorism. We even gave Trump the idea to run for president - we'll make sure he doesn't get elected, of course, but his actions (particularly when coupled with the actions of Clinton) will truly expose the extent of the corruption in the government to the American people. The general outrage that so many are already feeling will soon become focused on their leaders.
The stage has been set. The government will fall, and all it will take is a pen and a banana peel.
Oh, I hope you weren't expecting me to tell you how I was going to do it. I'm already cutting it close on the timing.
Just watch the news tomorrow. You'll see. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | “Three years, twenty two days, thirty two seconds.” The man in black gives me an empty stare. I exhale. Every single time they hire me, it’s like they forget the magic I can work. I rustle around in my paper-bag lunch. The man is getting anxious, he looks nervously around the room, eyeing the mirrored glass and the security door propped open lazily with one of my shoes. I continue.
“If I didn’t stick my shoe in there we’d be locked inside a Russian military base. Neither of us wants that. Though if you want to take down the American government, perhaps you’re more Russian than either of us thought, mm, comrade?” He’s not amused. Oh well. I’m not being paid for my humor. I dump the remainder of my lunch onto the cold steel table between us. I rip the paper bag open, and motion to the man for a pen. He doesn’t comprehend. Drawing salary from the government is like drawing water from a stone.
“Your pen. Please.” He fumbles in his pocket briefly before retrieving a disappointing red Bic.
“…Don’t you stiffs make a reasonable salary? Buy yourself something less embarrassing." I list my fee, bite my lip, and add another zero for good measure. I slide the piece of paper back to the man, he places it in his breast pocket without peeking. How very orthodox. He must be new. I put my feet up and sigh, retrieving an overripe banana. I nibble at the parts that haven’t yet turned to mush. At length the man in black speaks.
“Sir. If I may, must we stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary?”
I laugh. “We are going to stay here for exactly as long as is absolutely necessary.” My watch beeps. “Speak of the devil.” I get to my feet. “Let’s walk and talk, bub.” I pocket the pen, and proceed out the door.
I stride up through the labyrinthine tunnels of this compound. Every corner I turn is met with the backs of Russian security agents rotating through their guard. I follow mere seconds behind, cheating my way to the surface. The man in black is sweating. It’s cute. I almost feel bad for what I have to do. We’re at the security desk at the back of the building. The uptight agent with the hair-bun has gone to get her coffee. I slip behind the desk and retrieve a pair of keys. I turn to the man in black and point to the corridor in front of us.
“Wait here, five seconds. Then follow.” He nods. I continue around the corner and make for the rear exit. I drop the peel of the rotten banana from my pocket as I leave his view. He follows and I turn to see him off. He rounds the corner. He does his best Charlie Brown impression and I salute him. The crash of 200 lbs of secret agent is followed summarily by the porcelain crack of a coffee mug and panicked Russian. I make my way out the door as the exits electronically seal, hopping on an unnamed general’s Suzuki and retrieving the helmet generously left at its side.
The airport is at a stand-still. Something about a security incident at a nearby military base. I’m given a customs form to fill ahead of time. I retrieve my new red pen and fill my form to the dulcet tones of senior staff attempting to placate travelers over the PA. A scruffy short man asks me for my pen when I’m finished. I oblige, and head to my terminal. My job is done. I check the balances of my offshore accounts. Funds have been deposited as agreed. That’s my little game. I have no idea how they always know what to pay me. After all, I always dispose of the man to see my price. I’m sure someone else is out there that I never want to meet. But I guess that’s a story for another time.
Oh? You say. That’s all? You ask. Well, yes, and no. That’s all I have to do. The rest is set in motion. Three years, twenty-two days, thirty-two seconds of motion.
The agent I spoke with? He’s interrogated. He’s tortured. Everything you might expect. Eventually he has enough. They break him. They own him. He is Russian by the time America agrees to trade for his safe passage home. He returns to America; it turns out access to the email accounts of top U.S. government employees is easily gained.
The pen? Well that one’s cuter. The red ink on that friendly man’s customs form attracts just a little too much attention when we cross the border on the American side. They pull him aside. They hold him for three hours. He’s a bit of a socialist you see. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he’s quick to jump ship to Canada. Crisis averted. His actions in a small state would have turned one too many votes against the two-party status quo. An early and unexpected lead for an independent presidential candidate would have, against all odds, snowballed into a novel era of American socialism. For better or worse, even I couldn’t say.
But that’s not all. That’s amateur hour. The pen kept travelling. Lost and found in four different airports until it arrived on an airstrip in the middle-east. From there it found its way into the mountains next to a war-zone visited by one American foreign diplomat who would later run for president. While the rest of the small rebel troupe was taking potshots at the poor lady, the one sniper who would have hit her was busy slacking off and sketching an olive tree.
So she lives. Hillary Clinton lives, albeit one disgruntled ex-American leaks her emails. Bernie Sanders loses the democratic nomination when no miraculous snowball materializes. It could have happened, I swear. Either way, if you were wondering, that aborted immigrant actually has a family and a happy life in Edmonton now. And Trump? Well, I’ll be honest. I can’t take any credit for Trump. That’s what we in the business call an unstoppable force. That’s the kind of shit-show you plan around. So I did. And now we’re here. Two candidates nobody in their right mind wants to vote for.
This country will tear itself apart any day now.
...Ah. Now you're wondering: But what about the shoe? Now that's a secret.
Edit: Didn't expect this kind of response, thank you all for reading, and thank you kind benefactor for the gold!
| According to the physics of the present day, the world is non-deterministic. The argument is that due to quantum fluctuations being probabilistic in nature, there is no way to truly know how the future will turn out.
That's a load of hogwash.
Sure, you may end up with an oxygen molecule moved by a centimeter or two, but on a macroscopic scale, nothing is going to change that much due to sheer randomness. Changes on the quantum scale only affect things on the quantum scale. If you want to change the visible world in its path through time, you need to make a change on a larger scale. Move a single molecule and you won't affect anything, but an entire cluster of molecules from the flap of a butterfly wing? Now we're in business.
I should probably explain myself. I'm a member of a secret organization which exists at the edges of time and works to influence the course of human history. We are able to see into the multiverse and watch the courses of infinitely many Earths, to determine what large-scale choices should be made for the betterment of the species. We then insert agents into the timeline to exert the changes which we determine will lead to the greatest growth long term. No matter what, we must always weigh the long term benefits to be more important than short term suffering.
The main problem is that time is hard to affect. Much like inertia makes it difficult to move the course of a large object through space, temporal inertia makes it difficult to move the course of time. Also like regular inertia, there are two ways to overcome temporal inertia: a large force in a short time, or a small force over a long time. In our organization, we almost always choose the smallest possible forces; the smallest possible changes that can then compound upon each other to cause the desired effect.
Which is what brings me here today. The US presidential election of 2040 will be between two raging psychopaths, and the incited hatred will be the spark for a nuclear war, no matter who wins. There are too many variables at play here for a normal approach to work, but we must still actively influence as little as possible.
Our plan is to enact slight changes which will culminate in the collapse of the US government in 2037. We have had people working behind the scenes for several decades now, in politics, the media, the entertainment industry. We set up Reagan with the idea of trickle-down economics, knowing that it would cause income inequality to rise. We sparked both of the Gulf Wars, knowing full well that the area was volatile and likely to lead to increased worldwide terrorism. We even gave Trump the idea to run for president - we'll make sure he doesn't get elected, of course, but his actions (particularly when coupled with the actions of Clinton) will truly expose the extent of the corruption in the government to the American people. The general outrage that so many are already feeling will soon become focused on their leaders.
The stage has been set. The government will fall, and all it will take is a pen and a banana peel.
Oh, I hope you weren't expecting me to tell you how I was going to do it. I'm already cutting it close on the timing.
Just watch the news tomorrow. You'll see. | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | September 5, 2016. I was cool with the American government until it denied my Change.org petition demanding that it fund a remake of Knight Rider starring Shia LaBeouf and Bumblebee. After stewing about it all day in school, I decide this government no longer represents the best interests of me or the American people as a whole, and it has to go. I dig around in my backpack and find a red pen and a banana left over from breakfast. It'll have to do. The bell rings and Mrs. Freely beelines it to the parking lot to light one up and fuck around on Tinder like usual. While everyone else files out for lunch, I casually go to her desk and sort through the stack of term papers waiting to be returned until I find the one that new Chinese kid wrote, Cybernetic Nanotechnology and Cancer Treatment Outcomes. I skim a couple of lines: "preliminary clinical trials of my new blah blah blah remission rates improved over 250% something something eliminated in our lifetimes." Chances of you dying a virgin improved over 250%, I think as I carefully white out the A+ and replace it with a big red "C-. NOT HARVARD MATERIAL". I spend the rest of the day imagining an America where human/Autobot cop buddy dramas are appreciated for the art form that they are.
September 6, 2016. I ditch school and ride the Metro downtown, munching on my banana. My favorite episode is going to be the one where Shia says "looks like these fellas have a little road rage" while Bumblebee does that cool half car/half robot thing he does and scoops them over the burning oil tanker the cartel has wrecked in front of them. I pull up CNN on my phone again. There it is. BREAKING: School shooting at my high school. Mass casualty reported. Great television comes at a price sometimes. I step out of the Metro station, blinking in the bright sun, and toss my banana peel on the sidewalk as I walk down the block just ahead of the fleet of armored black limos that roar to a stop in front of the hotel. Secret Service swarm the street setting a perimeter, and I have to admit it looks kind of badass even though Shia and Bumbs would have done it better. The President bursts out, too busy yelling at some aide "...stop shooting each other in a motherfucking election year! I need a speech on it by 3, and I swear to God..." to see the banana peel. The CRUNCH of his neck on the curb is audible.
October 9, 2016. The Democratic Party is in shambles. President Biden has quickly become the coolest motherfucker in the country, beloved by all, but of course Hillary is the nominee and it's too late to put him on the ballot. There is fierce infighting over whether or not to organize a write-in campaign. I'm writing in LaBeouf/Bee '16, but nobody consults me.
November 8, 2016. With Biden and Clinton splitting the vote, Trump wins the White House handily.
February 1, 2017. Dictator-for-Life Trump appoints Michael Bay to head the new Ministry of Culture.
March 12, 2017. Filming begins on a new Knight Rider remake, starring Shia LaBeouf and Bumblebee. My work here is done.
April 27, 2017. Michael Bay replaces Shia with Channing Tatum due to creative differences. Oh FUCK no. I check my backpack-- a spiral notebook, two sticks of Big Red, and some dirty gym clothes. That ought to do nicely.
| What am I supposed to do with these? A banana peel, a red pen, and the butterfly effect? I could do so much if I had a time machine too - make George Washington slip on the banana peel and drown in the Potomac, redact the Constitution... But how can I take down America *now*?
Wait a second... Memes. Memes can change the world. Just look at all those marketing campaigns that failed because people misappropriated the company's hashtag. What if I could create a meme with a banana peel and a red pen? All I need to do is figure out what that meme is, and what effects it would have...
*6 months later*
"The 'Slippery Hillary' meme continues to grow in popularity, reflecting discontent among citizens with President Clinton's neverending scandals. In case you're not aware, the meme looks like this..."
A picture of a banana peel with Hillary Clinton's face drawn on it (in surprisingly exquisite detail) replaces the news anchor's face on TV. Then, the anchor reappears and she speaks again.
"There are already protests taking place in cities around the nation; no casualties have been reported, but the protests have turned violent on occasion, only to be broken up by police. Who knows how long the tension will hold, though?" | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | “Three years, twenty two days, thirty two seconds.” The man in black gives me an empty stare. I exhale. Every single time they hire me, it’s like they forget the magic I can work. I rustle around in my paper-bag lunch. The man is getting anxious, he looks nervously around the room, eyeing the mirrored glass and the security door propped open lazily with one of my shoes. I continue.
“If I didn’t stick my shoe in there we’d be locked inside a Russian military base. Neither of us wants that. Though if you want to take down the American government, perhaps you’re more Russian than either of us thought, mm, comrade?” He’s not amused. Oh well. I’m not being paid for my humor. I dump the remainder of my lunch onto the cold steel table between us. I rip the paper bag open, and motion to the man for a pen. He doesn’t comprehend. Drawing salary from the government is like drawing water from a stone.
“Your pen. Please.” He fumbles in his pocket briefly before retrieving a disappointing red Bic.
“…Don’t you stiffs make a reasonable salary? Buy yourself something less embarrassing." I list my fee, bite my lip, and add another zero for good measure. I slide the piece of paper back to the man, he places it in his breast pocket without peeking. How very orthodox. He must be new. I put my feet up and sigh, retrieving an overripe banana. I nibble at the parts that haven’t yet turned to mush. At length the man in black speaks.
“Sir. If I may, must we stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary?”
I laugh. “We are going to stay here for exactly as long as is absolutely necessary.” My watch beeps. “Speak of the devil.” I get to my feet. “Let’s walk and talk, bub.” I pocket the pen, and proceed out the door.
I stride up through the labyrinthine tunnels of this compound. Every corner I turn is met with the backs of Russian security agents rotating through their guard. I follow mere seconds behind, cheating my way to the surface. The man in black is sweating. It’s cute. I almost feel bad for what I have to do. We’re at the security desk at the back of the building. The uptight agent with the hair-bun has gone to get her coffee. I slip behind the desk and retrieve a pair of keys. I turn to the man in black and point to the corridor in front of us.
“Wait here, five seconds. Then follow.” He nods. I continue around the corner and make for the rear exit. I drop the peel of the rotten banana from my pocket as I leave his view. He follows and I turn to see him off. He rounds the corner. He does his best Charlie Brown impression and I salute him. The crash of 200 lbs of secret agent is followed summarily by the porcelain crack of a coffee mug and panicked Russian. I make my way out the door as the exits electronically seal, hopping on an unnamed general’s Suzuki and retrieving the helmet generously left at its side.
The airport is at a stand-still. Something about a security incident at a nearby military base. I’m given a customs form to fill ahead of time. I retrieve my new red pen and fill my form to the dulcet tones of senior staff attempting to placate travelers over the PA. A scruffy short man asks me for my pen when I’m finished. I oblige, and head to my terminal. My job is done. I check the balances of my offshore accounts. Funds have been deposited as agreed. That’s my little game. I have no idea how they always know what to pay me. After all, I always dispose of the man to see my price. I’m sure someone else is out there that I never want to meet. But I guess that’s a story for another time.
Oh? You say. That’s all? You ask. Well, yes, and no. That’s all I have to do. The rest is set in motion. Three years, twenty-two days, thirty-two seconds of motion.
The agent I spoke with? He’s interrogated. He’s tortured. Everything you might expect. Eventually he has enough. They break him. They own him. He is Russian by the time America agrees to trade for his safe passage home. He returns to America; it turns out access to the email accounts of top U.S. government employees is easily gained.
The pen? Well that one’s cuter. The red ink on that friendly man’s customs form attracts just a little too much attention when we cross the border on the American side. They pull him aside. They hold him for three hours. He’s a bit of a socialist you see. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he’s quick to jump ship to Canada. Crisis averted. His actions in a small state would have turned one too many votes against the two-party status quo. An early and unexpected lead for an independent presidential candidate would have, against all odds, snowballed into a novel era of American socialism. For better or worse, even I couldn’t say.
But that’s not all. That’s amateur hour. The pen kept travelling. Lost and found in four different airports until it arrived on an airstrip in the middle-east. From there it found its way into the mountains next to a war-zone visited by one American foreign diplomat who would later run for president. While the rest of the small rebel troupe was taking potshots at the poor lady, the one sniper who would have hit her was busy slacking off and sketching an olive tree.
So she lives. Hillary Clinton lives, albeit one disgruntled ex-American leaks her emails. Bernie Sanders loses the democratic nomination when no miraculous snowball materializes. It could have happened, I swear. Either way, if you were wondering, that aborted immigrant actually has a family and a happy life in Edmonton now. And Trump? Well, I’ll be honest. I can’t take any credit for Trump. That’s what we in the business call an unstoppable force. That’s the kind of shit-show you plan around. So I did. And now we’re here. Two candidates nobody in their right mind wants to vote for.
This country will tear itself apart any day now.
...Ah. Now you're wondering: But what about the shoe? Now that's a secret.
Edit: Didn't expect this kind of response, thank you all for reading, and thank you kind benefactor for the gold!
| What am I supposed to do with these? A banana peel, a red pen, and the butterfly effect? I could do so much if I had a time machine too - make George Washington slip on the banana peel and drown in the Potomac, redact the Constitution... But how can I take down America *now*?
Wait a second... Memes. Memes can change the world. Just look at all those marketing campaigns that failed because people misappropriated the company's hashtag. What if I could create a meme with a banana peel and a red pen? All I need to do is figure out what that meme is, and what effects it would have...
*6 months later*
"The 'Slippery Hillary' meme continues to grow in popularity, reflecting discontent among citizens with President Clinton's neverending scandals. In case you're not aware, the meme looks like this..."
A picture of a banana peel with Hillary Clinton's face drawn on it (in surprisingly exquisite detail) replaces the news anchor's face on TV. Then, the anchor reappears and she speaks again.
"There are already protests taking place in cities around the nation; no casualties have been reported, but the protests have turned violent on occasion, only to be broken up by police. Who knows how long the tension will hold, though?" | |
[WP] Your mission is to topple the American government. You are armed with a banana peel, red pen, and mastery of the butterfly effect. | “Three years, twenty two days, thirty two seconds.” The man in black gives me an empty stare. I exhale. Every single time they hire me, it’s like they forget the magic I can work. I rustle around in my paper-bag lunch. The man is getting anxious, he looks nervously around the room, eyeing the mirrored glass and the security door propped open lazily with one of my shoes. I continue.
“If I didn’t stick my shoe in there we’d be locked inside a Russian military base. Neither of us wants that. Though if you want to take down the American government, perhaps you’re more Russian than either of us thought, mm, comrade?” He’s not amused. Oh well. I’m not being paid for my humor. I dump the remainder of my lunch onto the cold steel table between us. I rip the paper bag open, and motion to the man for a pen. He doesn’t comprehend. Drawing salary from the government is like drawing water from a stone.
“Your pen. Please.” He fumbles in his pocket briefly before retrieving a disappointing red Bic.
“…Don’t you stiffs make a reasonable salary? Buy yourself something less embarrassing." I list my fee, bite my lip, and add another zero for good measure. I slide the piece of paper back to the man, he places it in his breast pocket without peeking. How very orthodox. He must be new. I put my feet up and sigh, retrieving an overripe banana. I nibble at the parts that haven’t yet turned to mush. At length the man in black speaks.
“Sir. If I may, must we stay here any longer than is absolutely necessary?”
I laugh. “We are going to stay here for exactly as long as is absolutely necessary.” My watch beeps. “Speak of the devil.” I get to my feet. “Let’s walk and talk, bub.” I pocket the pen, and proceed out the door.
I stride up through the labyrinthine tunnels of this compound. Every corner I turn is met with the backs of Russian security agents rotating through their guard. I follow mere seconds behind, cheating my way to the surface. The man in black is sweating. It’s cute. I almost feel bad for what I have to do. We’re at the security desk at the back of the building. The uptight agent with the hair-bun has gone to get her coffee. I slip behind the desk and retrieve a pair of keys. I turn to the man in black and point to the corridor in front of us.
“Wait here, five seconds. Then follow.” He nods. I continue around the corner and make for the rear exit. I drop the peel of the rotten banana from my pocket as I leave his view. He follows and I turn to see him off. He rounds the corner. He does his best Charlie Brown impression and I salute him. The crash of 200 lbs of secret agent is followed summarily by the porcelain crack of a coffee mug and panicked Russian. I make my way out the door as the exits electronically seal, hopping on an unnamed general’s Suzuki and retrieving the helmet generously left at its side.
The airport is at a stand-still. Something about a security incident at a nearby military base. I’m given a customs form to fill ahead of time. I retrieve my new red pen and fill my form to the dulcet tones of senior staff attempting to placate travelers over the PA. A scruffy short man asks me for my pen when I’m finished. I oblige, and head to my terminal. My job is done. I check the balances of my offshore accounts. Funds have been deposited as agreed. That’s my little game. I have no idea how they always know what to pay me. After all, I always dispose of the man to see my price. I’m sure someone else is out there that I never want to meet. But I guess that’s a story for another time.
Oh? You say. That’s all? You ask. Well, yes, and no. That’s all I have to do. The rest is set in motion. Three years, twenty-two days, thirty-two seconds of motion.
The agent I spoke with? He’s interrogated. He’s tortured. Everything you might expect. Eventually he has enough. They break him. They own him. He is Russian by the time America agrees to trade for his safe passage home. He returns to America; it turns out access to the email accounts of top U.S. government employees is easily gained.
The pen? Well that one’s cuter. The red ink on that friendly man’s customs form attracts just a little too much attention when we cross the border on the American side. They pull him aside. They hold him for three hours. He’s a bit of a socialist you see. He doesn’t like what he sees, so he’s quick to jump ship to Canada. Crisis averted. His actions in a small state would have turned one too many votes against the two-party status quo. An early and unexpected lead for an independent presidential candidate would have, against all odds, snowballed into a novel era of American socialism. For better or worse, even I couldn’t say.
But that’s not all. That’s amateur hour. The pen kept travelling. Lost and found in four different airports until it arrived on an airstrip in the middle-east. From there it found its way into the mountains next to a war-zone visited by one American foreign diplomat who would later run for president. While the rest of the small rebel troupe was taking potshots at the poor lady, the one sniper who would have hit her was busy slacking off and sketching an olive tree.
So she lives. Hillary Clinton lives, albeit one disgruntled ex-American leaks her emails. Bernie Sanders loses the democratic nomination when no miraculous snowball materializes. It could have happened, I swear. Either way, if you were wondering, that aborted immigrant actually has a family and a happy life in Edmonton now. And Trump? Well, I’ll be honest. I can’t take any credit for Trump. That’s what we in the business call an unstoppable force. That’s the kind of shit-show you plan around. So I did. And now we’re here. Two candidates nobody in their right mind wants to vote for.
This country will tear itself apart any day now.
...Ah. Now you're wondering: But what about the shoe? Now that's a secret.
Edit: Didn't expect this kind of response, thank you all for reading, and thank you kind benefactor for the gold!
| September 5, 2016. I was cool with the American government until it denied my Change.org petition demanding that it fund a remake of Knight Rider starring Shia LaBeouf and Bumblebee. After stewing about it all day in school, I decide this government no longer represents the best interests of me or the American people as a whole, and it has to go. I dig around in my backpack and find a red pen and a banana left over from breakfast. It'll have to do. The bell rings and Mrs. Freely beelines it to the parking lot to light one up and fuck around on Tinder like usual. While everyone else files out for lunch, I casually go to her desk and sort through the stack of term papers waiting to be returned until I find the one that new Chinese kid wrote, Cybernetic Nanotechnology and Cancer Treatment Outcomes. I skim a couple of lines: "preliminary clinical trials of my new blah blah blah remission rates improved over 250% something something eliminated in our lifetimes." Chances of you dying a virgin improved over 250%, I think as I carefully white out the A+ and replace it with a big red "C-. NOT HARVARD MATERIAL". I spend the rest of the day imagining an America where human/Autobot cop buddy dramas are appreciated for the art form that they are.
September 6, 2016. I ditch school and ride the Metro downtown, munching on my banana. My favorite episode is going to be the one where Shia says "looks like these fellas have a little road rage" while Bumblebee does that cool half car/half robot thing he does and scoops them over the burning oil tanker the cartel has wrecked in front of them. I pull up CNN on my phone again. There it is. BREAKING: School shooting at my high school. Mass casualty reported. Great television comes at a price sometimes. I step out of the Metro station, blinking in the bright sun, and toss my banana peel on the sidewalk as I walk down the block just ahead of the fleet of armored black limos that roar to a stop in front of the hotel. Secret Service swarm the street setting a perimeter, and I have to admit it looks kind of badass even though Shia and Bumbs would have done it better. The President bursts out, too busy yelling at some aide "...stop shooting each other in a motherfucking election year! I need a speech on it by 3, and I swear to God..." to see the banana peel. The CRUNCH of his neck on the curb is audible.
October 9, 2016. The Democratic Party is in shambles. President Biden has quickly become the coolest motherfucker in the country, beloved by all, but of course Hillary is the nominee and it's too late to put him on the ballot. There is fierce infighting over whether or not to organize a write-in campaign. I'm writing in LaBeouf/Bee '16, but nobody consults me.
November 8, 2016. With Biden and Clinton splitting the vote, Trump wins the White House handily.
February 1, 2017. Dictator-for-Life Trump appoints Michael Bay to head the new Ministry of Culture.
March 12, 2017. Filming begins on a new Knight Rider remake, starring Shia LaBeouf and Bumblebee. My work here is done.
April 27, 2017. Michael Bay replaces Shia with Channing Tatum due to creative differences. Oh FUCK no. I check my backpack-- a spiral notebook, two sticks of Big Red, and some dirty gym clothes. That ought to do nicely.
| |
[WP] Humans are the only sapient species to naturally evolve. All of the other races had a " Caretaker " race that guided their evolution. Naturally, the aliens are horrified, thinking that our " Caretaker " race abandoned us. | Chelak regarded the being with cautious eyes. His hands tightened around his laser spear, and he fought the urge to outright destroy it. Chelak had let his home mate with theirs out of pure curiosity, but he began to regret his decision when he saw the being for the first time. It came into his home clad in white garb that covered its entire skin and encapsulated its head with a shroud of dark glass. Its home was just as strange, wings sprouted from its sides like a flying creature of some sort, which was absurd. Why would you need wings in the speckled dark?
“Greetings, from the Planet Earth!” the being said. It removed the glass dome from its head revealing, hair, disgusting hair, that covered its scalp and surrounded its mouth.
*Sol Third*, a relic said into Chelak’s ear. He knew the star, but he was unfamiliar with its sons and daughters.
The being extended his arm towards Chelak, a threat? Chelak retreated a step and waved his laser spear as a warning. It crackled as it burned the air.
“Back,” Chelak said, returning his laser spear to point at the being.
“Woah buddy,” the being said while raising its arms. “I don’t mean you any harm. Just come to meet and greet.”
*Visitor*, the relic said.
“You still have caretakers?” Chelak asked, nodding towards the being’s glass shroud. The being had plenty of relics like Chelak. Someone had given it to them. Chelak felt his chest tighten as he thought of the caretakers that used to look after, and abuse, his people.
“I don’t follow,” the being said.
*Does not understand*. Chelak cocked his head at the being, “Err…” he was at a loss for words. He tapped on the relic stuck in his ear with his claw.
*Guardians*.
“Guardians?” Chelak asked. The being still regarded him with confusion.
*Safeguarders, custodians, keepers, wardens*. Chelak tried all the words, but still, nothing really caught.
*Gods*, the relic said after a lengthy pause, and Chelak asked in kind.
“Well, some people like to think the big fella exists. But I’m not the superstitious type,” it said and bared its teeth while upturning its lips.
*No Caretakers.*
Chelak felt a flash of panic. If they didn’t have caretakers, then where did their relics come from?
“Who made that?” Chelak asked, pointing at the being’s glass shroud with his laser spear.
“Oh this thing? Well I suppose some engineer back in Houston designed it, then a robot probably put it together,” the being said. It turned the glass shroud over in its hands.
*They made it*. Chelak’s eyes widened. They were caretakers after all, and they were a threat to Chelak and his people back home should they discover it. He pointed his laser spear at the caretaker, and took a step forward.
***
“Hey there little buddy, watch where you’re pointing that thing. It looks mighty hot. Wait. Oh god! No! “
O’lt and Mut watched as one of their wards lunged towards the man to chop him into large chunks of roasted meat.
“Let it be known. Looked-after species will react violently to those without caretakers. This is the four hundredth and twelfth time we have seen this occur,” O’lt said with a limb outstretched to Mut.
“It is known,” Mut said, taking O’lt’s limb. They let the images before them fade to black, revealing the stars and galaxies outside their ship.
“I have influenced a species to reach the stars before its kind mastered speech. They will meet an uninfluenced one in three ages. It shall be interesting,” Mut said.
“A good test. Let us wait,” O’lt said.
Mut merged its consciousness with O’lt’s in agreement, and waited for their cosmic experiment to continue.
***
[If you liked this story, and want to read more fantasy and science fiction by me, feel free to check out my collection and subscribe.](https://www.reddit.com/r/30secfantasy)
| The Caretakers Take Notice
As a caretaker race, we’ve never thought that there could be an abandoned species. Nurture, grow, and create; our species has always had a plan. We are the top; nothing is above us. The creator becomes ourselves. So many races, so much to guide.
How could a race develop without guidance? There are rumors that one has occurred. Scouts do not necessarily present accurate information. And then, wouldn’t it be wonderful to think that a race could evolve on their own? No guidance from us, free to explore our next step. We could create an even better world for ourselves and those we care for….
But who would we care for? They will be self-guided, not waiting for feedback, adjustments or any “perceived“ interference. No, our race has to be the caretakers, these species need our influence. For if they don’t, how can we progress?
Prefect, Colonial Guidance
Zaphrod
| |
[WP] Humans are the only sapient species to naturally evolve. All of the other races had a " Caretaker " race that guided their evolution. Naturally, the aliens are horrified, thinking that our " Caretaker " race abandoned us. | "What do you mean you don't know about the Caretaker? It was single most predominant species in the Galaxy!"
"Yes, but if the Caretaker uplifts many species in the Galaxy, then the Caretaker themselves must be evolved naturally, so...." The human ambassador sighed. She never thought the first meeting on Galactic Congress would be so tiresome.
"The Caretaker themselves are uplifted by Starmaker! The Caretaker told us this, and that is an unshakable Truth!"
"But then who uplifts the uplifters? There must be an astronomical chance in which a species could uplifts themselves!"
"Look, little human, hyperdrive was a tech *created* by the Starmaker, inherited by the Caretaker and propagated throughout the Galaxy. There's no way a species invents the hyperdrive without guidance of the Caretaker."
"But we have, heck our antiproton cannon was centuries beyond yours! In fact, it doesn't made sense that the Caretaker would left us with nuclear war, forcing us to hasten the development of hyperdrive and left our planet!"
The alien ambassador murmured among themselves, including several that have personally met the Caretaker.
"This is blasphemy. The Caretaker had nurtured the pathway between stars, as constructed by Starmaker. No one save the Starmaker *invent* the hyperdrive."
"Yeah, well, you know what? I'll just tell the Human Congress that you all refused to negotiate and all race in the Galaxy is hostile."
"You will suffer the wrath of the Caretaker! For they hold the power to crush the space itself!"
"Then it's an even fight. For we hold the very same power on our disposal."
The meeting room exploded as the human ambassador left on her interceptor ship, leaving the confused Galactic Congress members.
---
Altair star system, human colony 66-7.
A human occult cabal called God of the Forgotten hide between the stars. They knew about the Starmaker, the hyperspace inhabitants that connected the star, and they have devised a way to enter the hyperspace themselves. To human eyes, they would just disappear after their ascension, but they had, have, would have transcended the space-time.
They saw the past, when the universe was young and no stars had been born.
They saw the past, when they connected the stars.
They saw the past, when a race called the Caretaker lifted their heads towards the heaven, worshiping the Creator of Hyperspace Links as the Starmaker.
They saw the past when the Caretaker arrogantly uplifts more species, taking them onto their ranks.
Then they see the present, when they entered the hyperspace.
When humanity met Galactic Congress, and the present when they declared war.
And then they would see the future, when the humanity fought against the entire Galaxy, against even the Caretaker, collapsing even parts of the Hyperspace itself.
And then they would see the future when humanity prevailed over the Caretaker.
And become one themselves. | The Caretakers Take Notice
As a caretaker race, we’ve never thought that there could be an abandoned species. Nurture, grow, and create; our species has always had a plan. We are the top; nothing is above us. The creator becomes ourselves. So many races, so much to guide.
How could a race develop without guidance? There are rumors that one has occurred. Scouts do not necessarily present accurate information. And then, wouldn’t it be wonderful to think that a race could evolve on their own? No guidance from us, free to explore our next step. We could create an even better world for ourselves and those we care for….
But who would we care for? They will be self-guided, not waiting for feedback, adjustments or any “perceived“ interference. No, our race has to be the caretakers, these species need our influence. For if they don’t, how can we progress?
Prefect, Colonial Guidance
Zaphrod
| |
[WP] Humans are the only sapient species to naturally evolve. All of the other races had a " Caretaker " race that guided their evolution. Naturally, the aliens are horrified, thinking that our " Caretaker " race abandoned us. | Fear.
It’s something that had molded our species, in many ways dominated it. Yet with it we had grown. Fear of the dark? Fire. Fear of the other? Weapons to conquer them. Fear of fear itself? Peace. The primitive parts of our brains could still give into the old primal fears at times but as a species we had learned to conquer them and we were better for it.
Being feared, that was something new though.
Empathy kept that in check for most humans, if our actions made someone fear us we would try to allay those fears. This was not fear on an individual basis though, but a species wide fear, and I reveled in it at that moment. After five decades of being scientific oddities, treated as liars or imbeciles, to finally see the collective horror on the faces of the congress was a moment of absolute schadenfreude.
It was as if spoiled children and religious zealots had a child, and then kept right on having them until they filled up the galaxy. There really was no other appropriate way to describe it. We had been amazed when we had first discovered, or had been discovered depending on who you asked and what species they belong to, intelligent life in the galaxy. Our primitive exotic matter gravity drives had let us colonize a hundred habitable worlds near earth and we were exploring more, a burgeoning interstellar species. Then one of our ships had found itself orbiting a planet two hundred light years from Earth with another ship, one not build by humans.
The next half century had been an eye opener. The galaxy not only had other intelligent life, but it was positively overflowing with it. Hundreds of sapient species on tens of thousands of worlds. We were greeted warmly, smiling… faces, seeking to learn about us and about our world. We were an oddity to them, living in what was considered a barren, inhospitable section of space though we didn’t understand why they called it that. We learned of their species and their oddly uniform religion worshipping the Caretakers. Worshipping might have been too strong a word, some did with religious fervor that would have made a franciscan monk look like an atheist, others simply spoke of them in reverent tones, but they all spoke of them.
Every single species in the galaxy had some kind of Caretaker, some other species that had lifted them up. A species that had nurtured them, guided them, instructed them, and watched over them. In every case, every species was not the result of natural evolution but of guided development, every, single, one, and these were not mythic gods but actual things, we had met one thirty years after first contact. A floating white orb with a black stripe around it’s center. The Arakoa it was traveling with, one of the first species we had met and a quite friendly bunch of birds, had made introductions, and it had just floated there. This had greatly troubled them, ruffling their quite literal feathers to no end. Other species were with them and interacted with the orb but when confronted with a human it was inert, unresponsive, and when one of it’s feathery brood had finally gotten the courage to ask it why it didn’t talk to our representative it had flatly replied that there was nothing to talk to.
That’s when the trouble began. We had been simple curiosities at first, a species where we shouldn’t be. After the meeting with the Arakoa Caretaker things had gone downhill.
If it were humans confronted with such a problem we would have investigated, tested, searched for an answer, but the species of the galaxies didn’t seem to know how to do any of that. Like a bunch of children they had demanded to speak with our Caretakers and when we replied we had none they would be infuriated and ask again, and again. Those willing to actually talk to their Caretakers asked for and even demanded answers but received the same replies over and over. There were no sapient species in our portion of the galaxy and there couldn’t be any. They would demand to see our histories and textbooks but when given them would toss them away as obvious lies and demand to see our actual history. It was then that we were confronted with the reality of what being cared for in their way entailed.
They had never wanted, everything was given to them by their Caretakers. Fire, tools, the wheel, every technology, every advancement doled out by the floating white spheres. A new disease, the Caretaker would show them how to make and administer a cure. Conflicts mediated and halted. Disagreements smoothed over. They had been uplifted to their present state in a matter of centuries, from the caves to the stars in less time than the Roman Empire lasted. And then they languished, advanced, but without any drive to do anything. Some had been this way for millennia, never advancing, never pushing the boundaries. They had never had to and so they had never learned to so when confronted with our lack of a Caretaker and their own’s inability to spoon feed them answers about us they had no clue how to respond, and consequently flailed about without purpose our guidance.
A toddler throwing a temper tantrum is annoying at worst. A toddler in command of an interstellar starship throwing one is potentially world ending.
Humanity’s hard fought peace meant that we had not militarized space. We weren’t peaceful, we hadn’t given up arms, but when confronted with the vastness of space we had pulled together and agreed to not carry petty grievances to the stars. With more and more races turning hostile it was clear we could no longer avoid it. While they had no concept of war, they were sapient, there was the chance someone could figure it out on their own and we couldn’t take that chance.
A decade ago they had stopped talking to us. Alien ships rarely showed up in our space and when they did no real communication could take place. At best we were ignored and at worst some incoherent screaming about Caretaker-less monsters was all we got.
A month ago one of them figured it out. | The Caretakers Take Notice
As a caretaker race, we’ve never thought that there could be an abandoned species. Nurture, grow, and create; our species has always had a plan. We are the top; nothing is above us. The creator becomes ourselves. So many races, so much to guide.
How could a race develop without guidance? There are rumors that one has occurred. Scouts do not necessarily present accurate information. And then, wouldn’t it be wonderful to think that a race could evolve on their own? No guidance from us, free to explore our next step. We could create an even better world for ourselves and those we care for….
But who would we care for? They will be self-guided, not waiting for feedback, adjustments or any “perceived“ interference. No, our race has to be the caretakers, these species need our influence. For if they don’t, how can we progress?
Prefect, Colonial Guidance
Zaphrod
| |
[WP] Humans are the only sapient species to naturally evolve. All of the other races had a " Caretaker " race that guided their evolution. Naturally, the aliens are horrified, thinking that our " Caretaker " race abandoned us. | "What do you mean you don't know about the Caretaker? It was single most predominant species in the Galaxy!"
"Yes, but if the Caretaker uplifts many species in the Galaxy, then the Caretaker themselves must be evolved naturally, so...." The human ambassador sighed. She never thought the first meeting on Galactic Congress would be so tiresome.
"The Caretaker themselves are uplifted by Starmaker! The Caretaker told us this, and that is an unshakable Truth!"
"But then who uplifts the uplifters? There must be an astronomical chance in which a species could uplifts themselves!"
"Look, little human, hyperdrive was a tech *created* by the Starmaker, inherited by the Caretaker and propagated throughout the Galaxy. There's no way a species invents the hyperdrive without guidance of the Caretaker."
"But we have, heck our antiproton cannon was centuries beyond yours! In fact, it doesn't made sense that the Caretaker would left us with nuclear war, forcing us to hasten the development of hyperdrive and left our planet!"
The alien ambassador murmured among themselves, including several that have personally met the Caretaker.
"This is blasphemy. The Caretaker had nurtured the pathway between stars, as constructed by Starmaker. No one save the Starmaker *invent* the hyperdrive."
"Yeah, well, you know what? I'll just tell the Human Congress that you all refused to negotiate and all race in the Galaxy is hostile."
"You will suffer the wrath of the Caretaker! For they hold the power to crush the space itself!"
"Then it's an even fight. For we hold the very same power on our disposal."
The meeting room exploded as the human ambassador left on her interceptor ship, leaving the confused Galactic Congress members.
---
Altair star system, human colony 66-7.
A human occult cabal called God of the Forgotten hide between the stars. They knew about the Starmaker, the hyperspace inhabitants that connected the star, and they have devised a way to enter the hyperspace themselves. To human eyes, they would just disappear after their ascension, but they had, have, would have transcended the space-time.
They saw the past, when the universe was young and no stars had been born.
They saw the past, when they connected the stars.
They saw the past, when a race called the Caretaker lifted their heads towards the heaven, worshiping the Creator of Hyperspace Links as the Starmaker.
They saw the past when the Caretaker arrogantly uplifts more species, taking them onto their ranks.
Then they see the present, when they entered the hyperspace.
When humanity met Galactic Congress, and the present when they declared war.
And then they would see the future, when the humanity fought against the entire Galaxy, against even the Caretaker, collapsing even parts of the Hyperspace itself.
And then they would see the future when humanity prevailed over the Caretaker.
And become one themselves. | Chelak regarded the being with cautious eyes. His hands tightened around his laser spear, and he fought the urge to outright destroy it. Chelak had let his home mate with theirs out of pure curiosity, but he began to regret his decision when he saw the being for the first time. It came into his home clad in white garb that covered its entire skin and encapsulated its head with a shroud of dark glass. Its home was just as strange, wings sprouted from its sides like a flying creature of some sort, which was absurd. Why would you need wings in the speckled dark?
“Greetings, from the Planet Earth!” the being said. It removed the glass dome from its head revealing, hair, disgusting hair, that covered its scalp and surrounded its mouth.
*Sol Third*, a relic said into Chelak’s ear. He knew the star, but he was unfamiliar with its sons and daughters.
The being extended his arm towards Chelak, a threat? Chelak retreated a step and waved his laser spear as a warning. It crackled as it burned the air.
“Back,” Chelak said, returning his laser spear to point at the being.
“Woah buddy,” the being said while raising its arms. “I don’t mean you any harm. Just come to meet and greet.”
*Visitor*, the relic said.
“You still have caretakers?” Chelak asked, nodding towards the being’s glass shroud. The being had plenty of relics like Chelak. Someone had given it to them. Chelak felt his chest tighten as he thought of the caretakers that used to look after, and abuse, his people.
“I don’t follow,” the being said.
*Does not understand*. Chelak cocked his head at the being, “Err…” he was at a loss for words. He tapped on the relic stuck in his ear with his claw.
*Guardians*.
“Guardians?” Chelak asked. The being still regarded him with confusion.
*Safeguarders, custodians, keepers, wardens*. Chelak tried all the words, but still, nothing really caught.
*Gods*, the relic said after a lengthy pause, and Chelak asked in kind.
“Well, some people like to think the big fella exists. But I’m not the superstitious type,” it said and bared its teeth while upturning its lips.
*No Caretakers.*
Chelak felt a flash of panic. If they didn’t have caretakers, then where did their relics come from?
“Who made that?” Chelak asked, pointing at the being’s glass shroud with his laser spear.
“Oh this thing? Well I suppose some engineer back in Houston designed it, then a robot probably put it together,” the being said. It turned the glass shroud over in its hands.
*They made it*. Chelak’s eyes widened. They were caretakers after all, and they were a threat to Chelak and his people back home should they discover it. He pointed his laser spear at the caretaker, and took a step forward.
***
“Hey there little buddy, watch where you’re pointing that thing. It looks mighty hot. Wait. Oh god! No! “
O’lt and Mut watched as one of their wards lunged towards the man to chop him into large chunks of roasted meat.
“Let it be known. Looked-after species will react violently to those without caretakers. This is the four hundredth and twelfth time we have seen this occur,” O’lt said with a limb outstretched to Mut.
“It is known,” Mut said, taking O’lt’s limb. They let the images before them fade to black, revealing the stars and galaxies outside their ship.
“I have influenced a species to reach the stars before its kind mastered speech. They will meet an uninfluenced one in three ages. It shall be interesting,” Mut said.
“A good test. Let us wait,” O’lt said.
Mut merged its consciousness with O’lt’s in agreement, and waited for their cosmic experiment to continue.
***
[If you liked this story, and want to read more fantasy and science fiction by me, feel free to check out my collection and subscribe.](https://www.reddit.com/r/30secfantasy)
| |
[WP] Humans are the only sapient species to naturally evolve. All of the other races had a " Caretaker " race that guided their evolution. Naturally, the aliens are horrified, thinking that our " Caretaker " race abandoned us. | Fear.
It’s something that had molded our species, in many ways dominated it. Yet with it we had grown. Fear of the dark? Fire. Fear of the other? Weapons to conquer them. Fear of fear itself? Peace. The primitive parts of our brains could still give into the old primal fears at times but as a species we had learned to conquer them and we were better for it.
Being feared, that was something new though.
Empathy kept that in check for most humans, if our actions made someone fear us we would try to allay those fears. This was not fear on an individual basis though, but a species wide fear, and I reveled in it at that moment. After five decades of being scientific oddities, treated as liars or imbeciles, to finally see the collective horror on the faces of the congress was a moment of absolute schadenfreude.
It was as if spoiled children and religious zealots had a child, and then kept right on having them until they filled up the galaxy. There really was no other appropriate way to describe it. We had been amazed when we had first discovered, or had been discovered depending on who you asked and what species they belong to, intelligent life in the galaxy. Our primitive exotic matter gravity drives had let us colonize a hundred habitable worlds near earth and we were exploring more, a burgeoning interstellar species. Then one of our ships had found itself orbiting a planet two hundred light years from Earth with another ship, one not build by humans.
The next half century had been an eye opener. The galaxy not only had other intelligent life, but it was positively overflowing with it. Hundreds of sapient species on tens of thousands of worlds. We were greeted warmly, smiling… faces, seeking to learn about us and about our world. We were an oddity to them, living in what was considered a barren, inhospitable section of space though we didn’t understand why they called it that. We learned of their species and their oddly uniform religion worshipping the Caretakers. Worshipping might have been too strong a word, some did with religious fervor that would have made a franciscan monk look like an atheist, others simply spoke of them in reverent tones, but they all spoke of them.
Every single species in the galaxy had some kind of Caretaker, some other species that had lifted them up. A species that had nurtured them, guided them, instructed them, and watched over them. In every case, every species was not the result of natural evolution but of guided development, every, single, one, and these were not mythic gods but actual things, we had met one thirty years after first contact. A floating white orb with a black stripe around it’s center. The Arakoa it was traveling with, one of the first species we had met and a quite friendly bunch of birds, had made introductions, and it had just floated there. This had greatly troubled them, ruffling their quite literal feathers to no end. Other species were with them and interacted with the orb but when confronted with a human it was inert, unresponsive, and when one of it’s feathery brood had finally gotten the courage to ask it why it didn’t talk to our representative it had flatly replied that there was nothing to talk to.
That’s when the trouble began. We had been simple curiosities at first, a species where we shouldn’t be. After the meeting with the Arakoa Caretaker things had gone downhill.
If it were humans confronted with such a problem we would have investigated, tested, searched for an answer, but the species of the galaxies didn’t seem to know how to do any of that. Like a bunch of children they had demanded to speak with our Caretakers and when we replied we had none they would be infuriated and ask again, and again. Those willing to actually talk to their Caretakers asked for and even demanded answers but received the same replies over and over. There were no sapient species in our portion of the galaxy and there couldn’t be any. They would demand to see our histories and textbooks but when given them would toss them away as obvious lies and demand to see our actual history. It was then that we were confronted with the reality of what being cared for in their way entailed.
They had never wanted, everything was given to them by their Caretakers. Fire, tools, the wheel, every technology, every advancement doled out by the floating white spheres. A new disease, the Caretaker would show them how to make and administer a cure. Conflicts mediated and halted. Disagreements smoothed over. They had been uplifted to their present state in a matter of centuries, from the caves to the stars in less time than the Roman Empire lasted. And then they languished, advanced, but without any drive to do anything. Some had been this way for millennia, never advancing, never pushing the boundaries. They had never had to and so they had never learned to so when confronted with our lack of a Caretaker and their own’s inability to spoon feed them answers about us they had no clue how to respond, and consequently flailed about without purpose our guidance.
A toddler throwing a temper tantrum is annoying at worst. A toddler in command of an interstellar starship throwing one is potentially world ending.
Humanity’s hard fought peace meant that we had not militarized space. We weren’t peaceful, we hadn’t given up arms, but when confronted with the vastness of space we had pulled together and agreed to not carry petty grievances to the stars. With more and more races turning hostile it was clear we could no longer avoid it. While they had no concept of war, they were sapient, there was the chance someone could figure it out on their own and we couldn’t take that chance.
A decade ago they had stopped talking to us. Alien ships rarely showed up in our space and when they did no real communication could take place. At best we were ignored and at worst some incoherent screaming about Caretaker-less monsters was all we got.
A month ago one of them figured it out. | Chelak regarded the being with cautious eyes. His hands tightened around his laser spear, and he fought the urge to outright destroy it. Chelak had let his home mate with theirs out of pure curiosity, but he began to regret his decision when he saw the being for the first time. It came into his home clad in white garb that covered its entire skin and encapsulated its head with a shroud of dark glass. Its home was just as strange, wings sprouted from its sides like a flying creature of some sort, which was absurd. Why would you need wings in the speckled dark?
“Greetings, from the Planet Earth!” the being said. It removed the glass dome from its head revealing, hair, disgusting hair, that covered its scalp and surrounded its mouth.
*Sol Third*, a relic said into Chelak’s ear. He knew the star, but he was unfamiliar with its sons and daughters.
The being extended his arm towards Chelak, a threat? Chelak retreated a step and waved his laser spear as a warning. It crackled as it burned the air.
“Back,” Chelak said, returning his laser spear to point at the being.
“Woah buddy,” the being said while raising its arms. “I don’t mean you any harm. Just come to meet and greet.”
*Visitor*, the relic said.
“You still have caretakers?” Chelak asked, nodding towards the being’s glass shroud. The being had plenty of relics like Chelak. Someone had given it to them. Chelak felt his chest tighten as he thought of the caretakers that used to look after, and abuse, his people.
“I don’t follow,” the being said.
*Does not understand*. Chelak cocked his head at the being, “Err…” he was at a loss for words. He tapped on the relic stuck in his ear with his claw.
*Guardians*.
“Guardians?” Chelak asked. The being still regarded him with confusion.
*Safeguarders, custodians, keepers, wardens*. Chelak tried all the words, but still, nothing really caught.
*Gods*, the relic said after a lengthy pause, and Chelak asked in kind.
“Well, some people like to think the big fella exists. But I’m not the superstitious type,” it said and bared its teeth while upturning its lips.
*No Caretakers.*
Chelak felt a flash of panic. If they didn’t have caretakers, then where did their relics come from?
“Who made that?” Chelak asked, pointing at the being’s glass shroud with his laser spear.
“Oh this thing? Well I suppose some engineer back in Houston designed it, then a robot probably put it together,” the being said. It turned the glass shroud over in its hands.
*They made it*. Chelak’s eyes widened. They were caretakers after all, and they were a threat to Chelak and his people back home should they discover it. He pointed his laser spear at the caretaker, and took a step forward.
***
“Hey there little buddy, watch where you’re pointing that thing. It looks mighty hot. Wait. Oh god! No! “
O’lt and Mut watched as one of their wards lunged towards the man to chop him into large chunks of roasted meat.
“Let it be known. Looked-after species will react violently to those without caretakers. This is the four hundredth and twelfth time we have seen this occur,” O’lt said with a limb outstretched to Mut.
“It is known,” Mut said, taking O’lt’s limb. They let the images before them fade to black, revealing the stars and galaxies outside their ship.
“I have influenced a species to reach the stars before its kind mastered speech. They will meet an uninfluenced one in three ages. It shall be interesting,” Mut said.
“A good test. Let us wait,” O’lt said.
Mut merged its consciousness with O’lt’s in agreement, and waited for their cosmic experiment to continue.
***
[If you liked this story, and want to read more fantasy and science fiction by me, feel free to check out my collection and subscribe.](https://www.reddit.com/r/30secfantasy)
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