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[WP] You time travel 1000 years into the future to discover there is only one country. Canada. | Chris couldn't believe his eyes. *It worked,* he thought. His initial anxiety slowly turned into cautious optimism as he stepped out of his makeshift time-machine. They all told him it couldn't be done. They told him even if time travel were possible, his stupid machine crafted from a Real Doll with a toaster in its "holster", powered by exactly 2.39 liters of Mountain Dew was not scientifically sound. To put things bluntly, the exact word they used to describe his time-machine was "retarded".
He looked down to see grass and was very thankful. To him, this was a sign leaning towards the environment still being intact. His gaze then panned upward, revealing a lush, beautiful landscape for as far as the eye could see. Birds chirped gleefully in the distance as he began to traverse the landscape. The thing he loved the most about this place was the air, which was so fresh it was almost...*sweet*
After a few enjoyable hours of walking that felt like minutes, Chris finally stumbled upon a town. The town was unlike anything he had seen before. Sure, it had children playing, teenage and young adult couples holding hands, senior citizens feeding birds, but *different*. The playing children were levitating, the couples were gesturing as if they were conversing without saying a word, and though it may have been in Chris' mind, all the elderly seemed surprisingly spry.
"You ah...need some help there, friendo?" a voice asked, pulling him out of his stupor. He looked to his left to see a friendly smiling man in a mesmerizing flannel shirt. The pattern on the shirt was moving, not unlike a music visualizer.
"Yeah, my dude. Nothing urgent," Chris replied, "but I have no idea what to make of any of this. You see, I'm not from...er, now. I'm an American time-traveler from the year 2016". He figured a nice fellow from a town that had an overall nice ambiance would believe him, or at least play along to humor him.
"Well, buddy, you're in luck. You're in Canada, Thirty-one-sixteen. We call it 998PCA, which stands for Post-Canadian-Ascension. Of course, it'd be hard to say you're anywhere but Canada. Y'see, two years after the time you left, The American President was caught in her 400th email scandal - a plot to invade Pre-Ascension Canada using what we now call a distraction-killing, to leave her citizens in the dark."
Reeling from the information, Chris hung on every word as the man continued. "So any who, after the plot was exposed, Your people revolted against her. Led by a great man, they succeeded in ousting her, but at the cost of one Canadian life. That man vowed that every country should be like Canada. Aboat a year later, a UN conference was held by the man who led that revolution. Sorey about the Canuck who lost her life, they voted unanimously to make every country Canada."
Chris' palms were sweaty. Out of breath from mild shock, he mustered up the energy to ask one question. "S-so who was the man who led the revolution?"
The man beamed, "That man was my thousand year ancestor: Donald Trump! I'm Terrence Trump, but you can call me Trip. I'm the mayor of this town. Please, enjoy some poutine, on me! The only thing I ask of you is to-"
"Get up!"
The world around Chris faded to black, then slowly began to reappear. His head felt like every nerve was on edge, his hands were sticky with Mountain Dew and felt like he grabbed a bug zapper. He felt foggy and managed to mumble, "Cana-huh?" weakly. He looked up to see his girlfriend staring down worriedly at him, and then across the garage where his Real Doll lay, charred beyond recognition.
"You...!" She stammered through tears as Chris still tried to make sense of his surroundings. "I thought you were dead!" she scolded through choked sobs. "One of these days your stupid inventions are going to get you killed!!"
*fin* |
“So this is it Jason, you’re likely our last hope. You have only four hours to find out how our country resolved the three major crisis before you will be brought back to us and we put the resolutions into immediate effect”.
“Yes sir, Mr. President. I’ll do our country proud”.
“I’m sure you will son. I’m sure you will”.
The engineer pulled the switch and the machines subtle hum ramped up to a full blown roar as the world before Jason’s eyes blew past him like torrential rain, the sensation was peculiar but lasted only a moment. When the world reassembled before his eyes he was startled to find he something looking down on him. In a sharp panic he fumbled his way from the chair in one swift yet graceless motion, his head began to spin and he almost slipped out of consciousness, such a rapid movement was probably not recommended after such intense time travel. He closed his eyes and regained his composure somewhat only to realise he now stood before three men covered from head to toe in yellow HAZMAT suits.
“Mr. Stanton? Jason Stanton? Is that your name? Eh.
Yes, Jason said in something barely above a whisper looking more confused than ever.
“So its true Ey, the Yankees actually did manage a whole 1000-year time leap Ey”. HAZMAT 2 said to the others.
“Welcome to the year 3020 Mr. Stanton, we need to take you out of here now Ey, because of the radiation, you know. So would you please put on this suit for us Ey?” Said Hazmat 1 before he smiled hospitably and added “Or you don’t need to Ey, whatever works for you”.
Despite the confusion Jason decided it was probably best to don the suit and follow the three men. He was gently escorted from the remains of the run down laboratory which had once sat deep bellow Langley HQ and was taken into a red and white helicopter, emblazoned with a huge Maple leaf. They were well and truly into their journey before Jason even said a word, he had been transfixed with the view, and not for the right reasons. Everything bellow them was in ruin, there was barely a building left standing above 10 feet and there was most certainly not a single person to be seen.
“It’s a lot to take in, Ey?” HAZMAT 3 said finally breaking his concentration.
“What…what happened?” Jason muttered
“Well it’s going to be hard for you to accept this Jason but you never managed to resolve the 3 Major Crisis. Ey.
The drought was probably the worst of the three, it was the start you see. The drought led to the famine and the famine led to desperation, and as I suppose you can see below us the desperation led to war. Nuclear war. Ey”. HAZMAT 3 said in a friendly and regretful tone.
“And now we’re the only ones left, Ey”. HAZMAT 1 added.
“The Canadians are the only ones left?” Jason exclaimed in shock.
“How did you know were Canadian, Ey?” HAZMAT 2 said pleasantly surprised as he pulled out a box of 12 jelly filled donuts from under his seat and gleefully began to dig in.
The other two lost their train of thought entirely as the moved in for the donuts in tandem.
“The, erm… Flag on the helicopter gave it away I suppose.” Jason answered
“Ahh, that makes sense” Said HAZMAT 2 through a mouthful of dough and jelly.
“You had best be saving me some of those nuts Ey, or I won’t be very happy” Said a voice yelling through from the front of the chopper, coming from the man who Jason figured must have been the pilot.
HAZMAT 2 obliged to the request and passed the remains of the box through to the front, the helicopter dipped and rattled a little as the pilot went to work on the two remaining donuts, the HAZMAT 3 looked unfazed but Jason was sure they were going to crash before the chopper levelled out and regained its altitude.
“So how did Canada survive the Crisis then?” Jason said, trying to bring the conversation around to his mission briefing.
“Well, we never really had a drought, Ey. We have quite a lot of water and not so many people Ey”.
“But what about the war?”
“Well I guess nobody really wanted to bomb us, which was nice of them Ey?” HAZMAT 3 explained.
“So why would they want to bomb the U… Never mind” Jason said as he answered his own question before rethinking what he wanted to know.
“Is there any way that America could have survived as well?”
The three men shared a solemn glance. “well we knew you would want to know all this so we prepared a kind of dossier for you, but we don’t think you will like what you read, Ey.”
HAZMAT 1 had been right, Jason did not much like the folder. It showed that there was less than a 3% chance that the USA was to come through the fall, in fact it showed that almost all the countries in the world had less than a 10% chance. It was only Canada that had managed it and they themselves only boasted a 46% chance.
Jason looked dejected, it was hopeless, it was pointless returning home now. He could only give them bad news.
“Say, why don’t you just stay here Ey?”
“I can’t do that, I need to go back, I don’t know what to do but I need to warn them at least”.
“It’s not so simple you know, there’s nothing you can do.”
As the realisation his Jason that he couldn’t change the past and maybe the best thing to do was embrace a new life here, his vision began to blur and the world whizzed past him as he was dragged back to his own doomed world.
| |
[WP] You time travel 1000 years into the future to discover there is only one country. Canada. | Chris couldn't believe his eyes. *It worked,* he thought. His initial anxiety slowly turned into cautious optimism as he stepped out of his makeshift time-machine. They all told him it couldn't be done. They told him even if time travel were possible, his stupid machine crafted from a Real Doll with a toaster in its "holster", powered by exactly 2.39 liters of Mountain Dew was not scientifically sound. To put things bluntly, the exact word they used to describe his time-machine was "retarded".
He looked down to see grass and was very thankful. To him, this was a sign leaning towards the environment still being intact. His gaze then panned upward, revealing a lush, beautiful landscape for as far as the eye could see. Birds chirped gleefully in the distance as he began to traverse the landscape. The thing he loved the most about this place was the air, which was so fresh it was almost...*sweet*
After a few enjoyable hours of walking that felt like minutes, Chris finally stumbled upon a town. The town was unlike anything he had seen before. Sure, it had children playing, teenage and young adult couples holding hands, senior citizens feeding birds, but *different*. The playing children were levitating, the couples were gesturing as if they were conversing without saying a word, and though it may have been in Chris' mind, all the elderly seemed surprisingly spry.
"You ah...need some help there, friendo?" a voice asked, pulling him out of his stupor. He looked to his left to see a friendly smiling man in a mesmerizing flannel shirt. The pattern on the shirt was moving, not unlike a music visualizer.
"Yeah, my dude. Nothing urgent," Chris replied, "but I have no idea what to make of any of this. You see, I'm not from...er, now. I'm an American time-traveler from the year 2016". He figured a nice fellow from a town that had an overall nice ambiance would believe him, or at least play along to humor him.
"Well, buddy, you're in luck. You're in Canada, Thirty-one-sixteen. We call it 998PCA, which stands for Post-Canadian-Ascension. Of course, it'd be hard to say you're anywhere but Canada. Y'see, two years after the time you left, The American President was caught in her 400th email scandal - a plot to invade Pre-Ascension Canada using what we now call a distraction-killing, to leave her citizens in the dark."
Reeling from the information, Chris hung on every word as the man continued. "So any who, after the plot was exposed, Your people revolted against her. Led by a great man, they succeeded in ousting her, but at the cost of one Canadian life. That man vowed that every country should be like Canada. Aboat a year later, a UN conference was held by the man who led that revolution. Sorey about the Canuck who lost her life, they voted unanimously to make every country Canada."
Chris' palms were sweaty. Out of breath from mild shock, he mustered up the energy to ask one question. "S-so who was the man who led the revolution?"
The man beamed, "That man was my thousand year ancestor: Donald Trump! I'm Terrence Trump, but you can call me Trip. I'm the mayor of this town. Please, enjoy some poutine, on me! The only thing I ask of you is to-"
"Get up!"
The world around Chris faded to black, then slowly began to reappear. His head felt like every nerve was on edge, his hands were sticky with Mountain Dew and felt like he grabbed a bug zapper. He felt foggy and managed to mumble, "Cana-huh?" weakly. He looked up to see his girlfriend staring down worriedly at him, and then across the garage where his Real Doll lay, charred beyond recognition.
"You...!" She stammered through tears as Chris still tried to make sense of his surroundings. "I thought you were dead!" she scolded through choked sobs. "One of these days your stupid inventions are going to get you killed!!"
*fin* | I stepped out of my machine. The glories of what I was about to see raced through my imagination. Skyscrapers that reached into space, cars that could travel between the planets, devices that allowed humanity to communicate telepathically.
There was none of that.
There was just trees. Trees and trees and trees and more trees.
I wandered for days until I came across the first human habitation. It was a few houses by the side of a lake surrounding a giant silo that was overflowing with syrup.
A man came up to greet me, and apologized for interrupting my train of thought.
When he found out where I was from he began to explain to me what the events of the past thousand years had been.
About how the US has tried to invade Canada and how the underpopulated northern country had prevailed and even turned around and invaded the United States, against all the odds. When the war was over they stood upon the greatest cache of weapons in the world, which they used on each country, one after the other.
When the entire planet was in their grasp they declared a formal apology and dismantled their own government during a fit of guilt.
The population that remained after the war split up into little towns that peacefully manufactured maple syrup.
That was the only industry that remained.
Is this really our fate? Does it all have to come to this? A group of farmers who spend their days making maple syrup instead of sending our species to the stars?
These questions go through my head as I press the gun against my temple. What's the point of living if your life leads to this? | |
[WP] Write a scene from any Star Wars movie from the point of view of a random soldier. | We were riding low on these gunships and I still didn't know what this little green guy next to me was so important because he talked so funny. And he had a cane, why were we taking order from a little green guy with a cane. The planet we were on looked like a war had already been fought here. It was a wasteland and smelled like bug. Before I knew we were dropping down into a colosseum full of bugs, battle droids, and Jedi. At least I think they were, they all had the lightsabers and were surrounded by droids. But we clones know how to make an entrance.
I started opening fire with my DLT-55 on the battle droids that did not hesitate to open fire on us. The battle had begun. I had been waiting for this moment ever since my first training module. I had to let my weapon cool down because I had unleashed a round on the arena, hoping I didn't hit a Jedi. Lasers from the side of our ship begin to start mowing down droids. Explosions left and right, blaster fire everywhere. It was exhilarating. We had followed the little green man’s order to form a perimeter around the survivors.
I began to feel the gunship lower to the arena floor. My heart begins to beat faster in sync with brother's around me. I hopped off the gunship and began lining my sights with droids. After I knock down a couple droids I begin to hip fire since I see the Jedi climbing onto the ships. To my left one of my brother’s goes down and I hop up on to the last gunship. We fly out of the arena and begin heading towards the wasteland.
Several gunships have joined our sides and the Cruisers are flying above to land in the back of the battlefield. AT-TE are already being deployed and the clone army has begun to march on the Separatist. My gunship lands and I regroup with my unit. We are led by a Jedi with a green saber, but I don’t even notice that before red laser are interrupting my surrounding. I begin firing my blaster with no aim. Rockets go over my ead and blow up an AT-TE behind me. I see a gunship crash land. Trooper bodies were everywhere. And then even bigger laser opened fired opened fire on one of the space stations. The insides were getting destroyed and then it collapsed. Dust and sand blew up. With our tactical helmets we could spot the droids with ease. And before we knew it, the droid army was in full retreat.
| I tell you man, the entire planet literally blew up! I was in orbit on one of the Com. Ship custodian vessels and saw it with my own eyes. Like, everybody in the corps has heard of the records of the old death stars, you would have thought that the designers would have thought of not creating a massive weak point, you know? Like, you thought they would know how to make stuff bomb proof by now, you know? What is this, 500BBY?
And don't get me started on the new Vader guy, everyone telling stories that he's the shit, that he stops time and can move a house with his mind. Then you get my buddies down the infirmary, they said he was carried onboard for evacuation all sorts of FUBARed. No one knows where they took him, but I tell you, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now.
I mean, what the hell man, is this what we trained for? We haven't even send a squadron at a real battlefield yet and we got the deathstar blown up. Not that I'm eager to go and get blasted by some sand sludgeman or something, but man, the brass has its collective head so far up its collective ass that I won't be surprised if they get us all obliterated before we even get to hit something, you know? | |
[WP] Write a scene from any Star Wars movie from the point of view of a random soldier. | So I'm standing around following orders when some shit starts to happen. My squadron has been stationed on some podunk no-system planet for the last three days looking for some rebel scum.
There's nothing here and nothing to do. It's not that big of a world and the only thing here of any significance is the one spaceport. So of course that's where we are... doing the old block by block.
We're maybe halfway through the search pattern when the com channels light up. Rebels spotted! Yah fuckin hoo right? For all of maybe ten seconds I'm like "Yeah let's blast 'em so we can get outta here and go someplace more interesting!"
And then I hear it on my comm. A first, it wasn't too clear. But then, a couple more times, one of the other guys yells out "Jedi!" This is the absolute last thing a trooper ever wants to hear. It's really hard to understand if you've never seen a Jedi in action.
They're like supersoldiers or something. No blasters, just a lightsaber. They can jump around all over the place and they've got some kind of telekinetic abilities. I've heard stories from guys who swear a Jedi messed with their heads somehow... or just brushed them aside with a wave of their hand. I've seen guys set down blaster fire on target and get hit by a shitty rebound off of their lightsaber.
Troopers are plenty tough. But we've got some limits and we talk amongst ourselves too. So when the action comes my way I just do what we talked about doing if we ever ran into *them*.
I just hang back and aim so far off target that no Jedi in the galaxy can rebound my own shot back at me.
That was 20 minutes ago. The rebels and the Jedi got away and my CO is mad as hell. But every single guy in our unit is still alive.
Mission accomplished! | I tell you man, the entire planet literally blew up! I was in orbit on one of the Com. Ship custodian vessels and saw it with my own eyes. Like, everybody in the corps has heard of the records of the old death stars, you would have thought that the designers would have thought of not creating a massive weak point, you know? Like, you thought they would know how to make stuff bomb proof by now, you know? What is this, 500BBY?
And don't get me started on the new Vader guy, everyone telling stories that he's the shit, that he stops time and can move a house with his mind. Then you get my buddies down the infirmary, they said he was carried onboard for evacuation all sorts of FUBARed. No one knows where they took him, but I tell you, I wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now.
I mean, what the hell man, is this what we trained for? We haven't even send a squadron at a real battlefield yet and we got the deathstar blown up. Not that I'm eager to go and get blasted by some sand sludgeman or something, but man, the brass has its collective head so far up its collective ass that I won't be surprised if they get us all obliterated before we even get to hit something, you know? | |
[WP] One day there is a knock at the door, opening you find yourself face to face with your exact double. They tell you that because you haven't managed to achieve it, they are here to replace you and get things back on track. | "What is this?" Ralph asked, gazing upon his clone.
"I have very little time to explain. I thought you would have-rather-will solve it by now."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean!?"
"The timeline. It has been, well, in your case, will be altered. I am not your clone. I'm you. From the future, that is. And I need to fix the timeline."
"What if you can't?"
"I have no idea. And I-we cannot afford finding out."
---
The jump worked. Ralph Higgins found himself in a world very much alive. It was a first test jump with a craft containing a new, experimental engine, capable of connecting two points in space and time together, dubbed the wormhole drive. He set it to take him backward two days in time. It was having some technical difficulties. Michael said he had worked out the issues, and, so far, they don't seem to have resurfaced. After doing some touring, he concluded the test was successful. He went back into his craft and plotted a course back into real time. The engine whirred itself to life, creating a space-time window and taking the vessel through.
Unfortunately for Ralph Higgins, creating a wormhole entry generates a very large shockwave from the energy not taken through the event horizon. A shockwave he could feel. It took a couple of minutes for him to recover. When he did, he wasn't greeted by his lab assistant, rather the shaft of a gun.
"Get out. I am taking this ship," a deep, grating voice replied.
"Where to?"
"That is none of your business."
Higgins could not allow this to fall into anyone else's hands. He only had one option. He charged at the man. The man responded in kind, and he could charge no more.
---
Gary could not believe his eyes when he heard about it, scouring the deep web. *A time machine. That's impossible! But could it be...* His wife, Rosalinda, died a week earlier. Stage 4 breast cancer. And Gary would do anything to see her living face again, to touch her once more. That includes stealing a time machine.
He pinpointed the exact location of the machine, a warehouse in Nevada. He grabbed his Glock, a box of ammunition, and some rope, and he drove like a madman.
Upon reaching the warehouse, he noticed that there were very few guards surrounding the warehouse. Only two at the entrance, one bullet for each.
Upon entering, he was greeted by three scientists. Two of them fainted. Gary tied the third to a pole.
"Where is the machine?" Gary spoke with a booming voice.
"What machine?" The scientist asked, fear audible in his voice.
"The time machine. Where is it?" Gary was becoming impatient.
"I think what you're talking about. See, it's not a time machine, it's a space time trans-" Gary fired a bullet into the scientist's folder. "Okay! Okay! Please don't shoot again! It's gone right now, but it will be back in 15 minutes! Just, please, leave me alone!"
"Thank you," Gary replied. He fired a second bullet, and the scientist dropped to the floor.
So, Gary waited those 15 minutes. First, he felt it. Then, he saw it. The machine appeared in front of him. He went up to it, and found a man visibly disoriented. He put the gun against his forehead.
"Get out. I am taking this ship," Gary said.
"Where to?" The man replied.
"That is none of your business."
The man charged at Gary, who fired by impulse. The man slumped to the floor, and Gary entered the machine. Upon reaching the control panel, he realized he had no idea how to operate it, and anyone who knew was either unconscious or dead, and the military was hot on his tail. Gary started mashing buttons at random, until a prompt came up.
*Location: 41.84°N, 87.68°W. Time: -172800 seconds.* Gary had no better option at the time, and selected the option. Gary felt the same shockwave he had earlier as the drive activated. But what he felt next was new. A collision.
---
Higgins was almost back to the vessel from his first test jump when he was taken aback by a shockwave. A wormhole exit had formed, and another vessel, identical to his emerged, but one of the safeguards had failed. The drive was supposed to check if there was matter in the destination area and move locations if there was. It had failed, and the vessel collided into Higgins'. What he heard next as scarier.
"CORE CONTAINMENT FAILURE. CRITICAL MASS IN ONE MINUTE." The second vessel was damaged due to the collision. Higgins had no idea how to react.
"CRITICAL MASS IN THIRTY SECONDS."
Suddenly, Higgins had an idea. He got into his own vessel, and set a new destination.
"CRITICAL MASS IN FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE."
---
Ralph felt the ground shake like it never did before, knocking him over. He regained his footing and turned on the news.
"A massive explosion has leveled the city of Chicago. All residents are encouraged to stay inside." He could not believe what he was hearing. Then, he heard a knock on his door. Ralph opened, and just when he thought he couldn't be surprised any further, he saw the person who greeted him. | My first jab was quick and well placed but so was his, our fists met and we both recoiled. "I too always aim for the throat." His voice was annoying, i hated the way i sounded.
He pushed in with a kick and crashed over the key dish next to the door. My cats ran from the noise and i took several steps back to reclaim myself. "What are you doing here?" He gave me a wide breadth of space to make sure i knew he meant no harm.
"In two days she gets in a car accident" I realize only now he isn't identical but older than me, not by much maybe a few years. He closes the door behind himself and we sit down. "Listen, i know this is hard but we need to work together to make sure she doesn't," He choked up. I can tell he has genuine emotions, not some government puppet like the last clone. "Die..." He finished with a few tears forming around the edges of his water line.
"It took me 3 years but i broke into a high end military facility that was working on time travel. I'm here with the soul motivation of coming back to make sure i don't need to come back."
In this time he closed the gap of space between us and put a hand on my shoulder. I knew i had to help him.
"Shes my wife, our wife, please. I can't live witho..." That's as much as he could choke out before i put the knife in his throat. My warm blood pooled onto the carpet in waves around my hand. He really was real.
My body went limp around me and my full weight dropped forward towards me, My hands slipped from the blood and my body hit the ground with a carpet muffled thud.
Several soft thunks against the door made me panic a little inside.
"Honey open the door my hands are full."
Hopefully i could save us | |
[WP] One day there is a knock at the door, opening you find yourself face to face with your exact double. They tell you that because you haven't managed to achieve it, they are here to replace you and get things back on track. | "Wait, what? I'm being replaced? What the hell happens to me then?"
My double rolled his eyes. "Whatever the hell you want," he said, pushing me aside as he walked in.
It all started to sink in. "You mean I can just sit around and play video games all day?" I asked, starting to feel very excited. "This is like a dream come true."
"Clearly," he said, looking around my apartment. Empty pizza boxes and bottles littered the room. "Looks like you're living it already."
I frowned. "But I still have to work," I said, pointing at my suit laying crumpled on the floor, "and I hate what I do."
He nodded, and started rummaging around. "Yep, you really do. Shame you're totally being forced to." He found a large plastic bag, and began methodically filling it with all the empty bottles.
"Not like you can just get a different job or anything."
"Yea!" I said, then thought for a bit. Was he being facetious?
"Not like you could finally admit that your apathy is really just a mixture of laziness and self-loathing, right? Not like you could make gradual steps to being happy again, right?"
He threw the bag full of bottles into the corner with a crash.
"Not like you could just make a goddamn effort to improve your life, *right?*"
I stared at him, then the ground. I wanted to say something, but what could I?
He thrust open the curtains, illuminating the room. It was already looking different - not the awful, dreary place it had been before. It had only taken him a few minutes.
He turned back to me. "Don't worry, you can sit down and drink and play games. I'll get things back on track."
I sat down heavily on the couch, watching him work. My room, my entire living area, changed before my eyes. It was clean, almost hopeful.
Then he grabbed a pen and paper, and started writing out a 'To-Do' list. Everything on the list looked like small goals, and they all seemed strangely achievable.
I began to feel uneasy; guilty even. "Are you sure you don't want help with anything?" I asked, reaching out towards him.
"It's fine," he said, waving me away, "this is all super hard, remember?"
I sat down again, watching myself make steps towards living a better life. In half an hour my double had already done more than I had all year.
**********
I woke up. My apartment was dirty, dark. Like it had always been.
I stared at the mess.
Then I started looking for a plastic bag. | "Yeah, I can see why. Do you need me to go over anything with you?"
"Unfortunately, I'm already filled with all your memories. We just need to complete this transfer paperwork and submit it to the boss"
We sit down at my coffee table and begin to go through the papers. "Sign here" and "initial here" and providing copies of my information for the last few years. The time ticks by as we silently shuffle through the work, and we are finished.
"Alright, time for you to go back to nonexistence. I've got it from here." I stand in the center of my living room holding the paperwork and I begin to be able to see through my hands. This guy seems so motivated, so assured, so confident.
He pulls out a gun. "Alright then, time to kill my wife and kids"
"Wait, what?" And then I'm gone. | |
[WP]There is a very tiny elephant in every room that always becomes upset when people say they are going to address it, but never do. | "Don't hold your breath on it."
Those were the last words spoken to me by my uncle Lu before he passed on.
Optimism is a rare trait in our kind, and if I'm completely honest, I'm pretty sure mine annoyed the hell out of my family. They never realized, though, that my optimism was warranted. How else would I have stayed alive this long?
Much like the monsters under the bed, us Ellys feed off of the attention we receive from humans. The issue is, monsters have a much more effective method when it comes to being acknowledged. Us on the other hand? We just sit. And wait. And hope maybe someone might even THINK of bringing us up. That was never good enough for me, though.
Humans are, no matter what YouTube commenters and celebrity bloggers might have you believe, very emotionally complex people. I understood from early on that if I wanted to make it in this world, I needed to appeal to those emotions. Knowing this I meticulously studied human emotions and their triggers. For instance, a certain Sarah Mclaughlin song never fails to make an American human react with either sadness or annoyance. The knowledge I gained from this study would allow me to call attention to myself, instead of just sitting and waiting.
The first time was easy. A teenaged human boy, trying almost instinctively to impress a girl about his age. Just looking at him, physical prowess was not an option. Humor. He would have to rely on humor.
Just as I came to this realization, the boys teacher began to assign pairs for some sort of exercise. Something about common idiomatic expressions in the English language. Regardless of the subject matter, this would be my best chance to test my knowledge.
I quickly learned both of their names. The male was called Jonathan, the female Rebecca. They were assigned to a group with two others, both males as well.
I began to take note of the differences between the boys, both appearance and personality wise. The group's conversation quickly devolved, as I've noticed conversations between members of this age group do, to talking about their attractions to other teenagers they knew. This is when the smallest boy of the group went silent.
This boy was what would be considered average by almost all accounts. All but one, his horrid smell. Young humans tend to smell terrible but this one stank with some real gusto.
The group continued until finally, the small, smelly boy spoke up. "Why do all of you have people crushing on you, but no one is interested in me?"
The group fell silent. This was my chance. There wasn't much I could do to change the surrounding environment, but I could move small objects, and make noises just barely loud enough to register. I was beginning to lose hope when I saw it. A stick of deodorant teetering on the edge of a desk. I bumped it and the stick came crashing to the floor. Jonathan took notice and made a connection between the deodorant, the other boys smell, and said boys mating issues.
I will never understand why humans embarrass each other in order to seem impressive, or funny, but that doesn't mean I can't use it to my advantage. "I'm not going to be the one to address the SMELLephant in the room, but maybe you might want to try using that sometime." Gesturing to the fallen deodorant, Jonathan seemed contented in his wordplay.
I however, was less amused.
This wasn't good enough. There had to be a way to get more direct attention. I continued researching, experimenting, and trying my hardest not to lose all hope. Turns out the original plan just needed some working through. Humans will go through a lot to make a joke, no matter how it might hurt others.
I'm not proud of what I do. I know it hurts people, and that was never the intent. But things change. Sometimes need outweighs morality. Have I been the instigator in less than pleasant situations? Sure. I won't say I haven't caused any pain or sorrow, but hey, we've all got a few skeletons in our closet, don't we? | I usually hide in the worn, 30 year old clarinet case in the closet. The velveteen fabric is coming off at the ends and it makes for a nice blanket. The case also makes for nice noise insulation when I need it, but band class was rowdy today and I must not have closed the case all the way. Sometimes the latches get stuck.
As soon as the kids started to pour into the room it was getting loud. Some kid won an award, or so I thought. After a few more minutes of kids walking in I could hear the director clap his hands together to silence the room.
Usually at about this point I get up and go into my stash for breakfast. Sometimes a student is munching on something in the back of the room, one of those percussion kids, and they drop some peanuts or something.
I fumbled around in my pack, grabbing different things with my trunk to see where the food was and thankfully had some leftover peanuts from Friday.
“Alrighty, how was everybody’s weekend?” the director asked. “Anything interesting happen?”
He waited for a moment and some kids were chanting someone’s name, but the director seemed to ignore them.
“Charlie, I hear your brother won the game for us Saturday.” he said.
“Uh yeah. He did. Winning shot and all, big game of course. Looks like we’re going back to the playoffs.”
“Nice, nice.” said the director. “Anyone else?”
The kids started chanting someone’s name again.
“Ashley? Anything interesting happen?”
“Haha” she laughed, “No, not at all. I think Ann might have something though.”
“Alright, alright, alright,” the director droned. “Time to address the elephant in the room.”
“Oh my god,” I thought to myself. I put down my peanut and galloped to the door as fast as I could. I tried to squish my way under it and popped out the other side before he said another word.
“Well Ann.” he said with a grimace. “Tell us about your weekend.”
Immediately I felt it. My heart dropped.
They still didn’t know I existed. I don’t know why I thought anything would be different today. I mean, the director was basically talking right to me, what was I thinking getting all excited.
Weren’t they interested in the fact that I had learned to play the triangle and was quite proficient? Did they not care that I could actually play a steady note on the piccolo. Get me a few more of my buddies and we could play whatever note we wanted. Heck, I had actually written a few compositions of my own. But nope, it is about Ann today.
“Haha thanks Mr. Bryce.” she said. “Well, as you all know, I entered the composition competition two months ago. And over the weekend, I got the letter saying they are going to use my composition.”
The class finally erupted and started hollering and hooting and making every noise imaginable.
“Alright alright alright.” the professor said after a minute, waving his hand. “So what are they going to use it for?” he asked. “In case anyone doesn’t know.”
“Well, they are using as the opening music the next Elephantman movie.”
“Elephantman movie?” I thought to myself. What kind of garbage joke is this. I wrote the song for Elephantman. I was going to enter that competition. I would have, of course, if I could mail it. But that was a hurdle I couldn’t overcome so I put it away in my file.
“My file”
With gusto I crammed myself back under the door, and if I could fly I would have. I had to get to my file.
I popped open the latch and started sifting through the papers
“Bertrand’s song, nope. Symphony 4 (unfinished), nope. Where is it”
I flew through the papers as fast as I could until I saw it. It was a note. A note I hadn’t put there. I saw an upside down name at the top.
“,Ann” it read.
I ripped the paper out and started reading.
*“Dear mystery composer, I found this folder in the closet and sifted through it and the “Elephantman Opening” caught my eye. I hope you don’t mind, but I took it and worked on it some more so I could submit something for the composition competition. I’ll put it back once I copy it. My name is Ann and I have 1st period band if you want to find me.*
*,Ann”*
“This bitch” I said.
“You’ll wish you addressed me.”
TBC...potentially. | |
[WP] You are the tooth fairy. Right as you are reaching underneath the child's pillow, a parent walks in holding $5. | Sometimes it gets messy. It can be a messy job, but someone has to do it. I’m the guy who makes the mess, not the one who cleans it up.
It’s the same old story. I hit up houses every night. It’s my job. Do I love it? No. Do I have to do it? Yes. Why? They have my wife. It’s been too long. I have to see her again, touch her again. I have to know she’s okay. Until then, I keep doing my thing and they keep doing their thing. And yet, sometimes my thing gets messy.
----------
There’s who I can only assume is this brat’s mom standing in the doorway. She doesn’t see me, but I see her. She’s beautiful. Everything about this human’s essence has got me head over heels in love. Suddenly, I’m forgetting about my wife. I’m forgetting about this deal I made. I’m forgetting about whatever I’ve been doing for however long I’ve been doing it. All this time, and this woman makes me stop.
I look at this beauty and then at her sleeping kid. That kid has a dad. This kid has a family. How could I ever break that up? What are you thinking, Tooth Fairy? C’mon, get it together, man. I glide up to the kid’s pillow and replace the tooth with some cash. The mother’s still standing there in that doorway. Can she see me? She’s staring at her kid, not me. They never stare at me.
I approach the woman a little closer. She’s so beautiful. I can’t help myself, I just keep staring. Her long hair, her deep eyes, her sweet nose, her tender lips. I’m entranced, what can I say? I haven’t felt this way in a long time.
Maybe it’s time to give this up. Let some other poor schmuck do the job for me. I need to settle down, I can’t keep chasing after my wife. She’s gone, or at least it’s been so long, she might as well be gone.
And yet, I stare at this woman, and there’s something about her. She’s my wife. She’s not my wife, but I see my wife. I feel my wife. I can sense her. It’s all coming back to me. I’m weeping. I’ve been a Tooth Fairy for as long as I can remember and here I am weeping.
I’m gonna get you back, sweetheart. I haven’t felt hope in so long, but dammit, I’m gonna get you back.
| After a long night of collecting teeth, the tooth fairy arrives at the final house before a well-deserved rest. As she opens the window and flutters in weightlessly just like countless times before. She gave the family dog a quick pat on the head and went to the child's room to grab the tooth. The door lets out a loud creak as it swings slowly open, prompting the tooth fairy to look around and listen carefully. After a few seconds she decides no one is awake and lifts up the pillow gently and reaches for the tooth.
"I'll just grab this and be on my way, another job well do--"
Before the tooth fairy could finish, the child's father walks in, a five dollar bill in his hand and interrupts in a startled whisper.
"Who are you and why are you doing in my son's room?!"
The tooth fairy turns around and stares in disbelief for a moment. In the hundreds of years she's been collecting teeth, never once has a parent caught her in the act.
"You'd better start explaining yourself pretty fast. Who breaks into a house dressed like that? What's with the wings? Are you supposed to be the tooth fairy or something? The father asked half jokingly.
"Why, actually I am the tooth fairy sir." The tooth fairy said with a smile. "Judging by the five dollar bill in your hand, I'd say you didn't think I existed, did you?"
"Yeah, right" said the father, "If you're really the tooth fairy, prove it or I'm calling the cops." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials 911, and awaits the tooth fairy's next move while his finger rests on the call button.
"Now there's no reason to call the police sir, I assure you that I am indeed the tooth fairy. These wings and wand aren't just for show you know." She gives him a wink and begins to flutter her wings and lift her feet off the ground. As the father looks on in disbelief, she gently takes the boy's tooth from under his pillow and waves the wand, replacing the tooth with a five dollar bill of her own, then slips it under the pillow and smiles sweetly at the father.
"Now is that enough proof for you, dear?"
"I- how- what are you?" The father asked, phone now at his side
"Why I told you, I'm the tooth fairy. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must be going. The sun is rising soon and I'm dreadfully tired. You can keep your money, I assure you I'll be here as he loses his teeth. Go back to bed now dear, and give the dog a treat won't you?"
She touches his shoulder gently and walks out of the room and out the window she came in through. The father stood and stared for a few moments, trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed before finally shaking his head and going back to bed. The tooth fairy returned home and set down her crown on her nightstand and laid down her head to await tomorrow's journey.
| |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | A soft breeze blew cool, dry air through the large oak's yellowing leaves. It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and Jack couldn't help but bask in the warm midday weather as he tilled his onion garden. He took a deep breath.
"I saw your company this morning. Two crows and a bluebird! Quite the entourage." He said with a weak cough. Jack stopped for a second to listen to the oak's leaves rattling in the wind. A smile cracked across the old man's lips, and he returned to the soil. It was nice to have a friend.
Jack sunk his knees deep into the ground, allowing the soft dirt deep into the folds of his stiff jean overalls. A familiar song played away in the distance and Jack lifted his head, allowing the sunlight to protrude through the rips in his old straw sun hat.
"Here comes that bluebird again. Ah, I think the birdbath is empty. I'll go get the hose." As Jack stood he let out a grunt - his knees had ached for the past few months, and they were only getting worse. "Damned knees." He muttered. "Sometimes I think you've got it good, you know. If something doesn't work with you, you can just snap it off and grow a new one." The tap squeaked as Jack spun it open.
"And you know what, you're always standing up straight too. No arthritis, you lucky dog." Jack pulled the hose over towards the birdbath and opened the faucet, letting out a quick breath. The hose was heavier than he'd expected. "Guess I got you beat there though. At least I get to walk around."
As he finished filling the birdbath he looked up into the lush yellow of the canopy and sighed. As large as the tree was, Jack still looked at the oak like it was his own little boy. "Takes a long time to get big and strong like you." He commented. "You should be proud of yourself, growin' up like that." Jack discarded his callous demeanour in place of a softer, warmer tone. "I know I am."
Jack turned the water off and threw the hose onto the lawn. Turning with his back to the tree, he grabbed his knees and sat down at the base of the oak, adjusting his back into the uneven crags of the hard tree bark. Precariously Jack watched the timid bluebird land and take a drink from the freshly filled bath. A leaf floated in front of the man's face.
"Well, I guess it's just that time of year again, isn't it? Everything just slows down. Feels like time does. And ya know, I always hear it. Time for this, time for that. It's always time for something. But you know what there's not ever time for?" Jack took a second and allowed his words to echo through the foliage above him, as if awaiting a response. "There's never time, for nothing. And that's what I want - a couple days of big ol' nothin'. Sit back, relax and enjoy my day. Is that too much to ask?" The old man shuffled in his seat and the grass stained his jeans.
As Jack continued on, the bluebird chirped and danced away. The green backyard grass shimmered in the gust, and the tree stood tall. He'd stood there as long as he could remember. Right since he first stuck a stem out of the earth to see Jack, showering him in water.
He was younger then. Hair slicked back, strong, slim, sharp as a tack. The oak wondered what had happened through time as he had grown older and stronger while Jack had grown weaker. A tinge of sorrow swept over the tree as he thought forward, but quickly stopped himself.
The oak didn't want to think about that.
He let himself come back to reality to listen to the old man.
"But anyways, like I was saying - I'm so glad it finally feels like fall. Everything just slows right down." Jack looked up at the oak one more time and smiled. "A minute spent with you could feel like the rest of my life."
The warm breeze rattled the leaves of the large oak. And as Jack leaned into the tree, the tree leaned into him. The bluebird chirped in the distance.
The tree agreed. As they sat together, they both let the dreamy fall day carry them into their own train of thought. The old man talking, the large oak listening. The way it was supposed to be.
It was nice to have a friend. | George was sick. He sat there sick, in a wet heap. His head beaded and dripped, his back ached and lurched forward. This chair George sat in was under his tree, which was as lifeless and miserable as he. Barren with twisted appendages and blotches. It wasn’t always this unsightly, George’s tree. The years were once full of color and change and hope. It had a way of swaying that attracted, inspired even. Unto itself it had been magnificent. Some days it was undeniable, changing all that came and traversed near. Changing responsively to an undetectable radiance. Some days George’s tree was kept out of view, indistinguishable from the bland branches and trunks nearby. Never glanced or looked up at, unseen.
However so, George’s tree grew nonetheless.
Now in age and time found itself in silence. Covered in stillness, blanketed in quiet.
George realized again his back ached. | |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | I always love it when Fall comes around. The cool breeze always feels so good, and all my friends are always happy and in bright spirits.
It feels like yesterday when I was just born. The wind would almost knock me over as if I were a weightless twig...which as it turns out, I was, haha.
Here comes Dad to give me food again. He's the best Dad I could ask for. When I was a baby, he was always there to feed me and protect me. I still remember that storm. It was so windy and rain was coming down from the sky like a broken water hose. Dad stood out there and held me to make sure I didn't fall over. He's always been good like that.
Now, though, I can see his color has changed over the past few seasons. He seems to have lost some quickness with his movement. It takes him a little longer to get me food. Sometimes, I can see his hands shaking violently, and then he gets mad and starts cursing at his hands; I'm not sure why he does this but I'm sure he has his reasons.
Today was a little off though. As he finished up today, he told me something that I didn't quite understand.
"I've watched you throughout these past 35 years grow into what I knew you'd always be. No matter what's happened, you have always been my rock...you have been what's kept me sane.
I just want you to know that none of this is your fault. You'll live for a really long time, but, eventually, you'll understand why I'm talking to you about this today."
I still don't really get it, but I'm sure he'll explain it when he comes tomorrow. | George was sick. He sat there sick, in a wet heap. His head beaded and dripped, his back ached and lurched forward. This chair George sat in was under his tree, which was as lifeless and miserable as he. Barren with twisted appendages and blotches. It wasn’t always this unsightly, George’s tree. The years were once full of color and change and hope. It had a way of swaying that attracted, inspired even. Unto itself it had been magnificent. Some days it was undeniable, changing all that came and traversed near. Changing responsively to an undetectable radiance. Some days George’s tree was kept out of view, indistinguishable from the bland branches and trunks nearby. Never glanced or looked up at, unseen.
However so, George’s tree grew nonetheless.
Now in age and time found itself in silence. Covered in stillness, blanketed in quiet.
George realized again his back ached. | |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | Run your hands along the great oak’s scaly bark, trace your fingers through the tracts of its body, listen to the song of the wind’s tickling through its network of leaves and you will know this old man’s story. See the gaze he bestows upon his last friend and mark well the tears welling in the weathered pockets of his eyes. Though the two friends found their kinship during shared adolescence, the oak stood strong and unbent with another hundred years of life ahead of it, while the old man’s crooked frame hunched in stark contrast, life’s light ebbing with each passing day.
'What do your eyes see when they look on this old man,' he wondered. 'Do you perceive time as I do? Is it as yesterday that I climbed through your branches in childlike exuberance, concocting daring rescues, facing down a thousand villains, and surviving to bask in the adulation of friend and neighbor? Could that blessedly ignorant child have had any idea of what was to come? The relentless churn of time, the pain of loss, the building burden of the years of unrealized potential, and the haunting hollowness of it all. No, reach not through time’s breath and disturb that child. Leave him be.'
The man had taken to spending all of his waking hours seated in front of his tree, taking his meals beside it until that became no longer necessary. He’d reached a point where even nightfall didn’t bring him back inside, the sky’s light and dark cycles shifting beneath his notice. In old age, the hopeful allure of future is robbed from you and with that your adherence to the present and its banal burdens. In those days, only past remains, roaring behind the eyes in startling clarity. For what the old desire most, the past offers in boundless surplus.
The man knew he had given what he had left of his life and energy to this tree, even arranging that it would be cared for upon his passing. All paled in significance before this. Was it the desperate desire of a childless man to leave something behind of his life, some remnant, some shred of communication that asserted that I was here. I lost, I wasted, I hurt, I scorned, I flailed, I struggled, I fought, I broke, I failed, I died.
But I was here.
He craned his neck with great effort, clenching teeth through the pain. He drew in a ragged breath, its exhalation whistling through his nostrils. 'Call it the confused, nonsensical death rattle of a dying mind, but I feel something when I look upon you, my earthen friend. Is this the love the faithful the feel when they perceive the attention of their god? Or is this warmth merely the sun’s heat peeking through your indifferent branches? If you know the answer old friend, speak it not. I’ll learn a lesson from the child I once was, and relish my present bliss.'
An imperceptible amount of time passed, and it didn’t. His breath slowed, and it quickened. He was a child, and he was a man. He died, and he lived. The great oak watched the last breaths of his friend with great care, and was simply a tree, incapable of such blessings.
It cried out in grief, raging at the loss of its friend, raging at its inhuman comprehension of the man’s trials and pains and perceived failures. The great oak cursed its silence, railed at its inability to reach through the chasm of their uncommon language, and speak its words. 'You failed at nothing. You lived, you tried, you earned, you fought, you played, you surrendered, you gave, you endured, you lived, you lived, you lived…'
The tears of the old man’s friend cascaded down for hours, dripping onto flesh that did not feel them.
And it was only the rain.
| George was sick. He sat there sick, in a wet heap. His head beaded and dripped, his back ached and lurched forward. This chair George sat in was under his tree, which was as lifeless and miserable as he. Barren with twisted appendages and blotches. It wasn’t always this unsightly, George’s tree. The years were once full of color and change and hope. It had a way of swaying that attracted, inspired even. Unto itself it had been magnificent. Some days it was undeniable, changing all that came and traversed near. Changing responsively to an undetectable radiance. Some days George’s tree was kept out of view, indistinguishable from the bland branches and trunks nearby. Never glanced or looked up at, unseen.
However so, George’s tree grew nonetheless.
Now in age and time found itself in silence. Covered in stillness, blanketed in quiet.
George realized again his back ached. | |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | I always love it when Fall comes around. The cool breeze always feels so good, and all my friends are always happy and in bright spirits.
It feels like yesterday when I was just born. The wind would almost knock me over as if I were a weightless twig...which as it turns out, I was, haha.
Here comes Dad to give me food again. He's the best Dad I could ask for. When I was a baby, he was always there to feed me and protect me. I still remember that storm. It was so windy and rain was coming down from the sky like a broken water hose. Dad stood out there and held me to make sure I didn't fall over. He's always been good like that.
Now, though, I can see his color has changed over the past few seasons. He seems to have lost some quickness with his movement. It takes him a little longer to get me food. Sometimes, I can see his hands shaking violently, and then he gets mad and starts cursing at his hands; I'm not sure why he does this but I'm sure he has his reasons.
Today was a little off though. As he finished up today, he told me something that I didn't quite understand.
"I've watched you throughout these past 35 years grow into what I knew you'd always be. No matter what's happened, you have always been my rock...you have been what's kept me sane.
I just want you to know that none of this is your fault. You'll live for a really long time, but, eventually, you'll understand why I'm talking to you about this today."
I still don't really get it, but I'm sure he'll explain it when he comes tomorrow. | A soft breeze blew cool, dry air through the large oak's yellowing leaves. It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and Jack couldn't help but bask in the warm midday weather as he tilled his onion garden. He took a deep breath.
"I saw your company this morning. Two crows and a bluebird! Quite the entourage." He said with a weak cough. Jack stopped for a second to listen to the oak's leaves rattling in the wind. A smile cracked across the old man's lips, and he returned to the soil. It was nice to have a friend.
Jack sunk his knees deep into the ground, allowing the soft dirt deep into the folds of his stiff jean overalls. A familiar song played away in the distance and Jack lifted his head, allowing the sunlight to protrude through the rips in his old straw sun hat.
"Here comes that bluebird again. Ah, I think the birdbath is empty. I'll go get the hose." As Jack stood he let out a grunt - his knees had ached for the past few months, and they were only getting worse. "Damned knees." He muttered. "Sometimes I think you've got it good, you know. If something doesn't work with you, you can just snap it off and grow a new one." The tap squeaked as Jack spun it open.
"And you know what, you're always standing up straight too. No arthritis, you lucky dog." Jack pulled the hose over towards the birdbath and opened the faucet, letting out a quick breath. The hose was heavier than he'd expected. "Guess I got you beat there though. At least I get to walk around."
As he finished filling the birdbath he looked up into the lush yellow of the canopy and sighed. As large as the tree was, Jack still looked at the oak like it was his own little boy. "Takes a long time to get big and strong like you." He commented. "You should be proud of yourself, growin' up like that." Jack discarded his callous demeanour in place of a softer, warmer tone. "I know I am."
Jack turned the water off and threw the hose onto the lawn. Turning with his back to the tree, he grabbed his knees and sat down at the base of the oak, adjusting his back into the uneven crags of the hard tree bark. Precariously Jack watched the timid bluebird land and take a drink from the freshly filled bath. A leaf floated in front of the man's face.
"Well, I guess it's just that time of year again, isn't it? Everything just slows down. Feels like time does. And ya know, I always hear it. Time for this, time for that. It's always time for something. But you know what there's not ever time for?" Jack took a second and allowed his words to echo through the foliage above him, as if awaiting a response. "There's never time, for nothing. And that's what I want - a couple days of big ol' nothin'. Sit back, relax and enjoy my day. Is that too much to ask?" The old man shuffled in his seat and the grass stained his jeans.
As Jack continued on, the bluebird chirped and danced away. The green backyard grass shimmered in the gust, and the tree stood tall. He'd stood there as long as he could remember. Right since he first stuck a stem out of the earth to see Jack, showering him in water.
He was younger then. Hair slicked back, strong, slim, sharp as a tack. The oak wondered what had happened through time as he had grown older and stronger while Jack had grown weaker. A tinge of sorrow swept over the tree as he thought forward, but quickly stopped himself.
The oak didn't want to think about that.
He let himself come back to reality to listen to the old man.
"But anyways, like I was saying - I'm so glad it finally feels like fall. Everything just slows right down." Jack looked up at the oak one more time and smiled. "A minute spent with you could feel like the rest of my life."
The warm breeze rattled the leaves of the large oak. And as Jack leaned into the tree, the tree leaned into him. The bluebird chirped in the distance.
The tree agreed. As they sat together, they both let the dreamy fall day carry them into their own train of thought. The old man talking, the large oak listening. The way it was supposed to be.
It was nice to have a friend. | |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | Run your hands along the great oak’s scaly bark, trace your fingers through the tracts of its body, listen to the song of the wind’s tickling through its network of leaves and you will know this old man’s story. See the gaze he bestows upon his last friend and mark well the tears welling in the weathered pockets of his eyes. Though the two friends found their kinship during shared adolescence, the oak stood strong and unbent with another hundred years of life ahead of it, while the old man’s crooked frame hunched in stark contrast, life’s light ebbing with each passing day.
'What do your eyes see when they look on this old man,' he wondered. 'Do you perceive time as I do? Is it as yesterday that I climbed through your branches in childlike exuberance, concocting daring rescues, facing down a thousand villains, and surviving to bask in the adulation of friend and neighbor? Could that blessedly ignorant child have had any idea of what was to come? The relentless churn of time, the pain of loss, the building burden of the years of unrealized potential, and the haunting hollowness of it all. No, reach not through time’s breath and disturb that child. Leave him be.'
The man had taken to spending all of his waking hours seated in front of his tree, taking his meals beside it until that became no longer necessary. He’d reached a point where even nightfall didn’t bring him back inside, the sky’s light and dark cycles shifting beneath his notice. In old age, the hopeful allure of future is robbed from you and with that your adherence to the present and its banal burdens. In those days, only past remains, roaring behind the eyes in startling clarity. For what the old desire most, the past offers in boundless surplus.
The man knew he had given what he had left of his life and energy to this tree, even arranging that it would be cared for upon his passing. All paled in significance before this. Was it the desperate desire of a childless man to leave something behind of his life, some remnant, some shred of communication that asserted that I was here. I lost, I wasted, I hurt, I scorned, I flailed, I struggled, I fought, I broke, I failed, I died.
But I was here.
He craned his neck with great effort, clenching teeth through the pain. He drew in a ragged breath, its exhalation whistling through his nostrils. 'Call it the confused, nonsensical death rattle of a dying mind, but I feel something when I look upon you, my earthen friend. Is this the love the faithful the feel when they perceive the attention of their god? Or is this warmth merely the sun’s heat peeking through your indifferent branches? If you know the answer old friend, speak it not. I’ll learn a lesson from the child I once was, and relish my present bliss.'
An imperceptible amount of time passed, and it didn’t. His breath slowed, and it quickened. He was a child, and he was a man. He died, and he lived. The great oak watched the last breaths of his friend with great care, and was simply a tree, incapable of such blessings.
It cried out in grief, raging at the loss of its friend, raging at its inhuman comprehension of the man’s trials and pains and perceived failures. The great oak cursed its silence, railed at its inability to reach through the chasm of their uncommon language, and speak its words. 'You failed at nothing. You lived, you tried, you earned, you fought, you played, you surrendered, you gave, you endured, you lived, you lived, you lived…'
The tears of the old man’s friend cascaded down for hours, dripping onto flesh that did not feel them.
And it was only the rain.
| A soft breeze blew cool, dry air through the large oak's yellowing leaves. It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and Jack couldn't help but bask in the warm midday weather as he tilled his onion garden. He took a deep breath.
"I saw your company this morning. Two crows and a bluebird! Quite the entourage." He said with a weak cough. Jack stopped for a second to listen to the oak's leaves rattling in the wind. A smile cracked across the old man's lips, and he returned to the soil. It was nice to have a friend.
Jack sunk his knees deep into the ground, allowing the soft dirt deep into the folds of his stiff jean overalls. A familiar song played away in the distance and Jack lifted his head, allowing the sunlight to protrude through the rips in his old straw sun hat.
"Here comes that bluebird again. Ah, I think the birdbath is empty. I'll go get the hose." As Jack stood he let out a grunt - his knees had ached for the past few months, and they were only getting worse. "Damned knees." He muttered. "Sometimes I think you've got it good, you know. If something doesn't work with you, you can just snap it off and grow a new one." The tap squeaked as Jack spun it open.
"And you know what, you're always standing up straight too. No arthritis, you lucky dog." Jack pulled the hose over towards the birdbath and opened the faucet, letting out a quick breath. The hose was heavier than he'd expected. "Guess I got you beat there though. At least I get to walk around."
As he finished filling the birdbath he looked up into the lush yellow of the canopy and sighed. As large as the tree was, Jack still looked at the oak like it was his own little boy. "Takes a long time to get big and strong like you." He commented. "You should be proud of yourself, growin' up like that." Jack discarded his callous demeanour in place of a softer, warmer tone. "I know I am."
Jack turned the water off and threw the hose onto the lawn. Turning with his back to the tree, he grabbed his knees and sat down at the base of the oak, adjusting his back into the uneven crags of the hard tree bark. Precariously Jack watched the timid bluebird land and take a drink from the freshly filled bath. A leaf floated in front of the man's face.
"Well, I guess it's just that time of year again, isn't it? Everything just slows down. Feels like time does. And ya know, I always hear it. Time for this, time for that. It's always time for something. But you know what there's not ever time for?" Jack took a second and allowed his words to echo through the foliage above him, as if awaiting a response. "There's never time, for nothing. And that's what I want - a couple days of big ol' nothin'. Sit back, relax and enjoy my day. Is that too much to ask?" The old man shuffled in his seat and the grass stained his jeans.
As Jack continued on, the bluebird chirped and danced away. The green backyard grass shimmered in the gust, and the tree stood tall. He'd stood there as long as he could remember. Right since he first stuck a stem out of the earth to see Jack, showering him in water.
He was younger then. Hair slicked back, strong, slim, sharp as a tack. The oak wondered what had happened through time as he had grown older and stronger while Jack had grown weaker. A tinge of sorrow swept over the tree as he thought forward, but quickly stopped himself.
The oak didn't want to think about that.
He let himself come back to reality to listen to the old man.
"But anyways, like I was saying - I'm so glad it finally feels like fall. Everything just slows right down." Jack looked up at the oak one more time and smiled. "A minute spent with you could feel like the rest of my life."
The warm breeze rattled the leaves of the large oak. And as Jack leaned into the tree, the tree leaned into him. The bluebird chirped in the distance.
The tree agreed. As they sat together, they both let the dreamy fall day carry them into their own train of thought. The old man talking, the large oak listening. The way it was supposed to be.
It was nice to have a friend. | |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | Light. Air. Water. Dirt.
I stretch my leaf as wide as I can. The dirt is rich and moist around my root. I am alive.
There is a warm fog passing over my leaf accompanied by vibrations. Something touches my leaf, lighter than any wind. I'm not sure why, but I feel content.
It rains every morning. Not for very long, but boy does it come down in a deluge. My slender roots never dry enough to grow weak and brittle. I grow.
I stretch my roots through the dirt. They hit a barrier, hard and cool. I try to taste it, but it isn't dirt. I'll have to grow down.
Every day I am touched by that gentle touch, I feel those vibrations. They seem to encourage me to grow tall and strong. I have twenty leaves now.
The weather is changing. Winds push me constantly. My roots and trunk are too frail to hold me upright against the wind. The touch and vibrations come again. Two dead branches are planted next to me. Something is wrapped around me, attaching me to them. They hold me upright. I have time to grow to support my own weight against next years' wind.
My leaves change. I let the wind take them. I have five branches.
The rain is different now. It still falls nearly every day, but it is gentle and slow, lasting for hours. I particularly enjoy when there are a few days without rain. A tree likes to feel its' roots dry out every once in a while.
It's getting warmer. Buts grow on my branches. It is spring.
Something terrible is happening. The touch and vibrations are here, aren't they supposed to be my protectors? They feel almost... apologetic. It doesn't matter. My roots are in the air. I'm going to dry out and die. Except- is that new dirt? And rain. The dead branches at my sides are removed and replaced with new, taller and stronger, dead branches. I don't know what's happening, but seems I'm going to be okay.
My leaves open. I spread my roots and do not find another barrier. I have 38 leaves and buds for a dozen more.
Spring and summer come and go. I grow, nearly tripling in size. It rains every three or four days, my roots are always allowed to dry out between rains. The touch and vibrations are frequently with me. I strive to grow taller to please them.
The winds come and take my leaves again. I hunker down to sleep through another winter.
Spring comes and I but. I have three large branches, twelve small, and 112 buds. The touch and vibrations come, but they've changed. The touch shakes, the vibrations are weaker and unsteady. The dead branches at my sides are removed and no new branches are left in their place. My trunk is thick and strong.
Summer comes. One day the touch and vibrations stop coming. It never rains anymore. My leaves shrivel in the bright sun. New nutrients seep into the soil around me, but my roots are to dry to absorb them.
I am dying. | I am the first or one of the first trees my friend planted. One for each of his grandchildren. He made sure I was watered and fed. " Nothing but the best for you." He always said that. To each of us as his grandchildren increased in number. I was happiest when the one I was planted for stood or sat under me watching the world go by.
I watched silently from my corner of the house as he played ball in the front yard. As his wife handed out popcorn balls and candy every Halloween. As his grandchildren grew up and moved away from their hometown. I watched silently as his wife moved to the nursing home.
The sad thing is,I kept hoping she would come back up until the day she passed. She was also my friend.He came home from the church to stand under me crying. Like the days he lost his grandson to a car accident or his losing his daughter who was waiting for a transplant that never came.
I dropped a couple of my leaves just like those other days. Old age affects everybody. I can see it start to affect him in his eighty-five years. I watch as it happens daily. | |
[WP] A lonely old man, no family, never any visitors, dumps all of his affection into the tree growing in his backyard. And now that tree, tall and strong, doesn't understand why it's friend is only getting weaker. | The old man limped to his rocking chair, easing himself into it with care. He lit his pipe, then looked at the tree with a smile.
"Looking mighty fine today," he told the tree, rocking in his chair. "I remember when you were just a sapling, what seems like so long ago."
The wind rustled through the tree's leaves, and the old man was content with that. He loved the tree, in some strange way. It was a great listener, for starters.
"I don't have much time left, but it's been a pleasure watching you grow. It really has."
The man took a deep drag of his pipe, blowing it into the wind. "No, not long left at all now."
He looked up at the sky. "But I guess I'm ready; plenty others waiting for me on the other side."
He began to say something, then was suddenly racked with a deep, throaty cough that left him gasping for air. It took him several minutes to recover, and was left pale and breathless.
He took long, troubled breaths. "Not long left at all," he said, gritting his teeth.
The man got up, struggling to stand upright. He grabbed his rocking chair, laboriously dragging it until it lay in the shade of the large tree.
He collapsed into the chair, breathless, but happy.
"Just you and me, tree," he said, rocking with a grin, "just you and me."
And the chair rocked, and rocked, and rocked no more.
And the first Autumn leaf fell, softly floating through the air, landing on the back of his neck.
And then all the leaves fell almost at once, leaving the tree blank and bare.
****
****
[Subscribe](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/), if you want. | The Man smiled as he finished spreading the last bag of mulch, stretching back to ease the crack in his spine. His limbs were well-tanned by the sun, lines worn by war and work and weariness carved on his gaunt face. Work clothes, well used and well mended were soiled with dirt, a wheelbarrow filled with old tools next to him.
The Man nodded and reached down for the ice chest, popping the lid off and reaching into the half-melted ice for a bottle of beer. Hands gnarled by age cracked open the beer with a flick of church key, the cap vanishing into a pocket. He tapped the glass bottle against the bark of the tree.
"It's a hot one today, isn't it, Martha?"
The Man allowed the words to slip into the wind, admiring the robins' *cheerio* calls and the low haunting notes of a mourning dove. He always loved them, even when he was far from home he smiled at the thought of cool spring mornings and the world just beginning to stir from its slumber. He took a swig of his beer.
"They're playing a classic movie at the theater this week. *The Flight of the Phoenix.* The old one, you know? Figured I'd go see it. Maybe catch a bite at Browns. Be nice to do something spontaneous." He patted the rough bark of the tree, as callused as his own palms.
"The McGregors' boy, Allan I think, he stopped by the other day collecting bottles for the JV lacrosse team. Gave him the two bags I had. Figured I don't need them." His smiled faded, replaced by weary lines and narrow lips.
"I went to the Doctors yesterday, got my reports back. Clean bill of health for the most part: cholesterol's not as good as it could be. Gout hasn't bothered me lately... Ah, you know the rest. Sorry, this old warhorse still has some years on him."
The Man finished off his beer before placing it back in the cooler. He knelt down, brushing his dirty fingers across the bark and the smooth granite stone nestled between the roots. He rose, and placed the ice chest into the wheelbarrow, tkaing its tired handles in his grip.
"Don't worry, dear. I'm always here. And eventually I'll always be here, like we promised each other."
With that he started back towards the house, leaving the tall tree and the clean granite stone behind.
*Martha Eleanor Taylor* **I** *James Arthur Taylor*
*1954-2016* **I** *1953-* | |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too."
Wh- what?! She saw me? But how? I didn't even fully materialise, wait, what did she say? She's a monster?
"I won't force you know. You can take all the time you want"
What in the name of?! Why isn't she scared? Is she really a monster? Maybe it's a trick. Maybe this is just a ruse to hide her fear. I'll show you, you little runt. Let's see if a child's mind can handle the manifestation of Mel'Qaharzt, darkness incarnate, serpent of a thousand fangs, pestilence of the defiled, perdition of-
"I know your pain. I just know how to hide it better. It's like adults don't even notice it. Like they think a child cannot feel shame. I am more like you than you think. Neither of us asked to be born like this. Neither of us did this on purpose. It is not our fault!"
....... this child. This is no normal child. Does she really know of my torment? Those words. No! She is a deceiver. She is nothing! she cannot tempt the grea-
"When you are ready, please, come out. Sit here and we'll talk. I'll be here all night"
She's sincere. There is no denying it. Her words are true and clear. There is no deceit here. Could it be. Was the prophecy true after all? All those eons languishing in torment. Millennia spent in search of the liberator. Could this child be it? The bridge to their world? Our souls.....freed? Is this the hope so cruelly denied to us?
I will listen to her. My people would never forgive me if I did not take this chance. I will not squander this last scrap of mercy thrown to us. Ancestors! Watch over me! Guide my path as I redeem my people!
"Behold child! I have heeded your-"
"WHAT THE HELL!! Who are you?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"I-what. Child! It is I! Mel'Qaharzst, darkness incarnate, serpent of-"
"Eeeewww you're ugly! Go away!"
"But-but you spoke to me! Called me to your side!"
"I did not! I was speaking to my brother. He's hiding in the wardrobe because he wet the bed."
"What? No! The prophecy! The scriptures of Shol the wise spoke of you!"
"Go away! I'm calling my mom! MOM!! There's a pedo under the bed!"
"I'm not a pedo! I am Mel'Qaharzst, darkness-"
"MOOOOOOOOOOM!!"
"Child wait-NO! Wai-I AM NOT A PEDO! Stop screaming. Goddamnit"
| As I entered his room, I felt something off. Like, *majorly* off. We Monsters have long had a way to tell what the future of a human's room we would visit. It would save us from any human attacking us, using us as bait, or worse yet, putting us on display. So if my instinct told me something was off, it meant the small child wasn't lying. That he was a monster too.
But still, even if I didn't want to scare him tonight, I would be the first in a long line of Monsters refusing to visit him. And seeing as I was Scaremaster General, if even one other Monster refused him, it would become a bureaucratic nightmare. All the paperwork to fill out, all the deconstruction on our end would affect our bottom line. Which is why they sent me. I looked the most human among our kind, and I could often change the future of man. It made sense to send me, to scare the little bastards back into line.
Still, I was scared too. There was no denying that, even if I didn't let it show. So as I walked in, I spoke to the young lad. He laid on his bed facing away from his closet door of which I came. I couldn't make out his face, and he couldn't see me, no doubt not in the mood to see me. "So you call yourself a Monster, child?" I asked of him, my voice gravelly and snarling. "You think you can terrify *me*? I've scared Genghis Khan, Marc Antony, and other much more terrifying then *you*. What makes you think that you can match up to the likes of **us**?" I snarled, taunting him with a grin creeping onto my face.
Though sobs and snot, the boy replied. "My father and I... every time we move, there has been nothing but strife, Herr Monster. To make matters worse, my brother died of measles and my father not too long after. I feel no connection to anyone, and I feel so hollow inside. I have no plans, no future, nothing to guide me. Nothing to set me on this path we call life. And to make matters worse, I can't figure out what to throw myself into. Life is hopeless for me. Monster, you are the only being that still visits me. Tell me - what do I do?"
This was the first time a Human had ever told me so much. I had kept the other Monsters' reports, something we did every time we scared a child. It let us know their mental state, their influence, their background. Most importantly, it showed what they scared them. This young Austrian boy lay in front of me, haunted by his past and scared of his future. I was expected to get through to him to scare him, when this boy was thinking more like a man then most men did? I knew the paperwork I would fill out would be miles long if I deviated from what they told me, but I couldn't bring myself to scare him. He was already terrified, perhaps warped in the mind already. I couldn't tell that for sure, but I knew scaring him tonight wasn't going to happen.
But like I said, Monsters have the ability to tell the future. And in some situations, we get told to intervene, to step in and need to figure out some solution to a Human problem. It wasn't our normal role, but sometimes, we had to make Monsters out of Humans. The last Scaremaster General who did so became expelled from our World, into the Human's. In fighting alongside the Human, as a second in command, he caused the fall of the Great Roman Empire. This provided enough nightmares to fuel our world for years. But the world today was so wrapped up in itself, it was like a powder keg, waiting to explode. Our world was losing power, but it had enough for another forty years or so. So it was with the knowledge that I was damning for my actions, that I made my move. Something to save my World to scare their world. I dropped my snarl, as I walked to his side, as I touched his shoulder, and spoke once more.
"Herr Human, you have a future ahead of you to be proud of. You will find your way, and with me at your side, we could right what wrongs you. We can find a path through this world, perhaps influence it to your thoughts. What is your name child? Perhaps we should travel, and we should find you a solution. What do you say?" I could hear the voices in my head, screaming at me, begging for me not to get involved. But I didn't care. Now the child didn't scare me, now the child didn't fear me. So what was the point, what harm could come from helping a child?
"Herr Monster, my name is Adolf."
"Then Herr Adolf, we will change the world. Together. What do you say?"
****
[NoireWrites - a collection of my stories](https://noirewrites.wordpress.com/) | |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | I was taken by surprise. Normally, I would've let the child stir in their own paranoia if they acknowledged me. But calling herself a monster? That... wasn't right. It may seem weird that I was so worried and caring. You see, a monster's purpose isn't just to scare the kid for no reason. Our job was to help them become braver, teach them to face their fears, and grow into stronger people. We cared about our charges. And if something is wrong with them... well, we can be a bit protective.
"Ok, I'm coming out."
I reached out my bony hands from under the bed and pulled myself out. My appearance was very skeletal, my skin was leathery and black, and there were long spines going down my back from the top of my head.
"Would it be ok if you saw me?" I asked, before rising up from the hardwood floor.
"I think so..." the girl spoke back.
"Ok, but it's alright to be scared." I pushed myself up off the ground and raised my head to look at the girl on the bed. She seemed... like a normal human child. Short dirt brown hair, brown eyes, pink pajamas... She wasn't quite as prepared to see me as she thought, and pulled the edge of her blankets up to here nose, keeping her gaping eyes on me.
I knelt beside her bed. "What's your name?"
"Cassidy..."
"Cassidy, you said you were a monster?"
"That's what they tell me..."
"Who's 'they'?"
"...everyone. The people who take care of me, the kids at school... everyone."
"Why would they say that?" I leaned forward and crossed my arms on the blankets. I was trying my best to make my appearance as gentle as possible.
"Something wrong with me."
"What is?"
"Something happened when I was born... no one will tell me what, but I know my mom died. She was a monster too. Some people say I killed her."
I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of this girl's mouth. She was 6! Who planted these ideas in her head?!
"Who takes care of you? Your daddy?"
"No. No one knows who he is."
"Then who?"
"The grownups here."
"I see." I took a moment to look around Cassidy's room. At first glance, it seemed typical, with pink paint and a mirror on the wall. But now that I was taking a closer look I realized it was sparse. There was some basic white furniture, and a couple toys, but only a couple. No photos, no drawings, not even very many books. The bed spreads were plain too. The mirror, I realized, was actually embedded into the wall like a window. "And where is here?"
"I don't know. It's a very big building."
"Ok... would you do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Lay down and close your eyes, but try to stay awake. I'm going to leave for a bit, but I'll be right back. Can you do that?" She nodded. "Ok. I'll be back in a bit."
I went over to the door, and slipped under it as a shadow. The room outside seemed to be some kind of living room, but again it had only the bare minimum. A couch and a chair. My suspicions were confirmed about the 'mirror'. It was one-way glass. There was a bathroom attached, but no kitchen. I slipped under the next door and into a hallway.
This was definitely not an apartment complex. The hallways were wide, laid with white linoleum and painted to match. Was this some kind of hospital? I looked at the door I'd just left from, and there was a label on it that read "Subject 564: Cassidy". This was not right. I skittered around in the shadows of the hallway. There were dozens more doors, each labeled in a similar way to Cassidy's. Each had a different name, and a different person inside. There were over 500 people here?
I decided now I should return to the kid, and slipped back under the door and back into her bedroom. "I'm back, Cassidy."
"I'm awake." She muttered.
"Cassidy, do you know what you're doing here?"
"I'm here because I'm bad."
"No, no you're not. What I mean is, what do they do with you here?"
"Sometimes they take me into strange rooms and poke me with weird things."
I shuddered, hoping she didn't mean what I think she did. "What... what kind of things?"
"Some of them whistle, some of them beep, some of them have needles. Sometimes they take blood out or put other stuff in me."
I felt a slight relief, but only slight. This girl was being experimented on. This wasn't right. I wanted to lift her right out of her bed and carry her away somewhere safe, but I knew I had to wait. I had to learn more. About her, about the people here, and what they wanted with them.
"Cassidy, I want you to listen to me."
"Ok."
"I have to go now, but I'm going to be back soon. Another night. As quick as I can. Ok?"
"Promise?" She held out her pinky. I gently looped my pinky finger around hers.
"Promise. Now go to sleep."
I crawled back under the bed and left, then headed to report what I just saw to my superiors. It would take a week at most to get Cassidy out of there and somewhere safe, and then she'd probably get assigned a new monster. But I would get her out. Her, and any other children trapped in that building.
It's kind of funny, and also a bit cruel, the way we care fiercely for the children we're assigned to, even more than other people. It's overrated, I know, but sometimes I do wonder; what does it really mean to be a monster? | As I entered his room, I felt something off. Like, *majorly* off. We Monsters have long had a way to tell what the future of a human's room we would visit. It would save us from any human attacking us, using us as bait, or worse yet, putting us on display. So if my instinct told me something was off, it meant the small child wasn't lying. That he was a monster too.
But still, even if I didn't want to scare him tonight, I would be the first in a long line of Monsters refusing to visit him. And seeing as I was Scaremaster General, if even one other Monster refused him, it would become a bureaucratic nightmare. All the paperwork to fill out, all the deconstruction on our end would affect our bottom line. Which is why they sent me. I looked the most human among our kind, and I could often change the future of man. It made sense to send me, to scare the little bastards back into line.
Still, I was scared too. There was no denying that, even if I didn't let it show. So as I walked in, I spoke to the young lad. He laid on his bed facing away from his closet door of which I came. I couldn't make out his face, and he couldn't see me, no doubt not in the mood to see me. "So you call yourself a Monster, child?" I asked of him, my voice gravelly and snarling. "You think you can terrify *me*? I've scared Genghis Khan, Marc Antony, and other much more terrifying then *you*. What makes you think that you can match up to the likes of **us**?" I snarled, taunting him with a grin creeping onto my face.
Though sobs and snot, the boy replied. "My father and I... every time we move, there has been nothing but strife, Herr Monster. To make matters worse, my brother died of measles and my father not too long after. I feel no connection to anyone, and I feel so hollow inside. I have no plans, no future, nothing to guide me. Nothing to set me on this path we call life. And to make matters worse, I can't figure out what to throw myself into. Life is hopeless for me. Monster, you are the only being that still visits me. Tell me - what do I do?"
This was the first time a Human had ever told me so much. I had kept the other Monsters' reports, something we did every time we scared a child. It let us know their mental state, their influence, their background. Most importantly, it showed what they scared them. This young Austrian boy lay in front of me, haunted by his past and scared of his future. I was expected to get through to him to scare him, when this boy was thinking more like a man then most men did? I knew the paperwork I would fill out would be miles long if I deviated from what they told me, but I couldn't bring myself to scare him. He was already terrified, perhaps warped in the mind already. I couldn't tell that for sure, but I knew scaring him tonight wasn't going to happen.
But like I said, Monsters have the ability to tell the future. And in some situations, we get told to intervene, to step in and need to figure out some solution to a Human problem. It wasn't our normal role, but sometimes, we had to make Monsters out of Humans. The last Scaremaster General who did so became expelled from our World, into the Human's. In fighting alongside the Human, as a second in command, he caused the fall of the Great Roman Empire. This provided enough nightmares to fuel our world for years. But the world today was so wrapped up in itself, it was like a powder keg, waiting to explode. Our world was losing power, but it had enough for another forty years or so. So it was with the knowledge that I was damning for my actions, that I made my move. Something to save my World to scare their world. I dropped my snarl, as I walked to his side, as I touched his shoulder, and spoke once more.
"Herr Human, you have a future ahead of you to be proud of. You will find your way, and with me at your side, we could right what wrongs you. We can find a path through this world, perhaps influence it to your thoughts. What is your name child? Perhaps we should travel, and we should find you a solution. What do you say?" I could hear the voices in my head, screaming at me, begging for me not to get involved. But I didn't care. Now the child didn't scare me, now the child didn't fear me. So what was the point, what harm could come from helping a child?
"Herr Monster, my name is Adolf."
"Then Herr Adolf, we will change the world. Together. What do you say?"
****
[NoireWrites - a collection of my stories](https://noirewrites.wordpress.com/) | |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too."
Wh- what?! She saw me? But how? I didn't even fully materialise, wait, what did she say? She's a monster?
"I won't force you know. You can take all the time you want"
What in the name of?! Why isn't she scared? Is she really a monster? Maybe it's a trick. Maybe this is just a ruse to hide her fear. I'll show you, you little runt. Let's see if a child's mind can handle the manifestation of Mel'Qaharzt, darkness incarnate, serpent of a thousand fangs, pestilence of the defiled, perdition of-
"I know your pain. I just know how to hide it better. It's like adults don't even notice it. Like they think a child cannot feel shame. I am more like you than you think. Neither of us asked to be born like this. Neither of us did this on purpose. It is not our fault!"
....... this child. This is no normal child. Does she really know of my torment? Those words. No! She is a deceiver. She is nothing! she cannot tempt the grea-
"When you are ready, please, come out. Sit here and we'll talk. I'll be here all night"
She's sincere. There is no denying it. Her words are true and clear. There is no deceit here. Could it be. Was the prophecy true after all? All those eons languishing in torment. Millennia spent in search of the liberator. Could this child be it? The bridge to their world? Our souls.....freed? Is this the hope so cruelly denied to us?
I will listen to her. My people would never forgive me if I did not take this chance. I will not squander this last scrap of mercy thrown to us. Ancestors! Watch over me! Guide my path as I redeem my people!
"Behold child! I have heeded your-"
"WHAT THE HELL!! Who are you?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
"I-what. Child! It is I! Mel'Qaharzst, darkness incarnate, serpent of-"
"Eeeewww you're ugly! Go away!"
"But-but you spoke to me! Called me to your side!"
"I did not! I was speaking to my brother. He's hiding in the wardrobe because he wet the bed."
"What? No! The prophecy! The scriptures of Shol the wise spoke of you!"
"Go away! I'm calling my mom! MOM!! There's a pedo under the bed!"
"I'm not a pedo! I am Mel'Qaharzst, darkness-"
"MOOOOOOOOOOM!!"
"Child wait-NO! Wai-I AM NOT A PEDO! Stop screaming. Goddamnit"
| Slick, new iron bars clamped onto the house in stark contrast to the sun-bleached wooden boards that looked to be a good shake from coming lose. The building would’ve been impossible to find in the dead woods if not for the singular dirt pathway snaking itself out from the town. Windows and doors a like were all sealed with thick chains that hung rosaries. A full moon shown into the cracks of the house, but nothing inside reflected back.
Why me?
Barely able to keep myself from turning away and never looking back, I pressed on, regretting my decision with each step. As the first day of my new job, this was the only chance I would get. The rancid fumes were almost visibly breathing out of the place. Blood thumped in my ears, drowning out every other sound of the night except for a single child’s laugh coming from inside.
I almost fell though the rotten steps of the front porch. As far as monsters went, I was on the heavier side. Promising to myself I’d demand for a less adrenaline inducing hit when I got back, I pressed on to the front door. My body faded into darkness as I slipped through a small gap and into the small abode, burning only a little as I passed the holy charms. Instincts lead my flawless through the place while I was blinded and incorporeal. His laugh became darker the closer I came, maddening almost. The spiked hairs stood all over my body as I reformed under the bed, inches away from the noise.
Vomit spilled into my mouth at the impossibly pungent odor and I swallowed it back down. I couldn’t locate the source from my vantage point, but it undeniably originated from in here. Tears stung my eyes and I grew lightheaded, but I endured.
Three hours passed as I waited under the bed. Every insect and arachnid imaginable crawled across my body as I laid in wait for the young boy to go to bed. Confidence built up inside me as time passed. Here, in this place, I was a predator waiting for my prey to let his defenses down. Four thousand years my people existed by terrorizing the humans. We were born by the fear of the dark, and since then, we perpetuated that dread a thousand fold. Our entire existence depended on their fright induced imaginations. For without them, there would be no us. This job was the most highly respected of our society, and it was an honor for me to be here, no matter how many millions of other places I would have chosen.
They got me, though, if only for a minute. I was going to have to pay them back for it someday.
As my heartbeat settled, I finally became aware of the fact that the child had stopped laughing. It was time to strike.
“You can come out now,” a voice on top of me called cheerfully.
I kept completely silent.
“Come on now, it’s okay. I know what you are and I don’t mind.” He paused. The next words came out barely more than a whisper, “They say I’m a monster too.”
Hesitating, I finally decided to crawl my way out, claws digging easily into the old floor. The room was pitch dark except for the little pricks of light on walls from where the moon was visible. None of the light made it inside, but rather just seemed to disappear into the blackness.
Wait, there was a dull glow in the room.
I pulled myself up, facing the bed. A pure white child sat in star pajamas on top of the covers. Light radiated from his very skin. Where there should have been eyes, there were only empty holes. Something black crusted around the corners of his mouth and under his fingernails. Small pink bits were scattered around him.
“See, you’re not so bad,” he said with a smile that made my fur crawl.
“What… What are you?” I asked, frozen in place staring at him.
He frowned, “I thought you would understand.”
“Huh?”
He motioned outside. “They don’t understand me. I was lost in the forest for so long, and when I finally found others, they screamed at me. My own mother tried to stab me with a silver knife.” Picking up some of the bits around him, he said, “Say hi, Mom.”
I have to get out.
Slowly, I willed myself to disappear.
“NO YOU DON’T!” he screamed, hands outstretched to me. My body tightened up and solidified. “I finally found a friend to play with and you try to leave? I can’t let you do that.” Two voices came out of his mouth, that of a normal child and that of something… darker… deeper.
“What do you want from me?” I asked again, struggling to move even an inch.
“I told you silly. I want a friend. You’re the first one to visit me since I was locked up in here. It’s been terribly lonely.”
With just a motion of a finger, he pulled my body closer to him. He grabbed my face firmly and pulled me in close, licking his lips. A perfume of rotten meat strangled my nasal cavities and I furiously fought for freedom.
“Oh, you’ll do just nicely.”
| |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | I wasn't quite sure how to respond.
This was my third duty station, and never has the kid talked to me like this. One kid used to threaten me, another would plead for me to stay under the bed. I've never been asked to come out, though.
"Are you there?" She said.
There was no fear in her voice, only curiosity and a bit of excitement.
After a few moments of silence, I finally decided to go for it. As far as I know, there are no rules saying *how* you reveal yourself, just that it never happen in the presence of an adult.
"Yes," I said. Nothing happened, no response, no change in respiration.
"Oh. I didn't know if you were, um, real." She seemed *relieved*, "Are you really a monster or, um, just a person my parents hired to, um, watch me?"
I was reeling. This was a wholly alien experience and none of my training even came close to providing me with a way to react. So I went with my gut.
"I'm really a monster."
"Ok." She said. Still no response.
Maybe she just doesn't comprehend it. I've heard of dumb kids not understand what's going on for a little while. Maybe that's it.
I slipped out from under her bed, using my tentacles to simultaneously raise myself up and spin around to face her in one fluid motion. I came to rest on 4 of my limbs and raised the other 7 in a casually menacing pose.
Her eyes were wide, reflecting the dim twinkle of her nightlight, but nothing else changed. She seemed more curious than anything. "You look dumb," she said matter-of-factly.
"What?"
"You look dumb." She said again, sitting up and pushing off her covers. She casually swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat there, legs swinging.
"What do you mean by that? And you don't look like a monster at all"
She shrugged at my first question. She was looking at me, but never made eye contact, which wouldn't have been unusual if she were exhibiting even the slightest indication that she was afraid of me. Even when her gaze passed over one of my eyes, it was like she was looking at something behind me, but my eyes back there told me there was nothing to see.
"That's what I said. They said, um, my heart is broken and, um, I'm dangerous," she said all this with the air of a child recounting something that happened at school. I have to admit, at this point my curiosity got the better of me. Usually humans fear what is dangerous, and destroy what they fear. It's why we hide, after all.
"Dangerous how?"
She shrugged again, and began tugging on the corner of her gown.
"Did you do something to provoke them? Humans are skittish creatures."
She gave several exaggerated nods. I squinted, I just had to know what she could have done to make the humans think she was dangerous.
"What did you do?"
She looked back at the door, "I hurt Tommy."
"Who is Tommy?"
"Tommy was my baby brother. But they say, um, he's not my brother no more."
How on earth could this squishy little creature hurt anything?
"How did you hurt him?"
She smiled faintly, but caught herself and resumed her wide eyed expression, now looking around the room.
"I, um, I hit him with my toys."
I nodded. "Mhmm." Some of these larger toys could cause some serious damage to a small human.
"I, um, I hit him until he started crying."
"Why did you do that?"
"I dunno. I like it when he cries."
She started tilting her head side to side onto her shoulders, looking at me with her wide eyes, her curious expression barely changing. Still failing to make eye contact.
I hovered there quietly, pondering what I had just heard. Before I could ask another question, her mouth curled into the tiniest frown and she continued.
"They don't like it when he cries. I, um, I have to be fast or, um, they'll stop me. They never let us, um, play together."
She couldn't stifle the slight grin on her face.
"He cries real fast if you use scissors."
She finally closed her eyes, and a true grin spread on her face. She began kicking her legs, bouncing them off of the side of the bed. She continued with more enthusiasm, the way a little girl should be talking about unicorns or rainbows or best friends.
"If you use scissors, um, blood comes out. Blood is so pretty. Red is my favorite color."
There was definitely something off about this child. As I thought through everything she'd said, they started to add up to an odd image.
"What happened to Tommy? Why isn't he your brother anymore?"
She became even more animated, legs kicking, big gap-toothed grin, head bouncing back and forth on her shoulders. She opened her eyes and for the first time in the entire exchange, locked on to my central eye.
"We were playing, and, um, he couldn't cry no more. Even when I, um, hit him with the scissors. He, um, stopped making blood, too. He wasn't fun anymore, so the grownups took him away from me forever."
Through her tirade, I had gone completely still, squinting into her soulless gaze.
"Can I ask you something, mr. monster?"
I said nothing.
"What color is your blood?" | "Oh?" I reply, "why do you say that?"
He sounds sad and I can't help wonder why he feels that way rather than scared.
"I look like a monster, the others at school point at me and run away."
I can hear the misery in his voice, as he chokes up and tries not to cry.
"I just want to be normal" he whispers.
"We all do" I say ... I don't know why, but I feel a connection, some empathy for some reason.
The silence draws out, with just his slow breathing keeping us company.
I can see his silhouette in the mirror, he's lying back on top of the bed, staring at the ceiling
"What's your name?" I ask, knowing even if he told his parent's about me, no one would believe him.
"Joseph" he whispered back, "Joseph Merrick" | |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | I wasn't quite sure how to respond.
This was my third duty station, and never has the kid talked to me like this. One kid used to threaten me, another would plead for me to stay under the bed. I've never been asked to come out, though.
"Are you there?" She said.
There was no fear in her voice, only curiosity and a bit of excitement.
After a few moments of silence, I finally decided to go for it. As far as I know, there are no rules saying *how* you reveal yourself, just that it never happen in the presence of an adult.
"Yes," I said. Nothing happened, no response, no change in respiration.
"Oh. I didn't know if you were, um, real." She seemed *relieved*, "Are you really a monster or, um, just a person my parents hired to, um, watch me?"
I was reeling. This was a wholly alien experience and none of my training even came close to providing me with a way to react. So I went with my gut.
"I'm really a monster."
"Ok." She said. Still no response.
Maybe she just doesn't comprehend it. I've heard of dumb kids not understand what's going on for a little while. Maybe that's it.
I slipped out from under her bed, using my tentacles to simultaneously raise myself up and spin around to face her in one fluid motion. I came to rest on 4 of my limbs and raised the other 7 in a casually menacing pose.
Her eyes were wide, reflecting the dim twinkle of her nightlight, but nothing else changed. She seemed more curious than anything. "You look dumb," she said matter-of-factly.
"What?"
"You look dumb." She said again, sitting up and pushing off her covers. She casually swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat there, legs swinging.
"What do you mean by that? And you don't look like a monster at all"
She shrugged at my first question. She was looking at me, but never made eye contact, which wouldn't have been unusual if she were exhibiting even the slightest indication that she was afraid of me. Even when her gaze passed over one of my eyes, it was like she was looking at something behind me, but my eyes back there told me there was nothing to see.
"That's what I said. They said, um, my heart is broken and, um, I'm dangerous," she said all this with the air of a child recounting something that happened at school. I have to admit, at this point my curiosity got the better of me. Usually humans fear what is dangerous, and destroy what they fear. It's why we hide, after all.
"Dangerous how?"
She shrugged again, and began tugging on the corner of her gown.
"Did you do something to provoke them? Humans are skittish creatures."
She gave several exaggerated nods. I squinted, I just had to know what she could have done to make the humans think she was dangerous.
"What did you do?"
She looked back at the door, "I hurt Tommy."
"Who is Tommy?"
"Tommy was my baby brother. But they say, um, he's not my brother no more."
How on earth could this squishy little creature hurt anything?
"How did you hurt him?"
She smiled faintly, but caught herself and resumed her wide eyed expression, now looking around the room.
"I, um, I hit him with my toys."
I nodded. "Mhmm." Some of these larger toys could cause some serious damage to a small human.
"I, um, I hit him until he started crying."
"Why did you do that?"
"I dunno. I like it when he cries."
She started tilting her head side to side onto her shoulders, looking at me with her wide eyes, her curious expression barely changing. Still failing to make eye contact.
I hovered there quietly, pondering what I had just heard. Before I could ask another question, her mouth curled into the tiniest frown and she continued.
"They don't like it when he cries. I, um, I have to be fast or, um, they'll stop me. They never let us, um, play together."
She couldn't stifle the slight grin on her face.
"He cries real fast if you use scissors."
She finally closed her eyes, and a true grin spread on her face. She began kicking her legs, bouncing them off of the side of the bed. She continued with more enthusiasm, the way a little girl should be talking about unicorns or rainbows or best friends.
"If you use scissors, um, blood comes out. Blood is so pretty. Red is my favorite color."
There was definitely something off about this child. As I thought through everything she'd said, they started to add up to an odd image.
"What happened to Tommy? Why isn't he your brother anymore?"
She became even more animated, legs kicking, big gap-toothed grin, head bouncing back and forth on her shoulders. She opened her eyes and for the first time in the entire exchange, locked on to my central eye.
"We were playing, and, um, he couldn't cry no more. Even when I, um, hit him with the scissors. He, um, stopped making blood, too. He wasn't fun anymore, so the grownups took him away from me forever."
Through her tirade, I had gone completely still, squinting into her soulless gaze.
"Can I ask you something, mr. monster?"
I said nothing.
"What color is your blood?" | “It’s ok if you want to come out... they say I’m a monster too.”
...Am I under the right bed? How can he possibly know? Obviously this isn’t going to be an ordinary day on the job. My owl eyes, though accustomed to the dark, can barely see this moonless night. His mini not-as-owl eyes can’t possibly see. How... Did I put on my deodorant after dinnerfast this nightning?
“Mr Miss you can come out if you want,” came the high pitched voice again, “I’m like you! Don’t be scared!” followed by the soft thud of two small feet.
“Gosh Mrs Sir your tail is SO fluffy!”
Turning my head slowly to face the back of the underbed, a glistening little eye could be seen staring intently at the long hairs of my thin scaly tail. One hand reached out, one hand curled and twisted, frozen at his chest. Pulling back my lips I reveal a spindly forest of slim razor sharp teeth in preparation for a signature hiss of top bed-wetting potency, take a deep breath and-
“ROAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAGGGGRAR!!” he screamed with half a snarl on his face, “GRRRRRRRRRRRAWWLOOFWOOFAAARGGHH-“
“Shhhhh, not so loud your parents will hear!” I whisper, quickly placing a spindly claw on his lips whilst slithering out from the underbed. The kid stood a tall three foot three with a slight scoliotic posture and the look of wonder on one side of his face. One eye blinked as one hand rose to the kid’s one mouth to further his look of amazement, the other one arm still stuck to his one chest. Two legs supported his perfectly unmonsterous torso at the hips much like most humans.
“You’re not a monster...”
“The other children say I am. They run away like I’m a monster. Not scaredy, but you know... Monstery? They told me to talk to my monster friends and leave them alone. You are a monster right? It means we are friends! You are my first friend! Do you like films? Me and mum are seeing the one with the monsters in the suitcase tomorrow. Come! We can watch your friend with the snake body and bird face from the advert! You know him, right?”
How could he know Reginald was in the new Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? (not a sponsor)
“Hm, you don’t talk to people much do you, kid.”
“I talk to mum a lot. And scarf,” he said picking up a scarf from the back of a kid-sized chair, “Scarf is a good listeninger but he doesn’t say much.” Kid then proceeded to nuzzle the faded multicolour woollen scrap, and then reached out to hand it to me, “Here, as you are my friend I know you won’t run away with it like the others. Princess Guy, one day I want to be famous like you and your friends, being scaredy on the big screens and making people run for scarededness for a job sounds like my kinda thing. My teacher said even I can be good at *something* and I think it’s that!”
The scarf was a perfect fit draped around my slender neck and probably would have been warm if I understood the concept of what humans call “temperature”.
“Can you teach me?” he said.
“Teach you?” Of course not. “Of course I can.” Non-monsters can’t be monsters. “You’ll be the most monstrous of them all.” He’ll (literally) die of fear from exposure to the Underbed. But wait... Look at him, no fear at all... In fact, quite the opposite. This is horrifically uncommon I must say. No, could it be? The second fearmmune human in all of Histormonstery? The combination of human and monsterkind could happen once more, the perfect recipe for Compound Fear. I could make a (strictly metaphorical) killing! His superhuman fearmunnity would (probably) prevent death by exposure to the Underbed, as long as I don't misplace him. Hell, all the films in the Underbed star monsters *and* he’d go free with my four-limb-Friday vouchers.
The most sinister smile that could possibly exist did just that on my face, and Kid laughed.
“Kid, lets go watch a film.”
***
**Edit**: Tidied up the end to make it a bit more bearable to read.
| |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | Gombo fidgeted nervously in his office chair as he looked across at the monster sitting behind the desk.
“Good twilight, Gombo.”
“Look, Susan. I didn’t do nothing. It’s not my fault…”
“Nobody has said that it was. We are just here to find out what happened, that’s all.”
Like hell it was Gombo thought. One didn’t get hauled into HR just to discuss how their twilight was going. Susan, the HR manager smiled and stroked her fur absently and flipped through his file.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened in your own words.” Gombo could feel the fur on the back of his neck start to stand up. He had squared off against all sorts of things in his long career of monstering but Susan….
That fluffy little white puffball scared the shit out of him.
“Ok, it was like this. I was just chasing the little fucker around the bed like always getting some good screams out of him and the idiot tried to climb out of the window. Ain’t my fault it was five stories up.” Susan’s sparkly blue eyes started to glow red.
“Yes. That is what the report says.” She started to flip through his file as if she didn’t already know what was in there. “I would be more than willing to write this off as just one of those things that happens but this is… This is the fourth such incident in your file.” Gombo started to sweat. Those eyes…
“People above me are starting to talk about you Gombo and not in a good way.” Susan hopped on top of her desk. “Did you make physical contact with little Timmy in any way?”
“No! I was just scaring him.”
“Did you instruct him to jump out of the window or otherwise make an attempt to place that suggestion into his head?”
“No! You ain’t got no reason to be sayin’ that neither.” Gombo raised himself onto his tentacles and slammed one of them down on the file. “All dem reports are right in dere! I am clean and you know it.” Susan smiled showing hundreds of needle sharp teeth. Gombo drew back instinctively.
“Four fatalities, Gombo. Four. Four dead kids. We are supposed to terrify, not kill.”
“It ain’t my fault they were pussies. It ain’t fault I am good at scarin’.” Susan, unhinging her jaw, smiled even wider.
“Perhaps you are right. You will be contacted once the investigation has been completed. Have a good twilight.”
Gombo flinched and shambled off.
***
“Ah, Gombo! Please take a seat.” Susan gestured at a chair and hopped over to her desk. “Did you have a nice vacation?” Gombo glowered at her.
“It ain’t no vacation when you ain’t gettin’ paid.”
“You should be pleased to hear that you have been cleared of any wrongdoing.” Susan said with a twitch of her nose. “You are indeed just ‘too good at scarin’. You have been reinstated and any back pay due will be reimbursed immediately.”
“It’s about damn time.” Gombo grumbled. Susan gave him a needle toothed smile.
“It looks like we have been holding you back, Gombo. You have considerable skill. We’ve discussed it and have decided to give you a raise.” Gombo gasped.
“A raise?” Susan nodded happily causing her ears to flop.
“Yep. Congratulations, Senior agent Gombo.” She hopped onto her desk and extended a claw. Gombo shook it enthusiastically. “We have a collection of cases suitable for someone with your skills. We are selecting one for you now.”
Gombo happily scuttled out of Susan’s office. This was the happiest day of his life.
Susan’s eyes glowed red as she watched him skip down the hall.
“Let’s see exactly how good at ‘scarin’ he really is.”
***
Gombo confidently slithered into his new office and settled into his nice new chair. His manager floated in.
“Good twilight, Gombo. Liking your new office?” Gombo spun around in his leather chair.
“It’s not bad.” He said with forced nonchalance. He looked at the folder in the manager’s hands. “Got something for me?”
“Yes, it’s a tough one. She is a nine-year-old named Abagail.”
“A nine-year-old?” Gombo scoffed. “I’ll have her wetting her panties by midnight.” The manager’s spectral form glowed as he handed over the file.
“Don’t get too cocky. We wouldn’t be handing her to you if she was easy.”
Gombo quickly skimmed the file looking for the fears section. There wasn’t one.
“Hey, where are her fears?” The manager’s eyeholes glowed a sickly green.
“When you find one, please let us know.” Gombo rose and headed for the door.
“Oh, one last thing. If Abagail were to ‘jump out of a window’ nobody would complain.”
Gombo grinned malevolently as he headed for the gate.
***
Gombo slid through the eather and hovered in the space between worlds. He looked down at Abagail. She didn’t look like much. This one should be a piece of cake. He floated under her bed and phased into the material world.
Gombo grinned and heaved upward lifting the bed off the ground.
“Hello?” Abagail said with a hopeful voice. She leapt off of the bed and eagerly looked underneath. Gombo hissed in confusion as he flowed out of the other side. What the hell was that?
“Hi there, I’m Abagail. My parents like to call me Abby but I hate that name. What’s yours?” Gombo blinked his dozen eyes in confusion.
He expanded himself to cover half of the bedroom and bared all of the teeth in all of his mouths in a Lovecraftian fashion.
Abagail giggled.
“You’re funny.” Gombo didn’t like where this was going but he was going to be damned if he failed his first gig as a senior agent. He slithered towards her drooling and gibbering.
Abagail sighed.
“If we are going to play you could at least tell me your name.”
“I am going to eat you…” Gombo hissed letting drool ooze from his mouths.
Abagail laughed at him.
“I like you. You’re silly.” Gombo slumped in frustration.
“Look, kid. Don’t you realize the situation? I’m a big scary hungry monster and I am going to eat you.”
Abagail shrugged. Gombo lurched and crawled all around her. Abagail pulled out a little table and started to put a little ceramic teapot and cups upon it.
“Do you want to have a tea party?”
“NO! I DON’T WANT TO HAVE A FUCKING TEA PARTY!” Abagail sighed and pulled out a plush unicorn.
“This is Lady Sparklypuff.” She then set the unicorn down at the table. “She makes great tea. You will like it.”
“YOU STUPID BITCH!” Gombo threw the table aside causing the teapot and cups to shatter on the floor. “I AM HERE TO EAT YOU NOT TO HAVE A FUCKING…” Gombo froze.
Abagail stood up and suddenly seemed as big as the shadows her little form cast on the walls.
“Oh now you have gone and done it you stupid cunt.”
“Wha?” Abagail grabbed Gombo and threw him against the wall.
“You stupid, stupid little bitch!” She said as she punched him in the gut. As Gombo doubled over in pain she grabbed him by the head and drug him over to the broken teaset.
“See this, you clumsy little fuck?” Abagail seized him by the tentacles and violently shook him.
“This (slap) is (slap) why (slap) we (slap) can’t (slap) have (slap) nice (slap) things!” Gombo tried to push Abagail away but she just threw him across the room.
“You RUIN EVERYTHING!” Abagail hit him with the back of her hand sending him sprawling.
“I should have had an abortion! I never wanted you!”
“I’m sorry! I’m SORRY! Please stop! Please…” He howled. Abagail just kept hitting him. She threw him against the wall again. Gombo sobbed and cowered in the corner.
Abagail picked up a crayon off of the floor and put it in her mouth. She inhaled deeply and then jammed the end of the crayon into a tentacle.
It burned. Gombo screamed. He somehow managed to pull away and ran for the door. It was locked from the outside.
“Trying to run you little cunt?” Abagail said with a snarl. She grabbed a lamp from the nightstand and threw it. It shattered on the door as Gombo barely managed to dodge, cutting his face.
Gombo dove for the bed but Abagail cut him off and kicked him hard sending him sprawling. Before he could get his bearings she grabbed a coat hanger from the closet and leapt on top of him. Howling in pain Gombo crawled towards the bed desperate to get back under it and escape. Abagail hit him again and again and again.
Gombo somehow managed to throw Abagail off and get under the bed. Grabbed one of his tentacles and started to pull him back out but it was too late. Gombo escaped.
Abagail’s bedroom door unlocked and opened. Abagail backed away in terror.
The real monster walked in.
“Oh now you’ve gone and done it….”
***
Abagail felt a familiar presence and woke up with a smile. Her roommate was out for the evening and she had hoped he would drop by. He was her oldest and dearest friend and it had been too long. They had been through a lot together.
If it hadn't been for him she wasn't sure she would have made it.
“Hey Gomball.”
“Hey Abster.”
“You still making kids wet the bed?”
“You still breaking hearts?” Abagail stuck her tongue out at him.
“I have some leftover pizza. Want some?” Abagail pulled out a greasy box. Gombo went to the fridge and got two beers.
“Hey. I just have to ask. Why did you ditch Sam? I thought you two had a good thing going.” Abagail shrugged.
“He started talking about wanting kids.”
“Ah…” Gomball put one of his tentacles on her shoulder as they ate and drank in silence for awhile.
| It was a standard reassignment. From time to time, monsters move to different
children. Sometimes it's because the child grows used to the monster, or
sometimes the monster just wants to take a break. There's not really anything
out of the ordinary -- in fact, most kids won't even know it's not "their"
monster under the bed.
We all have the same general routine. We cloak ourselves from the adults, we
snatch toys that fall on the ground, and if the kids ever poke their heads down
and look underneath, we'll light up the eyes and growl at them. Particularly
courage-riddled children who step out of bed might get the warm breath on the
ankle, or even a quick grab at the foot. Like I said, nothing out of the
ordinary.
I was assigned to Kate's place. She was older, almost too old for a bed monster
to do anything for her. I asked what happened to the last guy, but they just
said that he'd moved on. I always like to talk to the previous monster just to
get an idea of what works and what doesn't, but today -- well, tonight -- I
didn't have a chance, I only had an hour to get ready and make it to little
Kate's bed before she was put down for the night.
So, there I was, waiting under her bed .. and she didn't come. I was sure I had
the right place. Her name was all over the room, and her scent filled the air.
But she wasn't in her bed. I crawled under, and I waited. I waited until
morning. I asked my boss what's up he pulled open a file cabinet and flicked
through some folders, pulled one out and skimmed through it.
Apparently, little Kate had run away a few days earlier. To Boston, no less!
Well, good for her, I thought. I asked for some more details while I was there.
She was just 16 -- I was just there to finish up the last bits of underbedding
before she grew too old to need it. Seems like the last guy just retired early.
He was apparently off in some vacation home on the Styx.
The next night, I got there a bit early, curled up under the bed and shrouded
myself in darkness, hiding from even the most prying lights and eyes. I heard
the door slam, and I heard her punishment for running away. Myself, I prefer to
exact punishment through terror. I think it's far more effective to torture the
soul. But for some who lack my talents and.. abilities, tormenting the flesh
can be just as effective. It seemed Kate's father had decided to beat his
obstinate daughter for her misdeeds. She plead with him, she threatened him. I
even heard her try some womanly charms on him. But he just beat her until she
was a sobbing mess.
When she finally arrived in her bed, I wasn't sure I should do anything. It
felt.. wrong. But, a job's a job. I waited until the house had calmed down,
until little Kate had composed herself enough to be afraid instead of furious. I
sent up those waves of terror I'm so good at. I darked the room slightly,
making it seem like the night was closing in on her.
It was odd, that usually got just a little bit of a response. A short gasp, or
a little bit of fear trickling off the child. Kate had nothing. She was a lump
of coal. Or steel. She just sat there. I tried something else. I made the
darkness waver, like it was under incredible pressure, like it was about to
explode into the void. The tension and despair that I created permeated the
room itself. I had to concentrate to keep myself from fleeing.
Still, nothing. Kate just sat there -- wait, no, she was hanging her head over
the edge of the bed, looking straight at me. I startled a bit, but growled at
her. My eyes flared, appearing to be deep red pools of fire. She made -- and
kept! -- eye contact. Who was this girl?
"It's okay if you want to come out," she said, head still hanging over the edge
of the bed. "They say I'm a monster too."
I nodded, returning my eyes to normal. There was obviously no need for
illusions at this point, so I reverted to my simple form. The draconic wings
faded, the horns, really, everything. I let myself take on the form she'd
decided was my true one, which surprised me. I looked a lot like her father,
but wearing suit, and a top hat, and I was carrying a cane. My expression was
stern and my features were unchanging when I spoke. "Hello, Kate," I said.
I was surprised that my voice still carried the effect of a thousand tormented
souls. Perhaps she was afraid of her father? I had severely misjudged this
girl. "Are you a monster?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered. She stared at me, so I returned the favour. My stare,
however, penetrated her soul, and it saw. I saw everything. Into her deepest
being, and into her future, and into her past. This girl -- no, this *woman* --
this beautiful woman was the ugliest thing I'd ever encountered. Humans are not
supposed to exist like this. I may be an amorphous monster that feeds on
children's fears, but this little .. Kathy Ames, she was just evil. | |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | I wasn't quite sure how to respond.
This was my third duty station, and never has the kid talked to me like this. One kid used to threaten me, another would plead for me to stay under the bed. I've never been asked to come out, though.
"Are you there?" She said.
There was no fear in her voice, only curiosity and a bit of excitement.
After a few moments of silence, I finally decided to go for it. As far as I know, there are no rules saying *how* you reveal yourself, just that it never happen in the presence of an adult.
"Yes," I said. Nothing happened, no response, no change in respiration.
"Oh. I didn't know if you were, um, real." She seemed *relieved*, "Are you really a monster or, um, just a person my parents hired to, um, watch me?"
I was reeling. This was a wholly alien experience and none of my training even came close to providing me with a way to react. So I went with my gut.
"I'm really a monster."
"Ok." She said. Still no response.
Maybe she just doesn't comprehend it. I've heard of dumb kids not understand what's going on for a little while. Maybe that's it.
I slipped out from under her bed, using my tentacles to simultaneously raise myself up and spin around to face her in one fluid motion. I came to rest on 4 of my limbs and raised the other 7 in a casually menacing pose.
Her eyes were wide, reflecting the dim twinkle of her nightlight, but nothing else changed. She seemed more curious than anything. "You look dumb," she said matter-of-factly.
"What?"
"You look dumb." She said again, sitting up and pushing off her covers. She casually swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat there, legs swinging.
"What do you mean by that? And you don't look like a monster at all"
She shrugged at my first question. She was looking at me, but never made eye contact, which wouldn't have been unusual if she were exhibiting even the slightest indication that she was afraid of me. Even when her gaze passed over one of my eyes, it was like she was looking at something behind me, but my eyes back there told me there was nothing to see.
"That's what I said. They said, um, my heart is broken and, um, I'm dangerous," she said all this with the air of a child recounting something that happened at school. I have to admit, at this point my curiosity got the better of me. Usually humans fear what is dangerous, and destroy what they fear. It's why we hide, after all.
"Dangerous how?"
She shrugged again, and began tugging on the corner of her gown.
"Did you do something to provoke them? Humans are skittish creatures."
She gave several exaggerated nods. I squinted, I just had to know what she could have done to make the humans think she was dangerous.
"What did you do?"
She looked back at the door, "I hurt Tommy."
"Who is Tommy?"
"Tommy was my baby brother. But they say, um, he's not my brother no more."
How on earth could this squishy little creature hurt anything?
"How did you hurt him?"
She smiled faintly, but caught herself and resumed her wide eyed expression, now looking around the room.
"I, um, I hit him with my toys."
I nodded. "Mhmm." Some of these larger toys could cause some serious damage to a small human.
"I, um, I hit him until he started crying."
"Why did you do that?"
"I dunno. I like it when he cries."
She started tilting her head side to side onto her shoulders, looking at me with her wide eyes, her curious expression barely changing. Still failing to make eye contact.
I hovered there quietly, pondering what I had just heard. Before I could ask another question, her mouth curled into the tiniest frown and she continued.
"They don't like it when he cries. I, um, I have to be fast or, um, they'll stop me. They never let us, um, play together."
She couldn't stifle the slight grin on her face.
"He cries real fast if you use scissors."
She finally closed her eyes, and a true grin spread on her face. She began kicking her legs, bouncing them off of the side of the bed. She continued with more enthusiasm, the way a little girl should be talking about unicorns or rainbows or best friends.
"If you use scissors, um, blood comes out. Blood is so pretty. Red is my favorite color."
There was definitely something off about this child. As I thought through everything she'd said, they started to add up to an odd image.
"What happened to Tommy? Why isn't he your brother anymore?"
She became even more animated, legs kicking, big gap-toothed grin, head bouncing back and forth on her shoulders. She opened her eyes and for the first time in the entire exchange, locked on to my central eye.
"We were playing, and, um, he couldn't cry no more. Even when I, um, hit him with the scissors. He, um, stopped making blood, too. He wasn't fun anymore, so the grownups took him away from me forever."
Through her tirade, I had gone completely still, squinting into her soulless gaze.
"Can I ask you something, mr. monster?"
I said nothing.
"What color is your blood?" | It was a standard reassignment. From time to time, monsters move to different
children. Sometimes it's because the child grows used to the monster, or
sometimes the monster just wants to take a break. There's not really anything
out of the ordinary -- in fact, most kids won't even know it's not "their"
monster under the bed.
We all have the same general routine. We cloak ourselves from the adults, we
snatch toys that fall on the ground, and if the kids ever poke their heads down
and look underneath, we'll light up the eyes and growl at them. Particularly
courage-riddled children who step out of bed might get the warm breath on the
ankle, or even a quick grab at the foot. Like I said, nothing out of the
ordinary.
I was assigned to Kate's place. She was older, almost too old for a bed monster
to do anything for her. I asked what happened to the last guy, but they just
said that he'd moved on. I always like to talk to the previous monster just to
get an idea of what works and what doesn't, but today -- well, tonight -- I
didn't have a chance, I only had an hour to get ready and make it to little
Kate's bed before she was put down for the night.
So, there I was, waiting under her bed .. and she didn't come. I was sure I had
the right place. Her name was all over the room, and her scent filled the air.
But she wasn't in her bed. I crawled under, and I waited. I waited until
morning. I asked my boss what's up he pulled open a file cabinet and flicked
through some folders, pulled one out and skimmed through it.
Apparently, little Kate had run away a few days earlier. To Boston, no less!
Well, good for her, I thought. I asked for some more details while I was there.
She was just 16 -- I was just there to finish up the last bits of underbedding
before she grew too old to need it. Seems like the last guy just retired early.
He was apparently off in some vacation home on the Styx.
The next night, I got there a bit early, curled up under the bed and shrouded
myself in darkness, hiding from even the most prying lights and eyes. I heard
the door slam, and I heard her punishment for running away. Myself, I prefer to
exact punishment through terror. I think it's far more effective to torture the
soul. But for some who lack my talents and.. abilities, tormenting the flesh
can be just as effective. It seemed Kate's father had decided to beat his
obstinate daughter for her misdeeds. She plead with him, she threatened him. I
even heard her try some womanly charms on him. But he just beat her until she
was a sobbing mess.
When she finally arrived in her bed, I wasn't sure I should do anything. It
felt.. wrong. But, a job's a job. I waited until the house had calmed down,
until little Kate had composed herself enough to be afraid instead of furious. I
sent up those waves of terror I'm so good at. I darked the room slightly,
making it seem like the night was closing in on her.
It was odd, that usually got just a little bit of a response. A short gasp, or
a little bit of fear trickling off the child. Kate had nothing. She was a lump
of coal. Or steel. She just sat there. I tried something else. I made the
darkness waver, like it was under incredible pressure, like it was about to
explode into the void. The tension and despair that I created permeated the
room itself. I had to concentrate to keep myself from fleeing.
Still, nothing. Kate just sat there -- wait, no, she was hanging her head over
the edge of the bed, looking straight at me. I startled a bit, but growled at
her. My eyes flared, appearing to be deep red pools of fire. She made -- and
kept! -- eye contact. Who was this girl?
"It's okay if you want to come out," she said, head still hanging over the edge
of the bed. "They say I'm a monster too."
I nodded, returning my eyes to normal. There was obviously no need for
illusions at this point, so I reverted to my simple form. The draconic wings
faded, the horns, really, everything. I let myself take on the form she'd
decided was my true one, which surprised me. I looked a lot like her father,
but wearing suit, and a top hat, and I was carrying a cane. My expression was
stern and my features were unchanging when I spoke. "Hello, Kate," I said.
I was surprised that my voice still carried the effect of a thousand tormented
souls. Perhaps she was afraid of her father? I had severely misjudged this
girl. "Are you a monster?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered. She stared at me, so I returned the favour. My stare,
however, penetrated her soul, and it saw. I saw everything. Into her deepest
being, and into her future, and into her past. This girl -- no, this *woman* --
this beautiful woman was the ugliest thing I'd ever encountered. Humans are not
supposed to exist like this. I may be an amorphous monster that feeds on
children's fears, but this little .. Kathy Ames, she was just evil. | |
[WP] You've been assigned as a monster under the bed for a new child. One night as you're getting ready to do your scare, you hear them whisper, "It's ok if you want to come out... they say I'm a monster too." | I wasn't quite sure how to respond.
This was my third duty station, and never has the kid talked to me like this. One kid used to threaten me, another would plead for me to stay under the bed. I've never been asked to come out, though.
"Are you there?" She said.
There was no fear in her voice, only curiosity and a bit of excitement.
After a few moments of silence, I finally decided to go for it. As far as I know, there are no rules saying *how* you reveal yourself, just that it never happen in the presence of an adult.
"Yes," I said. Nothing happened, no response, no change in respiration.
"Oh. I didn't know if you were, um, real." She seemed *relieved*, "Are you really a monster or, um, just a person my parents hired to, um, watch me?"
I was reeling. This was a wholly alien experience and none of my training even came close to providing me with a way to react. So I went with my gut.
"I'm really a monster."
"Ok." She said. Still no response.
Maybe she just doesn't comprehend it. I've heard of dumb kids not understand what's going on for a little while. Maybe that's it.
I slipped out from under her bed, using my tentacles to simultaneously raise myself up and spin around to face her in one fluid motion. I came to rest on 4 of my limbs and raised the other 7 in a casually menacing pose.
Her eyes were wide, reflecting the dim twinkle of her nightlight, but nothing else changed. She seemed more curious than anything. "You look dumb," she said matter-of-factly.
"What?"
"You look dumb." She said again, sitting up and pushing off her covers. She casually swung her legs over the edge of her bed and sat there, legs swinging.
"What do you mean by that? And you don't look like a monster at all"
She shrugged at my first question. She was looking at me, but never made eye contact, which wouldn't have been unusual if she were exhibiting even the slightest indication that she was afraid of me. Even when her gaze passed over one of my eyes, it was like she was looking at something behind me, but my eyes back there told me there was nothing to see.
"That's what I said. They said, um, my heart is broken and, um, I'm dangerous," she said all this with the air of a child recounting something that happened at school. I have to admit, at this point my curiosity got the better of me. Usually humans fear what is dangerous, and destroy what they fear. It's why we hide, after all.
"Dangerous how?"
She shrugged again, and began tugging on the corner of her gown.
"Did you do something to provoke them? Humans are skittish creatures."
She gave several exaggerated nods. I squinted, I just had to know what she could have done to make the humans think she was dangerous.
"What did you do?"
She looked back at the door, "I hurt Tommy."
"Who is Tommy?"
"Tommy was my baby brother. But they say, um, he's not my brother no more."
How on earth could this squishy little creature hurt anything?
"How did you hurt him?"
She smiled faintly, but caught herself and resumed her wide eyed expression, now looking around the room.
"I, um, I hit him with my toys."
I nodded. "Mhmm." Some of these larger toys could cause some serious damage to a small human.
"I, um, I hit him until he started crying."
"Why did you do that?"
"I dunno. I like it when he cries."
She started tilting her head side to side onto her shoulders, looking at me with her wide eyes, her curious expression barely changing. Still failing to make eye contact.
I hovered there quietly, pondering what I had just heard. Before I could ask another question, her mouth curled into the tiniest frown and she continued.
"They don't like it when he cries. I, um, I have to be fast or, um, they'll stop me. They never let us, um, play together."
She couldn't stifle the slight grin on her face.
"He cries real fast if you use scissors."
She finally closed her eyes, and a true grin spread on her face. She began kicking her legs, bouncing them off of the side of the bed. She continued with more enthusiasm, the way a little girl should be talking about unicorns or rainbows or best friends.
"If you use scissors, um, blood comes out. Blood is so pretty. Red is my favorite color."
There was definitely something off about this child. As I thought through everything she'd said, they started to add up to an odd image.
"What happened to Tommy? Why isn't he your brother anymore?"
She became even more animated, legs kicking, big gap-toothed grin, head bouncing back and forth on her shoulders. She opened her eyes and for the first time in the entire exchange, locked on to my central eye.
"We were playing, and, um, he couldn't cry no more. Even when I, um, hit him with the scissors. He, um, stopped making blood, too. He wasn't fun anymore, so the grownups took him away from me forever."
Through her tirade, I had gone completely still, squinting into her soulless gaze.
"Can I ask you something, mr. monster?"
I said nothing.
"What color is your blood?" | Gombo fidgeted nervously in his office chair as he looked across at the monster sitting behind the desk.
“Good twilight, Gombo.”
“Look, Susan. I didn’t do nothing. It’s not my fault…”
“Nobody has said that it was. We are just here to find out what happened, that’s all.”
Like hell it was Gombo thought. One didn’t get hauled into HR just to discuss how their twilight was going. Susan, the HR manager smiled and stroked her fur absently and flipped through his file.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened in your own words.” Gombo could feel the fur on the back of his neck start to stand up. He had squared off against all sorts of things in his long career of monstering but Susan….
That fluffy little white puffball scared the shit out of him.
“Ok, it was like this. I was just chasing the little fucker around the bed like always getting some good screams out of him and the idiot tried to climb out of the window. Ain’t my fault it was five stories up.” Susan’s sparkly blue eyes started to glow red.
“Yes. That is what the report says.” She started to flip through his file as if she didn’t already know what was in there. “I would be more than willing to write this off as just one of those things that happens but this is… This is the fourth such incident in your file.” Gombo started to sweat. Those eyes…
“People above me are starting to talk about you Gombo and not in a good way.” Susan hopped on top of her desk. “Did you make physical contact with little Timmy in any way?”
“No! I was just scaring him.”
“Did you instruct him to jump out of the window or otherwise make an attempt to place that suggestion into his head?”
“No! You ain’t got no reason to be sayin’ that neither.” Gombo raised himself onto his tentacles and slammed one of them down on the file. “All dem reports are right in dere! I am clean and you know it.” Susan smiled showing hundreds of needle sharp teeth. Gombo drew back instinctively.
“Four fatalities, Gombo. Four. Four dead kids. We are supposed to terrify, not kill.”
“It ain’t my fault they were pussies. It ain’t fault I am good at scarin’.” Susan, unhinging her jaw, smiled even wider.
“Perhaps you are right. You will be contacted once the investigation has been completed. Have a good twilight.”
Gombo flinched and shambled off.
***
“Ah, Gombo! Please take a seat.” Susan gestured at a chair and hopped over to her desk. “Did you have a nice vacation?” Gombo glowered at her.
“It ain’t no vacation when you ain’t gettin’ paid.”
“You should be pleased to hear that you have been cleared of any wrongdoing.” Susan said with a twitch of her nose. “You are indeed just ‘too good at scarin’. You have been reinstated and any back pay due will be reimbursed immediately.”
“It’s about damn time.” Gombo grumbled. Susan gave him a needle toothed smile.
“It looks like we have been holding you back, Gombo. You have considerable skill. We’ve discussed it and have decided to give you a raise.” Gombo gasped.
“A raise?” Susan nodded happily causing her ears to flop.
“Yep. Congratulations, Senior agent Gombo.” She hopped onto her desk and extended a claw. Gombo shook it enthusiastically. “We have a collection of cases suitable for someone with your skills. We are selecting one for you now.”
Gombo happily scuttled out of Susan’s office. This was the happiest day of his life.
Susan’s eyes glowed red as she watched him skip down the hall.
“Let’s see exactly how good at ‘scarin’ he really is.”
***
Gombo confidently slithered into his new office and settled into his nice new chair. His manager floated in.
“Good twilight, Gombo. Liking your new office?” Gombo spun around in his leather chair.
“It’s not bad.” He said with forced nonchalance. He looked at the folder in the manager’s hands. “Got something for me?”
“Yes, it’s a tough one. She is a nine-year-old named Abagail.”
“A nine-year-old?” Gombo scoffed. “I’ll have her wetting her panties by midnight.” The manager’s spectral form glowed as he handed over the file.
“Don’t get too cocky. We wouldn’t be handing her to you if she was easy.”
Gombo quickly skimmed the file looking for the fears section. There wasn’t one.
“Hey, where are her fears?” The manager’s eyeholes glowed a sickly green.
“When you find one, please let us know.” Gombo rose and headed for the door.
“Oh, one last thing. If Abagail were to ‘jump out of a window’ nobody would complain.”
Gombo grinned malevolently as he headed for the gate.
***
Gombo slid through the eather and hovered in the space between worlds. He looked down at Abagail. She didn’t look like much. This one should be a piece of cake. He floated under her bed and phased into the material world.
Gombo grinned and heaved upward lifting the bed off the ground.
“Hello?” Abagail said with a hopeful voice. She leapt off of the bed and eagerly looked underneath. Gombo hissed in confusion as he flowed out of the other side. What the hell was that?
“Hi there, I’m Abagail. My parents like to call me Abby but I hate that name. What’s yours?” Gombo blinked his dozen eyes in confusion.
He expanded himself to cover half of the bedroom and bared all of the teeth in all of his mouths in a Lovecraftian fashion.
Abagail giggled.
“You’re funny.” Gombo didn’t like where this was going but he was going to be damned if he failed his first gig as a senior agent. He slithered towards her drooling and gibbering.
Abagail sighed.
“If we are going to play you could at least tell me your name.”
“I am going to eat you…” Gombo hissed letting drool ooze from his mouths.
Abagail laughed at him.
“I like you. You’re silly.” Gombo slumped in frustration.
“Look, kid. Don’t you realize the situation? I’m a big scary hungry monster and I am going to eat you.”
Abagail shrugged. Gombo lurched and crawled all around her. Abagail pulled out a little table and started to put a little ceramic teapot and cups upon it.
“Do you want to have a tea party?”
“NO! I DON’T WANT TO HAVE A FUCKING TEA PARTY!” Abagail sighed and pulled out a plush unicorn.
“This is Lady Sparklypuff.” She then set the unicorn down at the table. “She makes great tea. You will like it.”
“YOU STUPID BITCH!” Gombo threw the table aside causing the teapot and cups to shatter on the floor. “I AM HERE TO EAT YOU NOT TO HAVE A FUCKING…” Gombo froze.
Abagail stood up and suddenly seemed as big as the shadows her little form cast on the walls.
“Oh now you have gone and done it you stupid cunt.”
“Wha?” Abagail grabbed Gombo and threw him against the wall.
“You stupid, stupid little bitch!” She said as she punched him in the gut. As Gombo doubled over in pain she grabbed him by the head and drug him over to the broken teaset.
“See this, you clumsy little fuck?” Abagail seized him by the tentacles and violently shook him.
“This (slap) is (slap) why (slap) we (slap) can’t (slap) have (slap) nice (slap) things!” Gombo tried to push Abagail away but she just threw him across the room.
“You RUIN EVERYTHING!” Abagail hit him with the back of her hand sending him sprawling.
“I should have had an abortion! I never wanted you!”
“I’m sorry! I’m SORRY! Please stop! Please…” He howled. Abagail just kept hitting him. She threw him against the wall again. Gombo sobbed and cowered in the corner.
Abagail picked up a crayon off of the floor and put it in her mouth. She inhaled deeply and then jammed the end of the crayon into a tentacle.
It burned. Gombo screamed. He somehow managed to pull away and ran for the door. It was locked from the outside.
“Trying to run you little cunt?” Abagail said with a snarl. She grabbed a lamp from the nightstand and threw it. It shattered on the door as Gombo barely managed to dodge, cutting his face.
Gombo dove for the bed but Abagail cut him off and kicked him hard sending him sprawling. Before he could get his bearings she grabbed a coat hanger from the closet and leapt on top of him. Howling in pain Gombo crawled towards the bed desperate to get back under it and escape. Abagail hit him again and again and again.
Gombo somehow managed to throw Abagail off and get under the bed. Grabbed one of his tentacles and started to pull him back out but it was too late. Gombo escaped.
Abagail’s bedroom door unlocked and opened. Abagail backed away in terror.
The real monster walked in.
“Oh now you’ve gone and done it….”
***
Abagail felt a familiar presence and woke up with a smile. Her roommate was out for the evening and she had hoped he would drop by. He was her oldest and dearest friend and it had been too long. They had been through a lot together.
If it hadn't been for him she wasn't sure she would have made it.
“Hey Gomball.”
“Hey Abster.”
“You still making kids wet the bed?”
“You still breaking hearts?” Abagail stuck her tongue out at him.
“I have some leftover pizza. Want some?” Abagail pulled out a greasy box. Gombo went to the fridge and got two beers.
“Hey. I just have to ask. Why did you ditch Sam? I thought you two had a good thing going.” Abagail shrugged.
“He started talking about wanting kids.”
“Ah…” Gomball put one of his tentacles on her shoulder as they ate and drank in silence for awhile.
| |
This has been posted before but it is a favourite of mine and as far as I know the last post like this was archived. | [WP] A Vampire in a Zombie Apocalypse | Shelly pushed her little sister ahead of her as the zombies followed close behind her. They had seen this house from another house they had been hiding in. It had the word “SAFE” spray painted across the front, and from what Shelly could tell, at least one side. She figured it was probably written on every side. From what had been a relatively safe location she had wondered how someone had gotten up so high to write across the whole front of the two story building, but now she was only concerned with reaching the door.
They had waited until dusk when hopefully they would be harder to spot before making their break for the “SAFE” house. The house they had been in hadn’t been so bad at first, until they realized that there were several zombies in the master bedroom. The zombies hadn’t figured out how to open the door, but their constant ramming into the door had been more than Shelly and little Kristy could take.
As they came through the gate to the front yard Shelly tried to close it but she was surprised by how close one of the zombies was and its momentum caused it to barrel into the gate. As the gate flung open it hit Shelly hard and knocked her to the ground and before she could get up the zombie was on top of her. She couldn’t believe that just 48 hours ago she had been concerned about what to wear to her prom, and now she was about to be eaten alive by a zombie. She tried putting her hands on the zombies throat and realized that left arm wasn’t responding right, apparently it had been broken by the gate. She got her good arm up and was holding the zombie back for now, but looking past it she saw more coming through the gate now. She could see her little sister kicking the zombie, that once had been a full grown man, but it was to no avail. There wasn’t much a 5th grader could do to help.
Shelly’s eyes went past the zombies to the horizon and saw the sun slip below the horizon and she thought ‘what a cliché metaphor’, but prepared for the inevitable end as the other two zombies reached her.
Suddenly something smacked down on the ground next to her with such a solid thud it startled her even in the middle of holding a zombie from biting her. The zombie was suddenly off of her and she saw it fly backwards in the sky, still clutching at her face as it disappeared out of her line of sight. With the first zombie now gone, she could clearly see the other two zombies coming for her. Without warning the head of the first one came off and fell to the ground. It happened so fast she didn’t see what had caused it but it didn’t faze the third zombie who now had an unobstructed view of both girls and moaned louder as it took a lunging step towards them. As if by magic, a man seemed to appear in-between the girls and the zombie. While this new person blocked a lot of Shelly’s view, she could still make out that the final zombie went flying straight back out of the gate. His feet didn’t touch the ground until he slammed into an SUV across the street. The only word that Kelly’s brain could come up with to describe what happened to the zombie when it hit the SUV was that it shattered. It’s head and one of its arms seemed to keep going and the zombie separated at the waist into two large pieces that collapsed to the ground.
“Awesome!” Kristy shouted, jumping up and down with glee.
The man turned around and reached down to help Shelly up. As she took his hand she couldn’t help but notice that it was very cold and pale. Looking at his face as she got to her feet she saw that his entire complexion was pale and waxy.
“Come” The man said. “There will be more soon.” As he spoke Shelly noticed that he had fangs.
“Yes, I’m a vampire, but if you want to live we must get you inside.”
“What” Kristy said with big eyes.
“Move.” Both girls immediately began to move, Shelly realized she really didn’t want to but seemed unable to stop her body.
“It is safe here. You will join the others. “ He looked at Kristy. “No, I won’t eat you little girl. But I do ask a small price from the grown ups.”
“He opened the door to the house and there was a small group of people standing there holding various weapons but none of them seemed ready to use them.
“She has a broken arm.” The vampire said, addressing a large black woman.
“No problem honey, we’ll take care of it. You be careful out there.”
He nodded, turned around with a flourish of his overcoat and looked like he was jumping but moved so fast Shelly wasn’t sure what happened other than he was gone.
As the large black woman put her arm around Shelly and gently began to lead her up the stairs Shelly notice that the lady had two puncture wounds on her neck. Glancing around she noticed a few more people had them but not all.
“Y’all going to be all right now. Don’t you worry. My name is Carla.”
Carla saw Shelly looking at her neck. “This your little sister? Don’t y’all worry, it don’t hurt none, and he takes turns every time." She smiled and shook her head. "You see, he can’t let us die, or then he’ll starve to death, so you have never been safer in your whole life then you are right now.”
| Time was a construct of human society. As soon as man's world fell, the concept of date and year was abandoned and replaced with the safety of the sun and the fear of the night. Animal instincts of survival can be easily triggered when familiarity is ripped away from you.
Since humans doomed themselves with the unholy plague, many suns have risen and the moon has repeated it's cycles as if unaffected by the affairs of the world below. Zombies have infected the planet, leaving only small pockets of humanity scattered across the land. These settlements are the last attachment to a past society that humans desperately longed for.
"Me? Oh, I'm just a vampire wondering around in a zombies world." I say to the emotionless undead man on the other side of the bar as I take a swig from a dusty bottle of bourbon. "But I'm sure you are already aware of this."
"Uuuuggggh." Gurgled the undead man as he slowly shuffled away.
*sigh*
These zombies are useless to my kind. If they arent completely dried up, their blood has the consistency of pudding and is inedible. They also don't make for great conversation, usually just ignoring me since I myself am technically dead.
I take off my backpack, putting it on the bar counter to take inventory of what I have.
A flashlight, a pistol with 3 clips, a hammer, a couple pairs of shoes and spare clothes, 10 granola bars, 18 blood packs, and a couple personal items.
I sling the backpack over my shoulders and raise from my seat.
"Well thanks for the company ladies and gentlemen, but it's time I leave." I say as I walk towards the door, trying to weave myself through the crowd of undead without sending them into an uproar. Just because they usually avoid my kind doesn't mean they can't be triggered into attacking.
I accidently bump shoulders with one and she immediately lunges for me, setting off all the others.
With a glint in my eye I cause the room to go dark.
*whack whack splat thud*
And just like that the light floods back through the windows, showing bodies now strewn across the wooden floor. I shrug and step over the bodies to the door. I put up my jackets hood and covers my face with a blue handkerchief and sunglasses and steps into the sunlight.
I'm in a small, deserted town somewhere east of Jacksonville. Everyone here is either a walker or had the sense to pack up and head for the shanties that popped up around Tallahassee.
I'm heading north to hit up a couple known still functioning production plants turned trade posts on my way to Vamptown, which the only remaining sanctuary for my kind on the east coast.
The way there is full of rough terrain, and even rougher people. They may be even crazier than I am. I'm not a cannibal, and to be honest the vlood packs i have with me are cows blood, but they are common in the backwoods.
But nothing will stop me, for I'm the last hope for vampires and humans alike. |
[WP] you accidentally run over a lonely old lady. She considers pressing charges, but agrees not to as long as you spend two hours a week playing board games with her. It soon becomes apparent that she hasn't had an ordinary life... | (I’m very new at writing prompts, please don’t be too harsh (constructive criticism is greatly appreciated))
"17 Peterhof Avenue..." I muttered as I peered at my GPS system.
"Turn right. You have arrived at your destination."
I parked and clambered out of my car. It was a nice suburban neighbourhood with a neat row of small stucco houses. I pushed open the gate which swung open with a creak and rang the doorbell. I heard it reverberating through the house.
A while later the door creaked open and I was greeted by the old lady. The old lady who I had run over. Darn, if I hadn’t been texting while driving I wouldn’t even be here, forced to play board games with this boring old woman for two whole hours.
“Oh, here you are. Come right in!” I sighed as I thought about what better things I could have been doing and stepped in.
“Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable! Would you like tea, or something...a little stronger?” she asked as I sat down on the sofa.
Well, since I’m here, might as well drink some of her alcohol, I thought, and asked for the latter. Soon she came back with two glasses of a transparent liquid. I was surprised by the biting taste of vodka when I took a sip. Looks are deceiving, I thought - this old lady can certainly hold her alcohol!
As she sat down, I was able to get a closer look at her. I was told that she was seventy years old, but she looked much older.
“I thought we’d be able to play Scrabble today. What do you say?” she asked me.
“Absolutely.” Well, that was good. Scrabble was the game I always played with my family.
I looked at my letters. S, U, D, E, S, H, C. Not bad, I thought.
She decided to start first, playing POLE. After ruminating for a while. I played CHOSE.
“So,” breaking the awkward silence, “you don’t really look seventy.” I grinned sheepishly.
“Ah, well, age is just a number. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how old I am. Father Grigory took care of that.” she replied.
Great. She’s old AND weird. Just my luck.
“Who’s Father Grigory?”
“Well, he was a healer - he was the only one who could help my sick brother. He’s dead now. He was murdered.”
“You have a brother?”
“Had. He’s dead now. My whole family’s dead. All shot. Bang bang. I’m supposed to be dead too, but they never checked whether everyone really died. So here I am, alive and well!” she said bitterly.
Wow, did she come from a family of gangsters or something? I was intrigued.
As I played REDS on her EAR, a glittery purple ornament on the table caught my eye.
“What is this?”
She picked it up. “It’s something my father gave to my grandmother as a gift on Easter - that’s why it’s shaped like an egg. This was made four years after I was born.”
She then opened it to reveal a red heart-shaped ornament perched on a colourful, intricate pedestal. She opened the heart ornament. It opened like a three-leaf clover, with three miniature pictures.
“This is my father and mother, and this is my oldest sister when she was a little baby,” she pointed and said. They looked positively imperial, not even close to gangsters. When I glanced at her face, I saw her eyes brimming with tears. I placed a hand on her shoulder.
We played in silence.
Ultimately, she won the game by 17 points. “Better luck next time!” she teased and grinned.
“Just you wait, next week I’m here you’re going down,” I responded. I was surprised to realise that I was actually looking forward to meeting this old, eccentric woman next week.
I stepped out the door. “Thank you for stopping by, young man!”
“Thank you too, Madam…” I hesitated. “I don’t quite seem to recall your name,” I said, red with embarrassment.
“Oh, you can call me Anastasia, dearie,” and the door swung shut.
----
This story ignores the confirmation in 2009 that Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova did, indeed, die with her family when they were executed by firing squad in 1918. This story also ignores the fact that the surprise of the Mauve Egg (a picture can be viewed here: http://i3.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article5455760.ece/ALTERNATES/s615b/Faberge-mauve-egg-surprise.jpg) is in fact owned by Russian oligarch Viktor Vekselberg.
Thanks for reading! (P.S. see if you can catch all the hints throughout the story!) | Driving down the street in my large, red pickup truck with my straight blue jeans on, I stole a quick glance at my retro flip-phone and saw bae had hit me up with a booty blast request. I felt a small bump as I crossed the intersection, weird, I didn’t remember there being a bump there at all. I heard a small, weak scream coming from underneath the wheels of my sexy red truck. I quickly drove off the bump as I heard another yelp when my rear tires went over the bump. I looked like a fool, standing there in the middle of the intersection at midnight with my fantastically red truck glowing in the moonlight. I checked for the bump, but only found a little old Asian lady curled up in the middle of the crosswalk. Ah shit, this can’t be happening, I’ve already run over two other little old ladies this month, my backyard didn’t have enough soil space for another one. There was also no way I was gonna be heading back to the county jail with crazy flaming Jack waiting there for me to run his fingers through my loins again. Nah, I wasn’t going back there. I moved towards the lady as I found her standing straight up, dusting herself off and glaring straight at me. Scary old lady aren’t you. “You run me over, pay big money!” she screamed at me as she took out her high-tech phone to call the suits on me. “Now hoooold on there,” I attempted to explain as I held my hands up high, “We can sort this thing out among ourselves like responsible adults.” “You run me over. You pay!” the little old devil screamed as the 911 operator came up. I dropped to my knees and begged for forgiveness, “Isn’t there anything else I can do?” Her eyes looked up quickly as the operator asked for the location, a quick smile flashed across her face as it faded just as fast. She shut her phone off. “Yes, yes little boy, I have something for you to do. Come to Hidden Springs Spa tomorrow, 8, no late!” she commanded me as she walked away. I got back in my handsome, alluring, red hot truck, just across town a booty needed some blasting.
I got there just on time, the little old lady was waiting for me there at the spa with a box and a rickety set of chairs and a rock-solid plastic table. “You stay two hours!” the old lady told me as I struggled to stay on the little barstool. I told her I understood and the first game came out. Coup, the card game, was slammed on the table. Three burly Asian guys with dragon and tiger tattoos came streaming out a back room and joined us at the table. Two attractive and fit women, also advertised with dragon and tiger tattoos came through another door. Bad guys win. Bad guys win. Baddies win again. I didn’t think it’d be so hard to read these guys and gals. Their smiling, stone-cold faces were impossible to read. I also never had the pleasure of being on the bad side. I was given a few sesame rice balls and told I could use the tattoo parlor of theirs anytime I wanted. I took a small break in the spa room, with my own attendant giving me the best massage of my life. A fortune cookie was propped up with a picture of the little old lady. “Next week, same time, same place.” Good thing too, I needed to polish up my lovely red truck anyways and the bae needed my attention.
The game this time was mafia. There were three additional guys there. Bad guys win. Bad guys win. Good guys win. Again, I had the pleasure of being on the good side every time. I was starting to get these people though. I felt like I was beginning to understand their body language. The microscopic changes in their faces, the slight movements of their bodies, it was all starting to become clear. This time I headed straight for the parlor and fell asleep there. Woke up with irritation all over. Felt like my body was on fire. Didn’t want to question it, must’ve been the massage. This week I had to clean my red hot killer truck, give her a nice polish again. The bae needed me out again, she works me to the bone all the time. Dumplings this time as a parting gift. Madame Chang is pleased. That’s what the note said. The dumpling are delicious. Best dumplings I’ve ever had.
| |
[WP] you accidentally run over a lonely old lady. She considers pressing charges, but agrees not to as long as you spend two hours a week playing board games with her. It soon becomes apparent that she hasn't had an ordinary life... | Her hands shook as she reached for the bishop. She was going to take my knight, I knew. It hovered, wavered, almost toppling her king, then stopped, two squares short. What?
"That's an interesting move. Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, young man."
Young man. Huh. I wasn't so young, actually.
I reached for my rook, and took her unprotected bishop. "How young do you think I am, Miss Watson?"
Her shaking hand reached and pushed a pawn into the path of my rook.
"Everybody's young when you get to my age."
I looked at her face. She had a twinkling smile. One eye was obscured by the bandage she still wore after the accident.
The accident.
My mind flashed back.
The rain. A lightning flash. I should have been going slower. Why hadn't I been going slower? More rain. I tried to tell myself I was sitting in her living room, playing chess. I was breathing faster and my chest hurt, and all I could see was the rain from that night. The broken stop light, and then the sickening thump. The thump.
"Are you all right, young man?"
Suddenly I was back in her living room. I was breathing hard, and my chest still hurt. There was a chess board on the coffee table, with a game in progress.
"Are you all right?"
I looked at her face. The wrinkles around her eyes showed genuine concern. I took a deep breath, and counted to ten slowly. Then I exhaled. "Yeah, I'm all right."
"It's your move."
I surveyed the board. She had just pushed her pawn. It was unprotected. I took it.
"Check."
I had stopped the car, stepped into the rain. My clothes were soaked by the time I found her mangled body underneath my car.
She moved her knight bishop to block my rook. Now it was her turn to say "Check," as the vanished knight cleared an attack on my king. I captured the offending bishop.
Her neck had been so unnaturally twisted. I had cried and cried as I waited for the ambulance. Cried and cried and cried as the coldness of the rain soaked into my skin, into my mind, into my soul. "Please don't die!"
"Oh, I'm not about to die" she said. I hadn't realised I'd said the words aloud. She moved her other knight. "Check" She had a very strange smile on her face. "I'm not about to die, young man. Not since I..."
I stared at her face. Her smile was unreadable.
"Since you what?"
She just said, "It's your move, young man."
I looked at the board, and hesitated. My king had only one square to move to. Then she moved her knight again, "Check." She had my rook and king forked. I couldn't save both. I moved my king, but she didn't capture my rook, she checked me again. Now my queen was in danger. I stared at the board for a good five minutes, with the slow sinking realisation that I couldn't save her.
I couldn't save her. The paramedics had arrived, and that's what they'd said. I sobbed into the shoulder of a policeman, that it was all my fault, I had killed her. The policeman had said nothing, just let me sob and sob. I asked them to take me to the station. I didn't dare to drive. I never wanted to drive again.
"Are you all right, young man?"
I looked at her face, then at the board, then back at her face. Her kind smile was back.
"It's your move."
I moved my king, and she took my queen. Now I could see why she had sacrificed those two pieces.
"You're very good at chess."
"I know I am, young man."
Some words she had spoken drifted into my mind. *Not since I...*. I moved my king again, and she pushed another pawn. "Check!"
"Not since you what?"
She merely pursed her lips, and stated "You're in check."
Then my words flooded out. "You were dead. I know you were. And then..."
And then, the next morning, she had been there, at the police station. The officers looked as frightened as I felt. And she'd said... she wouldn't press charges. Charges of manslaughter, or dangerous driving, anything. As long as I came to play this game.
I moved my king again, but I'd been forced behind her line of pawns.
"Check" she repeated. I moved, then "Check" again. I hesitated again. I only had one move, and then...
She sighed, and said "I guess I do owe you an explanation."
I picked up my king, and looked up, waiting for her story.
"Before someone dies, they get a chance to play a game with Death."
I stared at her and blinked. She smiled at me again, but this time there was a touch of sadness in her eyes.
"You're such a nice man. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you."
But I had to have an answer. "You played... a game with Death? As in... the guy with the scythe and the black cloak?"
She merely smiled, even more sadly "It's not exactly like that... Not the cloak and things"
I shook my head in disbelief. "You played a game with Death and ... and won?" Then I looked at the board. She was, I had to admit, an incredibly good chess player. But no, this was ridiculous.
"Oh, you're such a kind young man."
She shook her head slowly. Her smile had gone. There was only sadness now.
I placed my king on the board. She moved her rook.
"Checkmate."
"Well played," I said.
"Thank you," she replied. "I've never lost a game."
"Even when you played against Death?"
She looked up at me, a tear in her eyes. "Oh, you poor dear, no. I didn't play against Death."
"No?" I was confused.
"You did."
I blinked in surprise. "What? When?"
Her eyes bored deep into mine. "You poor, poor dear," she repeated. Her hands shook as she cleared the pieces from the board, arranging them into the box. The last piece was my king. She gazed at it contemplatively for a while, then placed it in the box as well. My heart felt cold.
"Thank you for the game. I get so lonely sometimes," she said, closing the box with a click. | Driving down the street in my large, red pickup truck with my straight blue jeans on, I stole a quick glance at my retro flip-phone and saw bae had hit me up with a booty blast request. I felt a small bump as I crossed the intersection, weird, I didn’t remember there being a bump there at all. I heard a small, weak scream coming from underneath the wheels of my sexy red truck. I quickly drove off the bump as I heard another yelp when my rear tires went over the bump. I looked like a fool, standing there in the middle of the intersection at midnight with my fantastically red truck glowing in the moonlight. I checked for the bump, but only found a little old Asian lady curled up in the middle of the crosswalk. Ah shit, this can’t be happening, I’ve already run over two other little old ladies this month, my backyard didn’t have enough soil space for another one. There was also no way I was gonna be heading back to the county jail with crazy flaming Jack waiting there for me to run his fingers through my loins again. Nah, I wasn’t going back there. I moved towards the lady as I found her standing straight up, dusting herself off and glaring straight at me. Scary old lady aren’t you. “You run me over, pay big money!” she screamed at me as she took out her high-tech phone to call the suits on me. “Now hoooold on there,” I attempted to explain as I held my hands up high, “We can sort this thing out among ourselves like responsible adults.” “You run me over. You pay!” the little old devil screamed as the 911 operator came up. I dropped to my knees and begged for forgiveness, “Isn’t there anything else I can do?” Her eyes looked up quickly as the operator asked for the location, a quick smile flashed across her face as it faded just as fast. She shut her phone off. “Yes, yes little boy, I have something for you to do. Come to Hidden Springs Spa tomorrow, 8, no late!” she commanded me as she walked away. I got back in my handsome, alluring, red hot truck, just across town a booty needed some blasting.
I got there just on time, the little old lady was waiting for me there at the spa with a box and a rickety set of chairs and a rock-solid plastic table. “You stay two hours!” the old lady told me as I struggled to stay on the little barstool. I told her I understood and the first game came out. Coup, the card game, was slammed on the table. Three burly Asian guys with dragon and tiger tattoos came streaming out a back room and joined us at the table. Two attractive and fit women, also advertised with dragon and tiger tattoos came through another door. Bad guys win. Bad guys win. Baddies win again. I didn’t think it’d be so hard to read these guys and gals. Their smiling, stone-cold faces were impossible to read. I also never had the pleasure of being on the bad side. I was given a few sesame rice balls and told I could use the tattoo parlor of theirs anytime I wanted. I took a small break in the spa room, with my own attendant giving me the best massage of my life. A fortune cookie was propped up with a picture of the little old lady. “Next week, same time, same place.” Good thing too, I needed to polish up my lovely red truck anyways and the bae needed my attention.
The game this time was mafia. There were three additional guys there. Bad guys win. Bad guys win. Good guys win. Again, I had the pleasure of being on the good side every time. I was starting to get these people though. I felt like I was beginning to understand their body language. The microscopic changes in their faces, the slight movements of their bodies, it was all starting to become clear. This time I headed straight for the parlor and fell asleep there. Woke up with irritation all over. Felt like my body was on fire. Didn’t want to question it, must’ve been the massage. This week I had to clean my red hot killer truck, give her a nice polish again. The bae needed me out again, she works me to the bone all the time. Dumplings this time as a parting gift. Madame Chang is pleased. That’s what the note said. The dumpling are delicious. Best dumplings I’ve ever had.
| |
[WP] you accidentally run over a lonely old lady. She considers pressing charges, but agrees not to as long as you spend two hours a week playing board games with her. It soon becomes apparent that she hasn't had an ordinary life... | Alright, this is it. Playing a game with granny could not be that hard. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It was opened in an instant, but I was shocked to see a young lady, instead of the granny I hit with my car. Guess it's her granddaughter.
"Name?" she asked without a single greeting.
"Xan, miss," I responded, quick on my feet.
She took a pen, scribbled my name on it and slapped it on my chest. The little paper now indicated that I am, indeed, Xan.
"Go in, you are G8,' she waved with her hand at another door and stopped paying attention to me. I already had a bad feeling about this whole thing, but it grew worse the second I opened the door.
What I saw were rows and rows of tables. There were about 200 people in the same room, all playing chess. The room was awfully quiet for a room with 200 people, but for that reason I didn't think to ask anyone a question. Somehow disturbing this atmosphere seemed wrong. I walked to the G row and sat down at the eight table. Without a single question the man in front of me made his first move.
"Hey, do I go now or wait for the traffic light?" I joked, trying to break the tension, but no one laughed at all. I didn't even get angry looks. Everyone seemed awfully depressed and just played in silence. I looked around the tablse to see at least one friendly face. The man next to me started weeping. No one paid attention. In a low whisper I asked to the guy sitting in front of me.
"The hell is going on?" I asked as quietly as possible.
"New guy?" He shot a quick response.
"Yes. It is quite a story..."
"First and Ruby street?" he interrupted me.
"Why, yes, the darnest thing... I looked around and saw no one, but the second I started driving..."
"You hit an old lady," the man next to me interrupted. "And you thought that you rather play games than go to jail."
"Why, yes, but how do you..."
But I was suddenly interrupted by a shrieking voice. I looked at the direction of it and saw the old lady in a makeshift throne, being carried by four sorry looking men. She was carrying a scepter and had an ornamented crown around her head. She spoke in the most commanding voice.
"What is that chatter? Are you trying to enchant the king with your words? That is not how chess works! Not at all! You all have forgotten the great game of chess! You all have forgotten that your actions and decisions have consequences. But no worries, I will teach you all. One of you might even be the next chess champion! Oh, I will bring this noble game back to the people!" | Driving down the street in my large, red pickup truck with my straight blue jeans on, I stole a quick glance at my retro flip-phone and saw bae had hit me up with a booty blast request. I felt a small bump as I crossed the intersection, weird, I didn’t remember there being a bump there at all. I heard a small, weak scream coming from underneath the wheels of my sexy red truck. I quickly drove off the bump as I heard another yelp when my rear tires went over the bump. I looked like a fool, standing there in the middle of the intersection at midnight with my fantastically red truck glowing in the moonlight. I checked for the bump, but only found a little old Asian lady curled up in the middle of the crosswalk. Ah shit, this can’t be happening, I’ve already run over two other little old ladies this month, my backyard didn’t have enough soil space for another one. There was also no way I was gonna be heading back to the county jail with crazy flaming Jack waiting there for me to run his fingers through my loins again. Nah, I wasn’t going back there. I moved towards the lady as I found her standing straight up, dusting herself off and glaring straight at me. Scary old lady aren’t you. “You run me over, pay big money!” she screamed at me as she took out her high-tech phone to call the suits on me. “Now hoooold on there,” I attempted to explain as I held my hands up high, “We can sort this thing out among ourselves like responsible adults.” “You run me over. You pay!” the little old devil screamed as the 911 operator came up. I dropped to my knees and begged for forgiveness, “Isn’t there anything else I can do?” Her eyes looked up quickly as the operator asked for the location, a quick smile flashed across her face as it faded just as fast. She shut her phone off. “Yes, yes little boy, I have something for you to do. Come to Hidden Springs Spa tomorrow, 8, no late!” she commanded me as she walked away. I got back in my handsome, alluring, red hot truck, just across town a booty needed some blasting.
I got there just on time, the little old lady was waiting for me there at the spa with a box and a rickety set of chairs and a rock-solid plastic table. “You stay two hours!” the old lady told me as I struggled to stay on the little barstool. I told her I understood and the first game came out. Coup, the card game, was slammed on the table. Three burly Asian guys with dragon and tiger tattoos came streaming out a back room and joined us at the table. Two attractive and fit women, also advertised with dragon and tiger tattoos came through another door. Bad guys win. Bad guys win. Baddies win again. I didn’t think it’d be so hard to read these guys and gals. Their smiling, stone-cold faces were impossible to read. I also never had the pleasure of being on the bad side. I was given a few sesame rice balls and told I could use the tattoo parlor of theirs anytime I wanted. I took a small break in the spa room, with my own attendant giving me the best massage of my life. A fortune cookie was propped up with a picture of the little old lady. “Next week, same time, same place.” Good thing too, I needed to polish up my lovely red truck anyways and the bae needed my attention.
The game this time was mafia. There were three additional guys there. Bad guys win. Bad guys win. Good guys win. Again, I had the pleasure of being on the good side every time. I was starting to get these people though. I felt like I was beginning to understand their body language. The microscopic changes in their faces, the slight movements of their bodies, it was all starting to become clear. This time I headed straight for the parlor and fell asleep there. Woke up with irritation all over. Felt like my body was on fire. Didn’t want to question it, must’ve been the massage. This week I had to clean my red hot killer truck, give her a nice polish again. The bae needed me out again, she works me to the bone all the time. Dumplings this time as a parting gift. Madame Chang is pleased. That’s what the note said. The dumpling are delicious. Best dumplings I’ve ever had.
| |
[WP] you accidentally run over a lonely old lady. She considers pressing charges, but agrees not to as long as you spend two hours a week playing board games with her. It soon becomes apparent that she hasn't had an ordinary life... | Her hands shook as she reached for the bishop. She was going to take my knight, I knew. It hovered, wavered, almost toppling her king, then stopped, two squares short. What?
"That's an interesting move. Are you sure?"
"Quite sure, young man."
Young man. Huh. I wasn't so young, actually.
I reached for my rook, and took her unprotected bishop. "How young do you think I am, Miss Watson?"
Her shaking hand reached and pushed a pawn into the path of my rook.
"Everybody's young when you get to my age."
I looked at her face. She had a twinkling smile. One eye was obscured by the bandage she still wore after the accident.
The accident.
My mind flashed back.
The rain. A lightning flash. I should have been going slower. Why hadn't I been going slower? More rain. I tried to tell myself I was sitting in her living room, playing chess. I was breathing faster and my chest hurt, and all I could see was the rain from that night. The broken stop light, and then the sickening thump. The thump.
"Are you all right, young man?"
Suddenly I was back in her living room. I was breathing hard, and my chest still hurt. There was a chess board on the coffee table, with a game in progress.
"Are you all right?"
I looked at her face. The wrinkles around her eyes showed genuine concern. I took a deep breath, and counted to ten slowly. Then I exhaled. "Yeah, I'm all right."
"It's your move."
I surveyed the board. She had just pushed her pawn. It was unprotected. I took it.
"Check."
I had stopped the car, stepped into the rain. My clothes were soaked by the time I found her mangled body underneath my car.
She moved her knight bishop to block my rook. Now it was her turn to say "Check," as the vanished knight cleared an attack on my king. I captured the offending bishop.
Her neck had been so unnaturally twisted. I had cried and cried as I waited for the ambulance. Cried and cried and cried as the coldness of the rain soaked into my skin, into my mind, into my soul. "Please don't die!"
"Oh, I'm not about to die" she said. I hadn't realised I'd said the words aloud. She moved her other knight. "Check" She had a very strange smile on her face. "I'm not about to die, young man. Not since I..."
I stared at her face. Her smile was unreadable.
"Since you what?"
She just said, "It's your move, young man."
I looked at the board, and hesitated. My king had only one square to move to. Then she moved her knight again, "Check." She had my rook and king forked. I couldn't save both. I moved my king, but she didn't capture my rook, she checked me again. Now my queen was in danger. I stared at the board for a good five minutes, with the slow sinking realisation that I couldn't save her.
I couldn't save her. The paramedics had arrived, and that's what they'd said. I sobbed into the shoulder of a policeman, that it was all my fault, I had killed her. The policeman had said nothing, just let me sob and sob. I asked them to take me to the station. I didn't dare to drive. I never wanted to drive again.
"Are you all right, young man?"
I looked at her face, then at the board, then back at her face. Her kind smile was back.
"It's your move."
I moved my king, and she took my queen. Now I could see why she had sacrificed those two pieces.
"You're very good at chess."
"I know I am, young man."
Some words she had spoken drifted into my mind. *Not since I...*. I moved my king again, and she pushed another pawn. "Check!"
"Not since you what?"
She merely pursed her lips, and stated "You're in check."
Then my words flooded out. "You were dead. I know you were. And then..."
And then, the next morning, she had been there, at the police station. The officers looked as frightened as I felt. And she'd said... she wouldn't press charges. Charges of manslaughter, or dangerous driving, anything. As long as I came to play this game.
I moved my king again, but I'd been forced behind her line of pawns.
"Check" she repeated. I moved, then "Check" again. I hesitated again. I only had one move, and then...
She sighed, and said "I guess I do owe you an explanation."
I picked up my king, and looked up, waiting for her story.
"Before someone dies, they get a chance to play a game with Death."
I stared at her and blinked. She smiled at me again, but this time there was a touch of sadness in her eyes.
"You're such a nice man. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you."
But I had to have an answer. "You played... a game with Death? As in... the guy with the scythe and the black cloak?"
She merely smiled, even more sadly "It's not exactly like that... Not the cloak and things"
I shook my head in disbelief. "You played a game with Death and ... and won?" Then I looked at the board. She was, I had to admit, an incredibly good chess player. But no, this was ridiculous.
"Oh, you're such a kind young man."
She shook her head slowly. Her smile had gone. There was only sadness now.
I placed my king on the board. She moved her rook.
"Checkmate."
"Well played," I said.
"Thank you," she replied. "I've never lost a game."
"Even when you played against Death?"
She looked up at me, a tear in her eyes. "Oh, you poor dear, no. I didn't play against Death."
"No?" I was confused.
"You did."
I blinked in surprise. "What? When?"
Her eyes bored deep into mine. "You poor, poor dear," she repeated. Her hands shook as she cleared the pieces from the board, arranging them into the box. The last piece was my king. She gazed at it contemplatively for a while, then placed it in the box as well. My heart felt cold.
"Thank you for the game. I get so lonely sometimes," she said, closing the box with a click. | (I’m very new at writing prompts, please don’t be too harsh (constructive criticism is greatly appreciated))
"17 Peterhof Avenue..." I muttered as I peered at my GPS system.
"Turn right. You have arrived at your destination."
I parked and clambered out of my car. It was a nice suburban neighbourhood with a neat row of small stucco houses. I pushed open the gate which swung open with a creak and rang the doorbell. I heard it reverberating through the house.
A while later the door creaked open and I was greeted by the old lady. The old lady who I had run over. Darn, if I hadn’t been texting while driving I wouldn’t even be here, forced to play board games with this boring old woman for two whole hours.
“Oh, here you are. Come right in!” I sighed as I thought about what better things I could have been doing and stepped in.
“Please, sit down and make yourself comfortable! Would you like tea, or something...a little stronger?” she asked as I sat down on the sofa.
Well, since I’m here, might as well drink some of her alcohol, I thought, and asked for the latter. Soon she came back with two glasses of a transparent liquid. I was surprised by the biting taste of vodka when I took a sip. Looks are deceiving, I thought - this old lady can certainly hold her alcohol!
As she sat down, I was able to get a closer look at her. I was told that she was seventy years old, but she looked much older.
“I thought we’d be able to play Scrabble today. What do you say?” she asked me.
“Absolutely.” Well, that was good. Scrabble was the game I always played with my family.
I looked at my letters. S, U, D, E, S, H, C. Not bad, I thought.
She decided to start first, playing POLE. After ruminating for a while. I played CHOSE.
“So,” breaking the awkward silence, “you don’t really look seventy.” I grinned sheepishly.
“Ah, well, age is just a number. Frankly, it doesn’t matter how old I am. Father Grigory took care of that.” she replied.
Great. She’s old AND weird. Just my luck.
“Who’s Father Grigory?”
“Well, he was a healer - he was the only one who could help my sick brother. He’s dead now. He was murdered.”
“You have a brother?”
“Had. He’s dead now. My whole family’s dead. All shot. Bang bang. I’m supposed to be dead too, but they never checked whether everyone really died. So here I am, alive and well!” she said bitterly.
Wow, did she come from a family of gangsters or something? I was intrigued.
As I played REDS on her EAR, a glittery purple ornament on the table caught my eye.
“What is this?”
She picked it up. “It’s something my father gave to my grandmother as a gift on Easter - that’s why it’s shaped like an egg. This was made four years after I was born.”
She then opened it to reveal a red heart-shaped ornament perched on a colourful, intricate pedestal. She opened the heart ornament. It opened like a three-leaf clover, with three miniature pictures.
“This is my father and mother, and this is my oldest sister when she was a little baby,” she pointed and said. They looked positively imperial, not even close to gangsters. When I glanced at her face, I saw her eyes brimming with tears. I placed a hand on her shoulder.
We played in silence.
Ultimately, she won the game by 17 points. “Better luck next time!” she teased and grinned.
“Just you wait, next week I’m here you’re going down,” I responded. I was surprised to realise that I was actually looking forward to meeting this old, eccentric woman next week.
I stepped out the door. “Thank you for stopping by, young man!”
“Thank you too, Madam…” I hesitated. “I don’t quite seem to recall your name,” I said, red with embarrassment.
“Oh, you can call me Anastasia, dearie,” and the door swung shut.
----
This story ignores the confirmation in 2009 that Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova did, indeed, die with her family when they were executed by firing squad in 1918. This story also ignores the fact that the surprise of the Mauve Egg (a picture can be viewed here: http://i3.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article5455760.ece/ALTERNATES/s615b/Faberge-mauve-egg-surprise.jpg) is in fact owned by Russian oligarch Viktor Vekselberg.
Thanks for reading! (P.S. see if you can catch all the hints throughout the story!) | |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | Here comes that wave. You know the feeling. When the lights are off and the room is dark, it comes in waves. And the waves bring my fears and anxiety crashing down upon me. In the form of distorted Images.
Phantoms I've grown to know all to well. That distort the space around me. Until I have enough and cry out. And then they recede momentarily. But they will surely come again before the night is over. And In greater numbers.
The waves are harder the second time. As the phantoms always surround me. Each time, different in appearance. Some are menacing, while others are indistinguishable. They never speak. Just hover over and around me. Until I collapse, mumbling prayers to anyone who will listen so that they may go away.
They're a plague only I can see. Even If I shut my eyelids tight, they appear through the darkness in my head. I know when they come before they arrive. The symptoms are always the same. Flashes of light, in a darkened room with no light source. And a gut feeling in my core as my hairs stand on end.
Every time I rush to confront a member of them, they shift and change into something common or mundane. Like an article of clothing, or a hat. They wish to play me for a fool but I know they're there. They think they'll be the death of me.
But I'll catch one before this is over. | The abyss is there to swallow me whole. Blue death crashing against the hull, ready at a moment's notice to drag me under, down into the uncharted depths of hell. Brackish, murky, hell, with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.
Ripples on the surface, and nothing but darkness below. I cannot get away. I cannot run. I am at the mercy of its tides. It's *everywhere*, I cannot see to safety. Miles and miles under the surface, this pit is going to eat me whole.
I cannot breathe. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller. It's infiltrating my mind! It's infiltrating my body! I cannot catch my breathe, and I feel like I am dying. I pray I never know the depths, of the brackish, hellish sea. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | The walls are closing in. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't feel. I can't think. I can imagine my body slowly being crushed into oblivion, little more than a smear on the floor. How can I live if I don't have room to move!?
I curl into a ball, trying to forget where I was. I try to forget the walls surrounding me. Trapping me in. Preventing me from ever again seeing the light of day.
All right, new plan. I should make myself as big as possible to not feel so small. I stretched out my arms and felt the walls. Immediately, a choking sensation came over me. The walls were so close, so near to me. I can't do this! My lungs begin to heave, drawing in air. I start to shake, curling into a ball once more. The walls are closing in.
| The abyss is there to swallow me whole. Blue death crashing against the hull, ready at a moment's notice to drag me under, down into the uncharted depths of hell. Brackish, murky, hell, with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.
Ripples on the surface, and nothing but darkness below. I cannot get away. I cannot run. I am at the mercy of its tides. It's *everywhere*, I cannot see to safety. Miles and miles under the surface, this pit is going to eat me whole.
I cannot breathe. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller. It's infiltrating my mind! It's infiltrating my body! I cannot catch my breathe, and I feel like I am dying. I pray I never know the depths, of the brackish, hellish sea. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| The abyss is there to swallow me whole. Blue death crashing against the hull, ready at a moment's notice to drag me under, down into the uncharted depths of hell. Brackish, murky, hell, with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.
Ripples on the surface, and nothing but darkness below. I cannot get away. I cannot run. I am at the mercy of its tides. It's *everywhere*, I cannot see to safety. Miles and miles under the surface, this pit is going to eat me whole.
I cannot breathe. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller. It's infiltrating my mind! It's infiltrating my body! I cannot catch my breathe, and I feel like I am dying. I pray I never know the depths, of the brackish, hellish sea. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | The abyss is there to swallow me whole. Blue death crashing against the hull, ready at a moment's notice to drag me under, down into the uncharted depths of hell. Brackish, murky, hell, with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.
Ripples on the surface, and nothing but darkness below. I cannot get away. I cannot run. I am at the mercy of its tides. It's *everywhere*, I cannot see to safety. Miles and miles under the surface, this pit is going to eat me whole.
I cannot breathe. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller. It's infiltrating my mind! It's infiltrating my body! I cannot catch my breathe, and I feel like I am dying. I pray I never know the depths, of the brackish, hellish sea. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | They found him sobbing in a closet.
All the other apartments had been evacuated, only 409b left. The door was locked, and it took more than the usual 5 swings with the axe to break it down. Johnson and Carpenter, names stitched onto the front of yellow-black uniforms, moved in to sweep the perimeter of the room, while Smith permitted himself a quick glance at the opposite side of the broken door. He shuddered as he counted twelve padlocks, four bolts, and one chain.
They stepped over the piles of takeout boxes, the fallen stack of books lining the wall, stepped past the blackout covers guarding the windows, the three overflowing trashcans, the reams of illegible papers scribbled on in black ink, stepped through the lonely domain of a lost, afflicted soul.
The smoke was thick and the alarm bells were ringing something painful, but the shrieks cut through the cacophony, screams that were splitting with such an inhuman terror that even Johnson, 30-odd years on the force, couldn't sleep without hearing them ring in his ears.
Carpenter wrenched open the closet and a pair of arms lurched out from the darkness. Later it became apparent that the man had been holding onto the doorknob so tightly that the pull of the burly firefighter had dislocated his left shoulder.
Carpenter yelled in his ear, telling him they had to evacuate him, but the man pushed him away violently and recoiled like a spring to the back corner of the closet. Carpenter approached him again, pulling his ankle, and the man screamed and kicked rapidly, flailing incoherently.
The exhausted firefighters struggled to lift him onto their backs - they resorted to each grabbing a limb and heaving him through the door. Smith noted the deep gashes on the man's cheeks, and the bruised skin under his dark fingernails; disoriented scratching, no doubt from fear.
By the time they got him on a dolly and rushed him to an ambulance he could not speak, having destroyed his vocal chords.
His skin was near-translucent from vitamin-D deficiency, and he had deep lines ringing his eyes. He had no identification on him, and none of the neighbors gathered outside knew his name. | The abyss is there to swallow me whole. Blue death crashing against the hull, ready at a moment's notice to drag me under, down into the uncharted depths of hell. Brackish, murky, hell, with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.
Ripples on the surface, and nothing but darkness below. I cannot get away. I cannot run. I am at the mercy of its tides. It's *everywhere*, I cannot see to safety. Miles and miles under the surface, this pit is going to eat me whole.
I cannot breathe. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller. It's infiltrating my mind! It's infiltrating my body! I cannot catch my breathe, and I feel like I am dying. I pray I never know the depths, of the brackish, hellish sea. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | How can so many legs move at once, and so quickly?!
The centipede was dead center of my living room. Light shone from the lamp on the opposite end of the room, casting a shadow towards me. The light had frightened the centipede from its activities in the dark and now it scurried frantically, searching for darkness. It paused. I'm standing in the darkest part of the room...
I throw my hands up and scream as it charges towards me. Turning, I bang into the door-frame (I swear I was more in the room) and fall to the ground. When I get up, I don't see it. I have no idea where that little spinally demon spawn went. Every fiber of clothing felt like it could be it. The brief brushes as I twisted and checked each inch my eyes could reach. I tried to calm down. Every hair on my body was standing up and it felt like a hundred ants were playing hide and seek with each other and my body was the playground.
I couldn't stand it, so I had to take a shower. If it was anywhere on me, the water would blast it off and drown that little bastard. It was difficult to do though. I couldn't shower while alone in the house. Even with the doors locked, and I knew they were locked, I couldn't help imagining someone walking in. The sound of the shower is deafening while inside. An escape for normal people, a peaceful refuge, until you're stuck in a corner while a murderous psychopath opens the door and greets you with a knife.
Maybe they don't even bother going in, maybe they just waited around the house. Looked at some pictures, watched some TV, saw what kind of clothes you keep in your closet. Maybe then, they just leave and you have no freaking idea that they were ever inside. How do you know though? I could open the door to my bathroom and see a nice wicked smile ready to send me hell before I go to heaven. At least if someone was home, I could hear a scream.
Ugh... But this feeling. The pricking, tingling, tickling, feeling of nonsensical legs joyriding across my body. It was too much, I had to dive in and get this shower over with.
Nothing was in the drain, and nothing came off of me. It was such a relief. I was thorough too, so there's no way in hell that critter was still anywhere on me. When I was finished, I walked over to the sink and put on some facial cleanser. After washing it off and drying with my towel, I felt something fuzzy on my brow. It moved. It moved down along my cheek, next to my lips, before running down my neck.
I died. Dead, gone. | The abyss is there to swallow me whole. Blue death crashing against the hull, ready at a moment's notice to drag me under, down into the uncharted depths of hell. Brackish, murky, hell, with creatures that could swallow a ship whole.
Ripples on the surface, and nothing but darkness below. I cannot get away. I cannot run. I am at the mercy of its tides. It's *everywhere*, I cannot see to safety. Miles and miles under the surface, this pit is going to eat me whole.
I cannot breathe. My lungs are getting smaller and smaller. It's infiltrating my mind! It's infiltrating my body! I cannot catch my breathe, and I feel like I am dying. I pray I never know the depths, of the brackish, hellish sea. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| Well, that's how it goes, is it not? It's sharp and thin, an empty feeling on me as if the moment it comes down i'll pop like a balloon.
There's a strange spot between your neck and your collarbone. It's where you generally get hickeys (because i'd know, right?). Anyways, it generally feels more hollow than not. If you just put a finger over it without pressing it feels uncomfortable. Like a knife to open up your body.
Except now it's an actual knife. The worst part is it's not a slash like you'd expect, but rather just hanging from a thread. I can't move, but it jerks slightly and drags *ever so slightly*. It's a pointed tip, but it practically feels smooth on how perfectly placed it is. It drags more like if someone had a q-tip over your skin than something hard and sharp.
I'm tempted to say it tickles. But that wouldn't do it justice. Every muscle in my body is tightened up. I've needed to pee for five hours now. I've wanted to shiver for more, but everything's shut down.
Cold. I can only see a glint of it on the corner of my eye, my head tied down to the left side. It shines into vision if the stars are just right.
The string raises for a moment.
Then snaps. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | Well, that's how it goes, is it not? It's sharp and thin, an empty feeling on me as if the moment it comes down i'll pop like a balloon.
There's a strange spot between your neck and your collarbone. It's where you generally get hickeys (because i'd know, right?). Anyways, it generally feels more hollow than not. If you just put a finger over it without pressing it feels uncomfortable. Like a knife to open up your body.
Except now it's an actual knife. The worst part is it's not a slash like you'd expect, but rather just hanging from a thread. I can't move, but it jerks slightly and drags *ever so slightly*. It's a pointed tip, but it practically feels smooth on how perfectly placed it is. It drags more like if someone had a q-tip over your skin than something hard and sharp.
I'm tempted to say it tickles. But that wouldn't do it justice. Every muscle in my body is tightened up. I've needed to pee for five hours now. I've wanted to shiver for more, but everything's shut down.
Cold. I can only see a glint of it on the corner of my eye, my head tied down to the left side. It shines into vision if the stars are just right.
The string raises for a moment.
Then snaps. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | They found him sobbing in a closet.
All the other apartments had been evacuated, only 409b left. The door was locked, and it took more than the usual 5 swings with the axe to break it down. Johnson and Carpenter, names stitched onto the front of yellow-black uniforms, moved in to sweep the perimeter of the room, while Smith permitted himself a quick glance at the opposite side of the broken door. He shuddered as he counted twelve padlocks, four bolts, and one chain.
They stepped over the piles of takeout boxes, the fallen stack of books lining the wall, stepped past the blackout covers guarding the windows, the three overflowing trashcans, the reams of illegible papers scribbled on in black ink, stepped through the lonely domain of a lost, afflicted soul.
The smoke was thick and the alarm bells were ringing something painful, but the shrieks cut through the cacophony, screams that were splitting with such an inhuman terror that even Johnson, 30-odd years on the force, couldn't sleep without hearing them ring in his ears.
Carpenter wrenched open the closet and a pair of arms lurched out from the darkness. Later it became apparent that the man had been holding onto the doorknob so tightly that the pull of the burly firefighter had dislocated his left shoulder.
Carpenter yelled in his ear, telling him they had to evacuate him, but the man pushed him away violently and recoiled like a spring to the back corner of the closet. Carpenter approached him again, pulling his ankle, and the man screamed and kicked rapidly, flailing incoherently.
The exhausted firefighters struggled to lift him onto their backs - they resorted to each grabbing a limb and heaving him through the door. Smith noted the deep gashes on the man's cheeks, and the bruised skin under his dark fingernails; disoriented scratching, no doubt from fear.
By the time they got him on a dolly and rushed him to an ambulance he could not speak, having destroyed his vocal chords.
His skin was near-translucent from vitamin-D deficiency, and he had deep lines ringing his eyes. He had no identification on him, and none of the neighbors gathered outside knew his name. | Well, that's how it goes, is it not? It's sharp and thin, an empty feeling on me as if the moment it comes down i'll pop like a balloon.
There's a strange spot between your neck and your collarbone. It's where you generally get hickeys (because i'd know, right?). Anyways, it generally feels more hollow than not. If you just put a finger over it without pressing it feels uncomfortable. Like a knife to open up your body.
Except now it's an actual knife. The worst part is it's not a slash like you'd expect, but rather just hanging from a thread. I can't move, but it jerks slightly and drags *ever so slightly*. It's a pointed tip, but it practically feels smooth on how perfectly placed it is. It drags more like if someone had a q-tip over your skin than something hard and sharp.
I'm tempted to say it tickles. But that wouldn't do it justice. Every muscle in my body is tightened up. I've needed to pee for five hours now. I've wanted to shiver for more, but everything's shut down.
Cold. I can only see a glint of it on the corner of my eye, my head tied down to the left side. It shines into vision if the stars are just right.
The string raises for a moment.
Then snaps. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| I hate camping. I loathe it. My insomnia creeps from underneath its mossy lodgings and rests itself by my head. My friends are all deep asleep, dreaming of wonderful things, of summer days and picnics. I'm here stuck in this sightless reality. From my sleeping bag I can only see the clouds and hear their snores, all melding together into the starless night.
I am the only conscious person here for miles. Miles. And yet, I sense...things. Whispers. Saturated shadows at the edges of my vision. Sometimes they move. I dart up, goosebumps all along my skin, and my ears throb with the sound of pumping blood. And I hear nothing. Why is it so quiet? I thought they were snoring. I can't hear my friends, what's going on?
I turn to my sides...and I can't see them. The silhouette of my hand dances before my face in cloud-shaded moonlight. I can feel the ground and silt below me. The wind blows steadily, tickling my hands with blades of grass. But I can't see anything. I can't see. The darkness thickens, gnawing away the world around me.
*John.*
I bite down hard on my lip, feeling the tremors dance along my limbs.
*John, talk to us. John.*
I can feel it slide between my ears. My heart thumps heavy. *Th-dum...th-dum...th-dum...*
It's just my imagination. We're safe. These are well-known campgrounds. I feel a hand caress my thigh.
"Fuck," I pant, twisting around wildly in my bag, my clothes now sweat-drenched. And there's no one there. Everyone's gone...everyone's gone! Where is everyone?!
Deep breaths. Come on, calm down. How old are you? Come on. Just take deep breaths...
Where did those faces come from...In the bushes...in the trees...faces smiling at me...and staring...no eyes...I'm all alone...
I close my eyes and feel a thousand cold hands fall upon me.
***
I blearily open my eyes to sunlight streaking across the camp grounds. Ben yawns, waves lazily to me.
"That sleep was great. How'd you sleep, man? You were making some strange noises last night."
I hate camping.
|
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | I hate camping. I loathe it. My insomnia creeps from underneath its mossy lodgings and rests itself by my head. My friends are all deep asleep, dreaming of wonderful things, of summer days and picnics. I'm here stuck in this sightless reality. From my sleeping bag I can only see the clouds and hear their snores, all melding together into the starless night.
I am the only conscious person here for miles. Miles. And yet, I sense...things. Whispers. Saturated shadows at the edges of my vision. Sometimes they move. I dart up, goosebumps all along my skin, and my ears throb with the sound of pumping blood. And I hear nothing. Why is it so quiet? I thought they were snoring. I can't hear my friends, what's going on?
I turn to my sides...and I can't see them. The silhouette of my hand dances before my face in cloud-shaded moonlight. I can feel the ground and silt below me. The wind blows steadily, tickling my hands with blades of grass. But I can't see anything. I can't see. The darkness thickens, gnawing away the world around me.
*John.*
I bite down hard on my lip, feeling the tremors dance along my limbs.
*John, talk to us. John.*
I can feel it slide between my ears. My heart thumps heavy. *Th-dum...th-dum...th-dum...*
It's just my imagination. We're safe. These are well-known campgrounds. I feel a hand caress my thigh.
"Fuck," I pant, twisting around wildly in my bag, my clothes now sweat-drenched. And there's no one there. Everyone's gone...everyone's gone! Where is everyone?!
Deep breaths. Come on, calm down. How old are you? Come on. Just take deep breaths...
Where did those faces come from...In the bushes...in the trees...faces smiling at me...and staring...no eyes...I'm all alone...
I close my eyes and feel a thousand cold hands fall upon me.
***
I blearily open my eyes to sunlight streaking across the camp grounds. Ben yawns, waves lazily to me.
"That sleep was great. How'd you sleep, man? You were making some strange noises last night."
I hate camping.
|
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | They found him sobbing in a closet.
All the other apartments had been evacuated, only 409b left. The door was locked, and it took more than the usual 5 swings with the axe to break it down. Johnson and Carpenter, names stitched onto the front of yellow-black uniforms, moved in to sweep the perimeter of the room, while Smith permitted himself a quick glance at the opposite side of the broken door. He shuddered as he counted twelve padlocks, four bolts, and one chain.
They stepped over the piles of takeout boxes, the fallen stack of books lining the wall, stepped past the blackout covers guarding the windows, the three overflowing trashcans, the reams of illegible papers scribbled on in black ink, stepped through the lonely domain of a lost, afflicted soul.
The smoke was thick and the alarm bells were ringing something painful, but the shrieks cut through the cacophony, screams that were splitting with such an inhuman terror that even Johnson, 30-odd years on the force, couldn't sleep without hearing them ring in his ears.
Carpenter wrenched open the closet and a pair of arms lurched out from the darkness. Later it became apparent that the man had been holding onto the doorknob so tightly that the pull of the burly firefighter had dislocated his left shoulder.
Carpenter yelled in his ear, telling him they had to evacuate him, but the man pushed him away violently and recoiled like a spring to the back corner of the closet. Carpenter approached him again, pulling his ankle, and the man screamed and kicked rapidly, flailing incoherently.
The exhausted firefighters struggled to lift him onto their backs - they resorted to each grabbing a limb and heaving him through the door. Smith noted the deep gashes on the man's cheeks, and the bruised skin under his dark fingernails; disoriented scratching, no doubt from fear.
By the time they got him on a dolly and rushed him to an ambulance he could not speak, having destroyed his vocal chords.
His skin was near-translucent from vitamin-D deficiency, and he had deep lines ringing his eyes. He had no identification on him, and none of the neighbors gathered outside knew his name. | I hate camping. I loathe it. My insomnia creeps from underneath its mossy lodgings and rests itself by my head. My friends are all deep asleep, dreaming of wonderful things, of summer days and picnics. I'm here stuck in this sightless reality. From my sleeping bag I can only see the clouds and hear their snores, all melding together into the starless night.
I am the only conscious person here for miles. Miles. And yet, I sense...things. Whispers. Saturated shadows at the edges of my vision. Sometimes they move. I dart up, goosebumps all along my skin, and my ears throb with the sound of pumping blood. And I hear nothing. Why is it so quiet? I thought they were snoring. I can't hear my friends, what's going on?
I turn to my sides...and I can't see them. The silhouette of my hand dances before my face in cloud-shaded moonlight. I can feel the ground and silt below me. The wind blows steadily, tickling my hands with blades of grass. But I can't see anything. I can't see. The darkness thickens, gnawing away the world around me.
*John.*
I bite down hard on my lip, feeling the tremors dance along my limbs.
*John, talk to us. John.*
I can feel it slide between my ears. My heart thumps heavy. *Th-dum...th-dum...th-dum...*
It's just my imagination. We're safe. These are well-known campgrounds. I feel a hand caress my thigh.
"Fuck," I pant, twisting around wildly in my bag, my clothes now sweat-drenched. And there's no one there. Everyone's gone...everyone's gone! Where is everyone?!
Deep breaths. Come on, calm down. How old are you? Come on. Just take deep breaths...
Where did those faces come from...In the bushes...in the trees...faces smiling at me...and staring...no eyes...I'm all alone...
I close my eyes and feel a thousand cold hands fall upon me.
***
I blearily open my eyes to sunlight streaking across the camp grounds. Ben yawns, waves lazily to me.
"That sleep was great. How'd you sleep, man? You were making some strange noises last night."
I hate camping.
|
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| Today was supposed to be the day, where I could see myself facing against them. And they came back. I see them every day, every night, always lurking around the corner, waiting for me to set my guard down.
They appear with different forms at specific times, but they are never without eyes, a giant set of eyes seeing through me, always. I can't get away from them, those eyes, those damn eyes. They are always watching me, judging me, giving me orders. I hate them, I want them gone.
Why are they never gone?
Those eyes, the different colors, the different shapes, even in my sleep I see them. Today was supposed to be the day, where I could see myself facing against them, and they came back, watching me from afar. From the ground below, always watching every move.
You want me, do you? Alright, i'll go with you, with a jump.
(On the spot: Ophthalmophobia, the fear of being watched) |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | Today was supposed to be the day, where I could see myself facing against them. And they came back. I see them every day, every night, always lurking around the corner, waiting for me to set my guard down.
They appear with different forms at specific times, but they are never without eyes, a giant set of eyes seeing through me, always. I can't get away from them, those eyes, those damn eyes. They are always watching me, judging me, giving me orders. I hate them, I want them gone.
Why are they never gone?
Those eyes, the different colors, the different shapes, even in my sleep I see them. Today was supposed to be the day, where I could see myself facing against them, and they came back, watching me from afar. From the ground below, always watching every move.
You want me, do you? Alright, i'll go with you, with a jump.
(On the spot: Ophthalmophobia, the fear of being watched) |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | They found him sobbing in a closet.
All the other apartments had been evacuated, only 409b left. The door was locked, and it took more than the usual 5 swings with the axe to break it down. Johnson and Carpenter, names stitched onto the front of yellow-black uniforms, moved in to sweep the perimeter of the room, while Smith permitted himself a quick glance at the opposite side of the broken door. He shuddered as he counted twelve padlocks, four bolts, and one chain.
They stepped over the piles of takeout boxes, the fallen stack of books lining the wall, stepped past the blackout covers guarding the windows, the three overflowing trashcans, the reams of illegible papers scribbled on in black ink, stepped through the lonely domain of a lost, afflicted soul.
The smoke was thick and the alarm bells were ringing something painful, but the shrieks cut through the cacophony, screams that were splitting with such an inhuman terror that even Johnson, 30-odd years on the force, couldn't sleep without hearing them ring in his ears.
Carpenter wrenched open the closet and a pair of arms lurched out from the darkness. Later it became apparent that the man had been holding onto the doorknob so tightly that the pull of the burly firefighter had dislocated his left shoulder.
Carpenter yelled in his ear, telling him they had to evacuate him, but the man pushed him away violently and recoiled like a spring to the back corner of the closet. Carpenter approached him again, pulling his ankle, and the man screamed and kicked rapidly, flailing incoherently.
The exhausted firefighters struggled to lift him onto their backs - they resorted to each grabbing a limb and heaving him through the door. Smith noted the deep gashes on the man's cheeks, and the bruised skin under his dark fingernails; disoriented scratching, no doubt from fear.
By the time they got him on a dolly and rushed him to an ambulance he could not speak, having destroyed his vocal chords.
His skin was near-translucent from vitamin-D deficiency, and he had deep lines ringing his eyes. He had no identification on him, and none of the neighbors gathered outside knew his name. | Today was supposed to be the day, where I could see myself facing against them. And they came back. I see them every day, every night, always lurking around the corner, waiting for me to set my guard down.
They appear with different forms at specific times, but they are never without eyes, a giant set of eyes seeing through me, always. I can't get away from them, those eyes, those damn eyes. They are always watching me, judging me, giving me orders. I hate them, I want them gone.
Why are they never gone?
Those eyes, the different colors, the different shapes, even in my sleep I see them. Today was supposed to be the day, where I could see myself facing against them, and they came back, watching me from afar. From the ground below, always watching every move.
You want me, do you? Alright, i'll go with you, with a jump.
(On the spot: Ophthalmophobia, the fear of being watched) |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| Bees. More specifically bee nests. Those gray or brown orbs that spew hundreds of thousands of the stinging insects at the slightest provocation. Demonic murderballs, I call them.
How could nature be so devious to come up with such a creation? A structure that is at once an impressive feat of natural engineering and also a source of abject terror. The mere sight of one, even in a picture, is enough to make one's hair stand on end. The fact that they can be found anywhere--under an eve, hanging from a tree branch, inside the walls of a house, tucked into a little out of the way cranny, or even inside the joint of a car door, as I discovered to my horror one summer--only adds to their fear element.
But it's not just the sight of a nest that is bad, it's the feeling one gets on seeing or thinking of one. That paranoia that the molding under your cupboards might house a nest, or that one could be built on anything that is not in your direct line of sight. Just putting one's legs under a table is enough to make one afraid that they'll jar an unseen nest, releasing a torrent of angry wasps. Or worse, that a nest has been constructed affixed to one of your limbs without you being aware of it; it's not there, really, but you can feel its presence, the texture of the paper shell, hanging from you...
And here I sit, too afraid to move, afraid that I will pull apart the nest that is attached to my leg and the underside of my desk. All because I decided to share with you my phobia. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | Bees. More specifically bee nests. Those gray or brown orbs that spew hundreds of thousands of the stinging insects at the slightest provocation. Demonic murderballs, I call them.
How could nature be so devious to come up with such a creation? A structure that is at once an impressive feat of natural engineering and also a source of abject terror. The mere sight of one, even in a picture, is enough to make one's hair stand on end. The fact that they can be found anywhere--under an eve, hanging from a tree branch, inside the walls of a house, tucked into a little out of the way cranny, or even inside the joint of a car door, as I discovered to my horror one summer--only adds to their fear element.
But it's not just the sight of a nest that is bad, it's the feeling one gets on seeing or thinking of one. That paranoia that the molding under your cupboards might house a nest, or that one could be built on anything that is not in your direct line of sight. Just putting one's legs under a table is enough to make one afraid that they'll jar an unseen nest, releasing a torrent of angry wasps. Or worse, that a nest has been constructed affixed to one of your limbs without you being aware of it; it's not there, really, but you can feel its presence, the texture of the paper shell, hanging from you...
And here I sit, too afraid to move, afraid that I will pull apart the nest that is attached to my leg and the underside of my desk. All because I decided to share with you my phobia. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| I let it all out. Although I preferred to hold it in until I got home instead of using the outhouse, it still felt really good to finally let it out. I only wish I had done it in the middle of the day. I do often get paranoid at night, and walking 70 feet away from the cabin didn't exactly help that, especially when it's all to sit in a one square meter toilet. I finally got up and finished up. I went to open the door.
It won't budge. Did I lock it? No, there's no lock. I tried again. It still wont budge. Did someone put something in front of the door? Was this some sort of prank?
"He-hello?"
No answer. Don't tell me the door got stuck. Don't panic! That's the most important thing. I need to keep a cool head, no matter what. At least that's what i thought. I push the door once more. Am I going to spend the whole night out here? One more push. I can't get it open no matter what. I start walking in circles right when I hit the wall. I can't really walk in here. Or lie down for that matter. My stomach slowly starts twisting. I can feel it, and try to untwist it. I back up a little, but hit the wall again. I move away from the wall and hit the door instantly.
I CAN'T MOVE AT ALL!
I throw myself at the door in a desperate attempt to get out of this imprisoned hell, but it still won't even budge. My eyes start overflowing. "HELP!" I scream to no avail. Everyone's inside the cabin sleeping. I back away from the door, but the wall hit me instantly. Why can't I move!? Why does it feel like I'm growing!? The walls get smaller and smaller as I continue to grow. My limbs become more and more crippled as I make a desperate attempt at flailing them around.
"HEEEEEEELP!" Still no answer!
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..." I lose all control over my voice as my stomach unleashes hell. I open the toilet to vomit, but the smell makes me even more nauseous. My eyes won't stop crying either.
I'll have to spend the rest of the night here.
Edit: Fixed paragraphs |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | I let it all out. Although I preferred to hold it in until I got home instead of using the outhouse, it still felt really good to finally let it out. I only wish I had done it in the middle of the day. I do often get paranoid at night, and walking 70 feet away from the cabin didn't exactly help that, especially when it's all to sit in a one square meter toilet. I finally got up and finished up. I went to open the door.
It won't budge. Did I lock it? No, there's no lock. I tried again. It still wont budge. Did someone put something in front of the door? Was this some sort of prank?
"He-hello?"
No answer. Don't tell me the door got stuck. Don't panic! That's the most important thing. I need to keep a cool head, no matter what. At least that's what i thought. I push the door once more. Am I going to spend the whole night out here? One more push. I can't get it open no matter what. I start walking in circles right when I hit the wall. I can't really walk in here. Or lie down for that matter. My stomach slowly starts twisting. I can feel it, and try to untwist it. I back up a little, but hit the wall again. I move away from the wall and hit the door instantly.
I CAN'T MOVE AT ALL!
I throw myself at the door in a desperate attempt to get out of this imprisoned hell, but it still won't even budge. My eyes start overflowing. "HELP!" I scream to no avail. Everyone's inside the cabin sleeping. I back away from the door, but the wall hit me instantly. Why can't I move!? Why does it feel like I'm growing!? The walls get smaller and smaller as I continue to grow. My limbs become more and more crippled as I make a desperate attempt at flailing them around.
"HEEEEEEELP!" Still no answer!
"HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..." I lose all control over my voice as my stomach unleashes hell. I open the toilet to vomit, but the smell makes me even more nauseous. My eyes won't stop crying either.
I'll have to spend the rest of the night here.
Edit: Fixed paragraphs |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| I feel it, always, watching me. It's black, beedy, soulless eyes unmoving.
Yet I've never seen *it.* That's the part that bothers me. Everybody hates that feeling of being watched that you just can't shake. You feel it behind you but you, but you look and it's not there. The feeling that makes you walk just a bit faster, turn the lights a little brighter or the music a little louder.
I can manage it when I'm not alone. It's still watching, but I feel safer in company, somehow.
But times like now, when I'm sitting alone, there's no shaking it. I'm getting more terrified every moment. I keep looking up at the window every few seconds to check if it's there. I keep opening the curtains and closing them again, I can't decide which is worse.
You know, it would help if my back wasn't facing a doorway. I should move. But what if it's behind me already? God, this is ridiculous -- my hands are shaking.
Wait -- what was that noise?
It's just the cat. It's just the cat. Please just be the cat.
I'm thirsty but at this point I can't even swallow. I should move my chair.. I can't. I just can't move. I can't believe myself sometimes.
The cat's outside.
*Pit-pat.*
*Pit-pat.*
*Pit-pat.*
Oh god, oh god..
***QUACK QUACK!***
NO! NO! SOMEONE HELP! THE DUCK -- THE DUCK--
--
*Weeks later, police found Arick Daniels dead in his home, covered in small unidentified bite marks. Some long white feathers were found at the scene, but no other evidence indicating the cause of death.*
|
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | I feel it, always, watching me. It's black, beedy, soulless eyes unmoving.
Yet I've never seen *it.* That's the part that bothers me. Everybody hates that feeling of being watched that you just can't shake. You feel it behind you but you, but you look and it's not there. The feeling that makes you walk just a bit faster, turn the lights a little brighter or the music a little louder.
I can manage it when I'm not alone. It's still watching, but I feel safer in company, somehow.
But times like now, when I'm sitting alone, there's no shaking it. I'm getting more terrified every moment. I keep looking up at the window every few seconds to check if it's there. I keep opening the curtains and closing them again, I can't decide which is worse.
You know, it would help if my back wasn't facing a doorway. I should move. But what if it's behind me already? God, this is ridiculous -- my hands are shaking.
Wait -- what was that noise?
It's just the cat. It's just the cat. Please just be the cat.
I'm thirsty but at this point I can't even swallow. I should move my chair.. I can't. I just can't move. I can't believe myself sometimes.
The cat's outside.
*Pit-pat.*
*Pit-pat.*
*Pit-pat.*
Oh god, oh god..
***QUACK QUACK!***
NO! NO! SOMEONE HELP! THE DUCK -- THE DUCK--
--
*Weeks later, police found Arick Daniels dead in his home, covered in small unidentified bite marks. Some long white feathers were found at the scene, but no other evidence indicating the cause of death.*
|
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| *Please don't let me fly away*
*Please dont let me fly away*
*Please don't let me fly away*
Grab the gate, grab the gate, GRAB THE GATE!
OK....ok...the cold metal feels good against my palms. If I hold on to this gate I know I'll be fine.
*Sir, are you ok? The library's closed for the day but it'll be open again tomo...*
*I'M FINE. THANK YOU.*
Why can't people just mind their own dam business. I can't even walk around the block without being hassled. I swear this city's too cramped.
Cramped...
No no no no no no. I'm holding the gate I should be fine. No please... please don't crush me... I need to get indoors, NOW.
*DAMMIT*
I can't move. Maybe I should climb the fence. If I stay out here I'll get crushed...but if I climb.... I might float away.
*Aauuurghhhh*
Why is there no winning? I'm stuck between a giant rock and infinite emptiness, secured and tormented by some invisible force. How can I trust something that can betray me at any moment?
Fly? Get crushed? I just want to rest. I wanna be able to do anything, go anywhere without having t.....no....not again.....
Grab the gate, grab the gate, GRAB THE GATE! |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | *Please don't let me fly away*
*Please dont let me fly away*
*Please don't let me fly away*
Grab the gate, grab the gate, GRAB THE GATE!
OK....ok...the cold metal feels good against my palms. If I hold on to this gate I know I'll be fine.
*Sir, are you ok? The library's closed for the day but it'll be open again tomo...*
*I'M FINE. THANK YOU.*
Why can't people just mind their own dam business. I can't even walk around the block without being hassled. I swear this city's too cramped.
Cramped...
No no no no no no. I'm holding the gate I should be fine. No please... please don't crush me... I need to get indoors, NOW.
*DAMMIT*
I can't move. Maybe I should climb the fence. If I stay out here I'll get crushed...but if I climb.... I might float away.
*Aauuurghhhh*
Why is there no winning? I'm stuck between a giant rock and infinite emptiness, secured and tormented by some invisible force. How can I trust something that can betray me at any moment?
Fly? Get crushed? I just want to rest. I wanna be able to do anything, go anywhere without having t.....no....not again.....
Grab the gate, grab the gate, GRAB THE GATE! |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| I cant go on... The edge is pulling me nearer. I grasp the stone walls either side of me in hopes of steadying myself. No good. I Lie back place as much of myself on the floor as possible as much of myself solidly on the ground with no chance of falling.
The others notice. "What are you doing we cant stop here". Its no use my vision is turning distorting it the wall separating the edge is becoming a slope its all leaning pulling me closer. I close my eyes and think of being on the ground so very far below, green grass and tall trees with me at the bottom of it all.
I open my eyes, I cant sit up let alone stand without feeling dizzy, far too dizzy. Just a meter away separated by nothing but a bit of stone is the fall, the edge and its pulling me to it.
I pass out. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | I cant go on... The edge is pulling me nearer. I grasp the stone walls either side of me in hopes of steadying myself. No good. I Lie back place as much of myself on the floor as possible as much of myself solidly on the ground with no chance of falling.
The others notice. "What are you doing we cant stop here". Its no use my vision is turning distorting it the wall separating the edge is becoming a slope its all leaning pulling me closer. I close my eyes and think of being on the ground so very far below, green grass and tall trees with me at the bottom of it all.
I open my eyes, I cant sit up let alone stand without feeling dizzy, far too dizzy. Just a meter away separated by nothing but a bit of stone is the fall, the edge and its pulling me to it.
I pass out. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | How long has it been.
One, two. One, two.
Minutes, hours, days. The walls stretch forever.
One, two. One, two.
Maybe I should turn back. I haven't gone that far...
One... Two...
Will I walk here forever? Down this narrow passage. I will never see my family, friends, anyone. I am alone...
This is my life now.
Bye world...
Finally made to the end of the hallway. Man,
Im depressing. I will totally not think like that next time. Totally...
|
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | My name is Felicia and I am an autophobic. Yes, I am mortally afraid of isolation.
You would think that an airplane was the best place to be for a small girl like me. As the staff called each group, I was comforted by the press of warm bodies; the damp breath and perspiration of travelers moving toward their destinations, toward people awaiting their arrival, surrounded by wanted human beings, I felt embraced and a part of a bigger whole. I was one with the masses. We schooled toward our assigned seats, a conglomeration of humanity.
My seatmate was named James. We chatted about his children, his job, this trip to the twin cities to close a deal. James was a fine neighbor. I appreciated him and his journey through life at this time.
Looking at James’s headless torso, I found myself feeling queasy. I must have dozed off, because the last thing I remember I was telling James about my work. An impact woke me, my body slamming against my belt and the seat in front of me. When my breath returned, I looked around, clumsily and groggy, yet full of the adrenaline excitement of survival. The plane had come undone. James and several of those nearby me had impacted with some part of the plane. James was just missing his head. I could see the parts of his neck, bare and functional looking. Some of my cabin mates were not so lucky. There were some folks chopped right in two at the waist.
I became quickly aware that we were in the water. The plane was bobbing on the rolling expanse of Lake Michigan, if I was to guess. I didn’t know how far ashore we might be.
I unclipped my belt, and sloshed along through the knee-deep water to the aisle. Everyone I looked at was chopped apart or dead. I was beginning to feel scared and alone. I almost reached up to the overhead compartment out of habit, but remembered that my clothes and computer would do me no good on a sinking airplane.
The speech I’d blocked out hundreds of times came back to me. Repetition does breed memories, after all. In the case of a water landing, life jackets are under the seat. Well, here the fuck we are. I pardoned myself over James’s lifeless knees once again and unfastened my vest from its compartment.
Making my way to the exit row, I could see that nobody else had been through the emergency exit. I called out, remembering my compatriots. “Hello,” I called, “Hello! Is anyone here? Is anybody here? Do you need help?”
And – nothing. No labored breathing, no crying, no calm restrained replies. They were silent, and I knew they’d ride this aero carcass to the murky depths.
“It’s fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s going to be okay. There are more survivors. We’re going to get through this together.”
As I made my way out and across the wing, I saw a pilot or assistant pilot or somebody that must work in the front. He was nobody I’d notice in a bar, but at this point, who was I to deny human companionship? “Hello! Hey you there!” I called to this man I saw. He waved at me from his buoyancy device, bobbing near the plane, next to the open hatch that I’d entered with all the rest of those poor dead people. I was really glad to see this man. As I’ve mentioned, I have severe autophobia. I am so scared of being alone. I have tweeted about this for years. “Oh my god!” I yelled, “My phone, where the fuck is my phone?” I started back toward the hatch as new guy called to me. “No.” He said, “No, it’s going to sink!” I was working my way across the wing toward the portal where my phone would be in the seat back netting; I could connect to my people. I could call for help for us. We’d be rescued in no time, I was sure of it.
I was almost to the hatch when a large bubble train roared to the surface. I jumped back and landed right in the tepid Lake Michigan waters. The fuselage bucked and hawed, and blew water ten yards up into the air. I scrambled back away from the mess as best I could, wallowing at the top of the depths. The speed and violence that took the aircraft surprised me. There was a spitting and a bubbling and a spray that went so far above me, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me about it. My compatriot from the front of the plane was gone. Jesus, shit! This guy was just there. “Where are you?” I shrilled.
I swam through the foamy bubbles of the plane’s past, and thought if I made it to where the front of the plane was, I would find this guy, my connection. He was the last person in the world.
“Where are you?” I screamed. “Where are you?” I was losing the battle. The only other connection I had to the old world was gone. I was alone in a new reality. I lived in a cool water world with no solidity.
I could feel the blood in my ears. The ringing torture was replacing the wind and water noises that were my new reality. A high hum that was unbearable to focus upon.
“Alone.” I thought. “Shit, I’m just here and nobody knows. Shit! I’m alone. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die!”
“Oh God,”I thought. “Don’t let me die” I had made it through a crash unscathed. A crash that took the whole of the plane. Why didn’t I die? Why was I here? Goddammit!
“Here I am lost at fucking sea and not a soul to comfort or commiserate with.” I knew that I was really alone. This was it. I tried to control my breath. It came ragged and frantic, out of my control. This goddamn trip would be the end of me.
I could feel my pulse in my neck, racing, pounding. I was alone and that was going to kill me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said to the water I spit from my mouth, “We’re okay.”
“We’re gonna die!” I was panicking. “I’m Alone! This is it.”
My muscles were giving up, the cramps were coming. I felt my legs kicking like they’d never kicked. My arms swung through the green water. “I’m alone! I’m all alone!” I thought. I was alone. The plane was gone. All the plans of all those people were gone. It was all shit. That was all me, gone. Where were we? Who were we?
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I screamed, “Help!”
There was no reply, but my struggle continued. I yelled help, I yelled why? I yelled help again. I took in a mouthful of dirty lake water. “Ahh!” Spitting I struggled to the surface. “Where are they? Where are the others?”
It was just me. I was alone, I was left. They left me. The rescue wasn’t coming. It was me in the cool water. Just me. I’m so cold. Where are they? Why did they all die?
Another mouthful of water caught this time in the back of my throat. I am kicking with all my might, but where are they? Where are they?
Choking, I search up to the surface, and almost beyond my control, my dumb scared body inhales the air, which is not yet there, and the cool fishy waters of great lake Michigan move into the void left by panic and hope, comingled and tragic.
Goddamn, I had higher hopes for Felisha and this story. The Coast Guard was there minutes later. Fear of being alone. Shit, there is no alone in this world.
| Here comes that wave. You know the feeling. When the lights are off and the room is dark, it comes in waves. And the waves bring my fears and anxiety crashing down upon me. In the form of distorted Images.
Phantoms I've grown to know all to well. That distort the space around me. Until I have enough and cry out. And then they recede momentarily. But they will surely come again before the night is over. And In greater numbers.
The waves are harder the second time. As the phantoms always surround me. Each time, different in appearance. Some are menacing, while others are indistinguishable. They never speak. Just hover over and around me. Until I collapse, mumbling prayers to anyone who will listen so that they may go away.
They're a plague only I can see. Even If I shut my eyelids tight, they appear through the darkness in my head. I know when they come before they arrive. The symptoms are always the same. Flashes of light, in a darkened room with no light source. And a gut feeling in my core as my hairs stand on end.
Every time I rush to confront a member of them, they shift and change into something common or mundane. Like an article of clothing, or a hat. They wish to play me for a fool but I know they're there. They think they'll be the death of me.
But I'll catch one before this is over. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | I saw them, a group of them, walking down the road. I didn't recognize them at first, but once they got closer I could tell. The way they moved, the way they looked, the way the communicated. I could tell it was them. There were seven or eight of them, too many for me to possibly take on. I looked around me. No one else on the street seemed to notice the threat walking right past them. Right towards *me*.
Oh, no. One of them saw me. Now they're on to me. They know that I know what they are. I've got to run. I've got to run, but I can't get my legs to move. They're almost upon me now. Soon I won't be able to save myself. Need to move now. NOW!
I start sprinting away from them. I run until I think I'm safe. No, I can never be safe. Not while they're here. I've got to warn everyone. People need to be aware of the danger they're in. I begin running again. "THEY'RE COMING!!!" I yell. "THE BRITISH ARE COMING!!!"
(Anglophobia: Fear of English people) | Here comes that wave. You know the feeling. When the lights are off and the room is dark, it comes in waves. And the waves bring my fears and anxiety crashing down upon me. In the form of distorted Images.
Phantoms I've grown to know all to well. That distort the space around me. Until I have enough and cry out. And then they recede momentarily. But they will surely come again before the night is over. And In greater numbers.
The waves are harder the second time. As the phantoms always surround me. Each time, different in appearance. Some are menacing, while others are indistinguishable. They never speak. Just hover over and around me. Until I collapse, mumbling prayers to anyone who will listen so that they may go away.
They're a plague only I can see. Even If I shut my eyelids tight, they appear through the darkness in my head. I know when they come before they arrive. The symptoms are always the same. Flashes of light, in a darkened room with no light source. And a gut feeling in my core as my hairs stand on end.
Every time I rush to confront a member of them, they shift and change into something common or mundane. Like an article of clothing, or a hat. They wish to play me for a fool but I know they're there. They think they'll be the death of me.
But I'll catch one before this is over. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | They found him sobbing in a closet.
All the other apartments had been evacuated, only 409b left. The door was locked, and it took more than the usual 5 swings with the axe to break it down. Johnson and Carpenter, names stitched onto the front of yellow-black uniforms, moved in to sweep the perimeter of the room, while Smith permitted himself a quick glance at the opposite side of the broken door. He shuddered as he counted twelve padlocks, four bolts, and one chain.
They stepped over the piles of takeout boxes, the fallen stack of books lining the wall, stepped past the blackout covers guarding the windows, the three overflowing trashcans, the reams of illegible papers scribbled on in black ink, stepped through the lonely domain of a lost, afflicted soul.
The smoke was thick and the alarm bells were ringing something painful, but the shrieks cut through the cacophony, screams that were splitting with such an inhuman terror that even Johnson, 30-odd years on the force, couldn't sleep without hearing them ring in his ears.
Carpenter wrenched open the closet and a pair of arms lurched out from the darkness. Later it became apparent that the man had been holding onto the doorknob so tightly that the pull of the burly firefighter had dislocated his left shoulder.
Carpenter yelled in his ear, telling him they had to evacuate him, but the man pushed him away violently and recoiled like a spring to the back corner of the closet. Carpenter approached him again, pulling his ankle, and the man screamed and kicked rapidly, flailing incoherently.
The exhausted firefighters struggled to lift him onto their backs - they resorted to each grabbing a limb and heaving him through the door. Smith noted the deep gashes on the man's cheeks, and the bruised skin under his dark fingernails; disoriented scratching, no doubt from fear.
By the time they got him on a dolly and rushed him to an ambulance he could not speak, having destroyed his vocal chords.
His skin was near-translucent from vitamin-D deficiency, and he had deep lines ringing his eyes. He had no identification on him, and none of the neighbors gathered outside knew his name. | Here comes that wave. You know the feeling. When the lights are off and the room is dark, it comes in waves. And the waves bring my fears and anxiety crashing down upon me. In the form of distorted Images.
Phantoms I've grown to know all to well. That distort the space around me. Until I have enough and cry out. And then they recede momentarily. But they will surely come again before the night is over. And In greater numbers.
The waves are harder the second time. As the phantoms always surround me. Each time, different in appearance. Some are menacing, while others are indistinguishable. They never speak. Just hover over and around me. Until I collapse, mumbling prayers to anyone who will listen so that they may go away.
They're a plague only I can see. Even If I shut my eyelids tight, they appear through the darkness in my head. I know when they come before they arrive. The symptoms are always the same. Flashes of light, in a darkened room with no light source. And a gut feeling in my core as my hairs stand on end.
Every time I rush to confront a member of them, they shift and change into something common or mundane. Like an article of clothing, or a hat. They wish to play me for a fool but I know they're there. They think they'll be the death of me.
But I'll catch one before this is over. |
Claustrophobic, arachnophobia, acrophobia, nyctophobia, thalassophobia, monophobia and more at https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_phobias
Good luck! | [WP] Write about your protagonist experiencing a phobia so vividly that the reader feels that fear. (Common phobias in description) | They found him sobbing in a closet.
All the other apartments had been evacuated, only 409b left. The door was locked, and it took more than the usual 5 swings with the axe to break it down. Johnson and Carpenter, names stitched onto the front of yellow-black uniforms, moved in to sweep the perimeter of the room, while Smith permitted himself a quick glance at the opposite side of the broken door. He shuddered as he counted twelve padlocks, four bolts, and one chain.
They stepped over the piles of takeout boxes, the fallen stack of books lining the wall, stepped past the blackout covers guarding the windows, the three overflowing trashcans, the reams of illegible papers scribbled on in black ink, stepped through the lonely domain of a lost, afflicted soul.
The smoke was thick and the alarm bells were ringing something painful, but the shrieks cut through the cacophony, screams that were splitting with such an inhuman terror that even Johnson, 30-odd years on the force, couldn't sleep without hearing them ring in his ears.
Carpenter wrenched open the closet and a pair of arms lurched out from the darkness. Later it became apparent that the man had been holding onto the doorknob so tightly that the pull of the burly firefighter had dislocated his left shoulder.
Carpenter yelled in his ear, telling him they had to evacuate him, but the man pushed him away violently and recoiled like a spring to the back corner of the closet. Carpenter approached him again, pulling his ankle, and the man screamed and kicked rapidly, flailing incoherently.
The exhausted firefighters struggled to lift him onto their backs - they resorted to each grabbing a limb and heaving him through the door. Smith noted the deep gashes on the man's cheeks, and the bruised skin under his dark fingernails; disoriented scratching, no doubt from fear.
By the time they got him on a dolly and rushed him to an ambulance he could not speak, having destroyed his vocal chords.
His skin was near-translucent from vitamin-D deficiency, and he had deep lines ringing his eyes. He had no identification on him, and none of the neighbors gathered outside knew his name. | The walls are closing in. I can't breathe. I can't move. I can't feel. I can't think. I can imagine my body slowly being crushed into oblivion, little more than a smear on the floor. How can I live if I don't have room to move!?
I curl into a ball, trying to forget where I was. I try to forget the walls surrounding me. Trapping me in. Preventing me from ever again seeing the light of day.
All right, new plan. I should make myself as big as possible to not feel so small. I stretched out my arms and felt the walls. Immediately, a choking sensation came over me. The walls were so close, so near to me. I can't do this! My lungs begin to heave, drawing in air. I start to shake, curling into a ball once more. The walls are closing in.
|
[WP] You've got super strength, and though it's cliche it can come in handy. But hiding it is hard, especially when you only seem to be getting stronger. | The following is from our interview.
*What was your early life like?*
**Well, I was born in a little town in southwest Missouri called Galena. It was real quiet down there, not a whole lot to do. I had two older brothers, Ulysses III, born in '46, and David, born in '47. I was born in 1953 right on Christmas Day. Daddy always said I was a Christmas miracle, 'cuz I was born underweight and they didn't think I was gonna make it through the winter. But I did.**
*Did you have any other siblings?*
**Oh sure. George William was born in '55 and that was it for our family. We grew up pretty poor. I had two outfits as a girl. A dress for church and school and overalls. I always hated wearing dresses and wore the overalls every chance I had.**
*What was your family like?*
**Daddy was a hard workin' no nonsense man. I don't remember him smilin' but once in my life. Later in life I learned the word 'dour' and that was the word to describe him. He wasn't bad or mean, just quiet and serious. Ma was his opposite in every way. She always was singin' some hymn or folk song. She was always at home, no matter where she was.**
*What about your brothers?*
**Ulysses III was a real wild one. Neighbors used to say the devil had a hold of him and wouldn't let go. He left home at 16 and became a coal miner in Montana. A couple years later a cave in left him paralyzed from the waist down. I saw him once after that before he drank himself to death. He was only 24 when he died.**
*What about David?*
**David was the good one, we used to say. He was always so handsome and all the girls tried to get him to take notice. He moved to Kansas City and became a welder. He got married to a real nice girl and has three beautiful children.**
*And George?*
**George was different alright. He was real quiet and shy. He read mostly. When he grew up he went to college and became a real successful business man.**
*What were you like?*
**As a girl? Oh, not like the rest of the girls in town. They all wanted to wear dresses and talk about the boys. I hated dresses. And back then, I hated boys. So I always tagged along with David or George. We would pretend to be the outlaw Jesse James or Daniel Boone. I really enjoyed being Jesse James, it was much better than being a girl in Galena.**
*When did you first notice your gift?*
**When I was 13 and George was 11, there was a real nasty older boy in town. He was a year ahead of me in school and was always pickin' on the younger boys. Well one day, he goes after George, calling him all kinds of names and pushing him around. George was pretty small back then and he wasn't much for a fight. So he starts crying he's so angry. David and Ulysses were already gone so I knew I had to do *something*. So I hit that older boy right in the side and broke two of his ribs. I was scared that I was gonna get in trouble, but everyone knew what he was like, so there wasn't any trouble to come from that.**
*Did that start the fame?*
**In a manner of speaking, yes. It didn't get printed in the papers, but all around town, they talked about me. They always said I was a little different and now they had their proof, I suppose. Somebody said I was stronger than any of the boys in town. One older boy, he didn't like that. So he said he was gonna end the rumors right then and there with an arm wrestling match. I didn't want any more attention but he kept bugging me and pestering me so I finally caved and accepted. With the half the town watching, I beat him, but broke his wrist and his hand. I was so embarrassed I ran off.**
*What happened after that?*
**Well the whole town knew I was different and had seen how strong I was. They were all confused with this young girl who was stronger than anything they had seen, stronger than even the grown men. We became outcasts and left town just a few months later moving to the big city of St. Louis.**
*What did you think of St. Louis?*
**There was more people in my high school class than I had ever seen. But it worked out well. I stayed quiet and because I was a tomboy, I never got too much attention or notice for a while. But my junior year, I was 17 so it would have been... 1970, my junior year George was 15. He was getting picked on again, this time by some seniors. The leader was the linebacker for our school and was All-State two years in a row. He was a big ole' boy. Well when I saw them hittin' George I lost my temper. I hit that linebacker right in the mouth and broke his jaw easy. He was out for the year but everyone took notice of me again.**
*Did you get in trouble for that?*
**Oh yeah. I was kicked out of school for two weeks and had to apologize to the boy. They wanted to kick me out of that school but the weightlifting coach said he could 'channel my aggression' into something more positive. So he signed me up for weightlifting.**
*How did you do in that?*
**I set every record for women in the state. They couldn't find a weight I couldn't lift. That brought a lot of attention to me. From colleges to the Guinness Records people. Everybody wanted to see how strong I was. I became a sensation over night.**
*You said in your biography that you were overwhelmed by the fame and fortune you earned early on. How so?*
**Well I had never seen a lot of money growing up and I was suddenly earning hundreds of thousands of dollars performing. I was living the high life and spending it that money fast as I could. Mostly on liquor and drugs.**
*Why was it so difficult for you?*
**Well, the fame went to my head quickly. And I received hundreds of marriage proposals and love letters and few indecent proposals. I had never even kissed a boy yet and I was being asked by magazines to pose nude for them. It was something I wasn't ready for.**
*Most people dream for such attention and recognition.*
**Sure. But the reality is claustrophobic. And awkward. I was on a late night show during that period and met a famous Hollywood actor who I used to dream about. And after I lifted a Volkswagen Bus above my head, I heard him say from off-stage that I was a freak. I almost dropped the bus I was so embarrassed.**
*Did you ever engage with anyone romantically?*
**No... well, once I kissed a man when I was 23. We had gone on a few dates and things were going well. After the last date, he leaned in to kiss me and because I had never kissed before, I hesitated before leaning into the kiss real hard. I ended up knocking out seven of his teeth. He didn't call me again.**
*You said you were addicted to alcohol and drugs for about a decade. How did you get started in that addiction?*
**I performed at a concert-festival type thing outside Atlanta in '77. I was 24, and that was just a few months after I hurt that man kissing him and a year after that actor called me a freak. I was depressed, certain that I was indeed some sort of monster. So after my set, I started drinking. Some small time band was getting ready to go on and their guitarist was by himself getting ready to shoot. I asked him why he was doing that and he said it helps, that he didn't like to feeling so much. And I knew what he meant. After his set, I asked him to do me. I broke three needles my first time and we had to find more but when we did, I finally dosed. And I was hooked on feeling less.**
*And you maintained this addiction for a decade?*
**Just shy. I was on and off from '77 through '86. And... well, you know what happened in '86.**
*What was the best moment of your career?*
**In 1978, I was in New York City for the first time. A friend told me about this band and this place for people that didn't fit in. So I went to CBGB's and saw the Blondie. And I had never seen anything like it. It was so different, this liberated, beautiful woman with a harem of men. It was as though she were living a better version of my life. I became a fan right then and there. A couple years later, I ran into Debbie Harry and was star struck. I was sputtering something about how much I liked her music when she asked *me* for an autograph, saying she was a huge fan of mine. She told me she had watched all of my events and wore a t-shirt of me on stage sometimes.**
*What happened in 1986?*
**That question. I ask myself that question a lot. Truth is, my fame was waning, people weren't as interested in me as they had been for a while. Tabloids were saying I had become a nasty, mean addict and nobody would be sorry if I died. Which is true. I was coming apart at the seams. A decade of addiction was catching up to me, the money was slowing down, the events were less frequent, and I was more depressed than ever before. At my last event, I was completely out of my mind. A couple of men were heckling me, calling me nasty names. I had dealt with that at most of my events. A lot of men would shout inappropriate or derogatory comments at me, but for some reason that day... I just snapped. And threw a car at them. Fortunately I didn't hit anybody else, which is about the only good that came from that moment. It's one thing to lose control of yourself. But when I snapped... well... I certainly regret it. I mean... I would trade all the good, all the fun, all the high-times just to erase that one day.** | When I was escorted to Miss Little's cell, I was certain there had been some misunderstanding. The fabled superwoman looked as though she would have trouble lifting a gallon of milk, much less performing the feats of strength that captured our attention years ago.
I whispered to the warden if this were the correct cell.
A wry laugh escaped form the warden's lips. "Not what you expected?"
Not at all. The warden offered me a demonstration, but I declined, eager to start the interview. Although I insisted on a private interview, the warden informed me that wouldn't be an option.
"With her power and history..."
I nodded my understanding and the warden allowed me entrance to Miss Little's cell.
Her cell, in an isolated section of the prison, reminded me of something from science fiction. I noted the matted grey material lining her cell.
"Graphene," the warden answered.
Weren't diamonds harder?
"Taxpayers would love to hear about a mass murderer's diamond cell."
Fair enough, I thought.
The warden excused herself and exited the cell, attending to other business. I smiled and introduced myself to Miss Little, offering my hand. She smiled ruefully and informed me that if she were to shake my hand, I could kiss my arm goodbye.
During the hour I was allowed to spend with Miss Little, I found her to be charming yet blunt, refined with bits of rural Midwestern attitudes and speech patterns creeping in, and surprisingly docile for such a physically gifted person.
She answered all of my questions, refusing to shy away from even the most difficult and painful questions. She informed me that she wished to explain her actions and didn't wish the world to judge her unfairly.
| |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | Isaac checked the O2 supply on his respirator as he hurried through the airlock into the sticky hot Fairbanks afternoon. He had enough air to get him back into habitat at Saint Jude’s. Getting back was another story, especially with an extra sucker on the supply, but that was a problem for tomorrow.
He boarded the mag-lev, and selected Saint Jude’s Labor and Delivery from the console. The exact transit time was displayed on the window display in front of him.
“Congratulations,” said a voice from behind him. “Your first?”
It was, but Isaac didn’t see how that was the business of a stranger on a mag who had already imposed far enough by looking over his shoulder. He turned to face a spry man of about 200 years with short cropped silver hair and a knowing smile in his eyes.
“It’s alright,” he said. “You don’t need to answer, I can tell just by looking at you. You’ve never gone back.”
“No,” Isaac muttered. “I haven’t.”
“Well, take it from someone who’s gone back plenty of times, you’re not ready.” He smiled, watching Isaac’s face drop. “But then,” his grin broadened, “if it makes you feel better, no one ever is their first time.”
“Does it hurt? I mean,” Isaac frowned, “I know it hurts. Does it hurt a lot?”
“Let me put it like this,” the man smiled. “A few thousand years ago – back before the cataclysm, before we learned how to go back, the pain of child birth was the burden of the woman. Near as I can tell, the mechanics of pushing a kid out are near about the same. What’s changed is the role fathers play in the process. Now we gotta go back to harvest those first 20 years for our kids.”
“Equal pain for equal gain,” Isaac smiled. “I took the child birth classes.”
“Something like that,” the man nodded. “Thing is, what they don’t tell you – what they don’t prepare you for – is that on top of the physical pain, there’s a psychological burden to what you gotta do when you go back.”
“It’s us or them,” Isaac recited from his ethics briefing.
“Sure, yeah. I got that pamphlet too. And, it definitely helps that they have no idea what’s going on. Trust me, it would be a lot harder if they knew what we were taking. That’s why we go back a few centuries. These people still think that death is inevitable and that the average life span is around 80 years; they blame the mortal coil, not us. That makes it a lot easier to swallow going back and doing what we do. But you still gotta swallow it.”
Isaac looked the window display as it dropped below five minutes to his destination. Ordinarily he would prefer to pass that time lost in his own thoughts, but right now a distraction was welcome.
“It’s not like what we’re doing is any worse than what they did to us,” he said. “If you want to talk about what we’re taking from them, you can’t ignore what they took from us. Generational theft goes both ways. It was them that scorched the atmosphere, not us,” he fingered his respirator.
“They caused the cataclysm,” he gestured out the window, “not us.”
“And it was their overpopulation in the first place that made it necessary to steal time. They orchestrated their own demise. I’m not crying for them.”
“True,” said the old man, “which is why I’ve got two kids. I’ve gone back for them twice. They've each gone back at least once. Look, I’m not saying they don’t deserve it, but you’re missing the point. Whether they deserve it or not, ending a human life that could otherwise last for centuries has consequences. We do it because we have to – because we need to liberate a soul from the past to people the present.”
He paused, deciding whether to continue.
“But trust me, son, after the physical pain of the time travel itself is a distant memory, the knowledge of what you had to do will still be with you. Killing is killing, and despite what the propaganda says, killing across generations doesn't alter that basic fact. We can use all sorts of fancy tricks to make it seem like natural deaths – heart attacks, aneurysm, cancer – but it’s not a question of what they think killed them; it’s what we know did it.”
The old man smiled gravely and continued, “Look I know you gotta do it, and I’m not judging you for that. All I’m saying is that you should prepare yourself for the emotional pain they don’t tell you about as much as the physical pain they do. Good luck. And seriously, congratulations.”
Isaac rode the rest of the way in silence, troubled by the warnings. But there wasn’t anything he could do, the decision had already been made and if he didn’t go back to harvest the soul of an ancestor, ending their lives after a measly 80 or so years, his son would be stillborn. He didn’t make the rules. He didn’t even like the rules. But he lived by them.
And after millions of years of evolution, the rules were the same. Immediate survival first, with procreation close at hand. It wasn’t a hard decision. It was coded into his genetic makeup.
Isaac walked into Saint Jude’s pulling his oxygen mask off as he passed through the airlock. After checking the display board, he followed the illuminated arrows toward labor and delivery where his wife was being held in stasis until he could go back do what needed to be done.
He was hooked into the jumper by wires that fed into his veins, and as the blinding hot pain of his first time travel seized his body, he comforted himself with the knowledge that whatever damage he was going to cause was for another generation to worry about. | I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I think I'm the only one.
I have to be, right?
Before this all started, I was on the tail end of middle age. I didn't have much going for me. Lived alone, office job, nothing really special. Then that thought snuck into my mind. "Youth for you, health for you, death from you, dead to you". It was weird. I'm not even sure how I knew what it meant, but that was clear too. If I killed others, I'd stay young.
Now, I'm not the sort that takes risks. I guess you can tell that from the fact that my prior life can be summed up in less than a paragraph. So I had to know, but I wasn't willing to just walk up to someone and murder them. That's insane. There had to be another way. It was pretty obvious, actually. I had to become an executioner.
Even that turned out to be fairly risk-free. I went back to school, got the medical degree it takes to administer the poison. Then I moved to Texas and got a job in the prison system. The first kill was nerve wracking, but not for the reason it should have been. It was easier than a Sunday morning to kill this guy. He was a Mexican gangster who had killed dozens of people. No, that was easy. The hard part was not knowing what was going to happen to me. As it turns out, nothing happened, at first.
When I went home that night, after I killed him, I felt normal. I was eating dinner, alone in my apartment when the changes started. My skin felt tight and itchy. My whole body felt odd. Like I was vibrating inside. I went to a mirror, and I could see what was happening. My wrinkles were smoothing out. Grey hair was turning dark. But there was a downside, too. I could feel all of these regrets coming to me, that I knew weren't mine. I regretted that I hadn't cared for my mother in Mexico City. My own Mother had passed away over a decade ago, so this one stood out. There were thousands of them! Regretting getting into crime. Regretting not killing that bastard that eventually turned me in...
Eventually, I came to grips with all the regrets. It wasn't easy. Physically, being young again (I felt like I was 35. That's young, from where I was) felt amazing. Mentally, I'm not sure if I can ever do it again. Unfortunately, I'll find out in two weeks. That's when the next execution is. I hope this guy has fewer regrets. | I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | "I hung myself once. It's no surprise to me that I never tried it again. I must've swung there for a hundred years.
Before I discovered the truth I was just like you. I had to have been. I have these black and white memories in the grain of a film strip. I can almost make out the faces of the people. A mother. A father. A brother. Others. I think I might have even been in love then. Every time I try to go back I get carried away. Rushed out quickly right back to here.
I lost my name in that tree. I lost everything you can imagine spending one of your lives dangling there alone.
It must be over two thousand years by now. I'm almost certain it was before the beginning of what you call Anno Domini. Or very close. It was the year 700 and something on our calendar then. Save for the hanging, I'm not in bad shape. It was just the mindlessness associated with it. It dulled me. But I remember that the way of identifying the years in our time was to name the two consuls who held office. That was our calendar. More like a frame of reference.
So I lost my name. I lost my life. My family, my society, my normality. My faculties of memory. However, one thing remained. This carnal impulse in the form of a motto, or what have you.
'A life a day will grant immortality.'
Really, it was no more than a justification. A rationalization for my actions. A coping mechanism I developed before the hanging. The only thing that survived the long respite besides for my body and what was left of my mind. But I lived by it. It was the only way to invoke an emotion. To feel normal. My normal, of course, but normal nonetheless, relatively speaking. It was the collecting. I didn't have anything else until I settled on a new name.
'Michael?' she said.
When I turned around I saw a hallowing creature.
'Yes, my dear?' I replied.
Mistaken, she fled, but she spoke to me. Something about the irony in a ghoul of a transient woman running from me gave me a reference to the symbol of what a ghoul I had become. A monster. Though you would never notice. After all. I've been able to seduce you into my chambers, haven't I, darling?"
"Michael, I just can't be made to believe you are serious about any of this. I just feel as if you are telling me a great story! And you met me reading in the park! I don't know what to say."
"Would you leave if you believed me?"
After a long pause she rolled her eyes. "No Michael, I'd offer myself to thee," she snickered in a sarcastic tone, "and I'd let you suck me dry like some sort of a Dracula would!"
"You laugh? Claire, there's a significance to this woman. She was the first one I did like this. I caught up to her and introduced myself with the name she had given me. I was transforming before her eyes. I was becoming Michael. The one you see before you now.
I danced around her gracefully as she rebuffed my every advance. I began to tease her and prod at her and then like a musician who strikes the right chord, I stopped her dead in her tracks. She asked me what I wanted and I told her. I brought her right here, Claire. She sat in that chair."
Claire let out a sigh and a good belly laugh before returning to her dinner. After rushing a bite and swallowing it roughly she was quick to wit and spouted, "And she ate roasted duck from this very plate, didn't she? Drank wine from this very glass?"
"No, that is highly unlikely. Given the assortment of my amenities, I don't think she could have possibly used the same wares as you."
They both smiled and let out gregarious laughter.
"She was the first one I did like this. I wined her and I dined her. I gave her a dress, a hair piece and a pair of shoes. White lace. I told her that she was too beautiful to live life that way. She was a beast, though. I was just seeing how much I could build her up. And I was doing so with the full intention of letting her decide her fate. That's what I've been meaning when I said 'like this.'
I'm not simply referring to the food and drink. The atmosphere or the fact that I had only just met her that day. I really did give her a choice, Claire. I gave her the chance to believe me."
Michael's eyes began to pierce through Claire's mortal consciousness. The depth of his being was potent. The life of a ghoul with no veneer was on display. No more expression but his natural tenacity. He was being himself for the first time. He simply looked at her without any reservation as he asked her what she wanted.
"Do you believe me, or not?" | I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | We the elite hold this *honor*. This *blessing*. Hah, what am I saying? Nobody actually wants this, but this is the system we chose hundreds of years ago. We alone hold the power of everlasting life Anyone else becomes our fodder.
There is a tribe in New Guinea that sacrifices one every 20 years. 20 year reign goes to the elected chief. The men sire a son, then their name goes into a kind of lottery, one he both wants to win and lose. If they pull your name? You make a choice, sacrifice yourself or be banished. Your family is fed for the remainder of the new chief's rule. Chose banishment your son will be taken in your stead.
That's how you make the best of this. That's a good system. But it's not how we do it. See we live in a developed society. We use it as a punishment. Prison sentences are at a maximum of 19 years. A man steals something and you get prison time, all is normal. A man murders someone? His death is up for grabs. A price is set. If you can pay you get life. The trick is, you have to pull the trigger. Someone tested it a while back, he pulled the switch while in another room. He wasted the woman's life, but he gained invaluable knowledge. You had to intentionally do it by direct means.
It weighs on you. After your natural allotment it hits you. As soon as you were supposed to die you relive your victims lives, able to do nothing but watch. In the tribe it is seen a shamanic, here it is torture. I have lived seven times as long as a human possible should, and I have lived over thirty lives. I don't know who I am anymore except that i have money enough to do this one more time.
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I know it's not good but it's my first, just really liked this prompt and instantly had an idea. Let me know how you liked it. | I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The day the study was published changed the course of human history forever. All it took was one Asperger-fueled genius browsing Murderpedia instead of paying attention to his engineering professor. Rumor has it that the thing that caught his eye was the lifespan of the average executioner. It then took 34 years for the scientific community to confirm it. 34 years of combing through data and applying for ethics violation waivers for the human experimentation phase. Then the results were published- if any member of our species kills another member, their natural lifespan is extended by 20 years, 5 days and 2 hours. Though scientists provided the what, they could not provide the why. The world seemed to take this in stride however, and the common acceptance seemed to be that a) God (or your deity of choice) was real and b) he was a sick bastard that didn't deserve to be worshiped.
Of course the murder rate more than quadrupled overnight. Exact numbers are unknown. Who was left to keep track? It was painfully obvious to even the most ignorant that time was far more valuable than money. I don’t need to tell you what happened next. North Korea is still a no-fly zone. If we had any other president things might have been different, but luckily this happened during the administration of the only president whose insanity matched that of the Kim family. Amidst the violence and fear, we were still shocked to see an entire country gone, just like that. Only weeks later was it reported that “Dear Leader’s” body had been found in his military command center, fingers on the numeric keypad and halfway through the launch sequence. The first missile would have hit Santa Monica, and the second Austin. I guess great minds think alike.
I also don’t need to remind you of the effects on the economy. Within the first week ALL of the entitlements; welfare, WIC, food stamps, disability, unemployment, and Medicare/Medicaid claims dropped to nearly zero. We were even preparing to send the largest ever shipment of excess food to famine ravaged Liberia when word came- “Don’t bother”. The private security industry became the clear winner. Of course only the wealthy could afford their prices, but the poor began to get…creative.
The birthrate saw the highest spike in history, although the population continued its catastrophic decline. The same women who saw the benefits of having multiple children for the welfare benefits began to see instead a quick way to gain 20 years. Although that was assuming the woman was able to carry the child to term. Once the rumor got out that killing a pregnant woman was basically a 2-for-1, most of them decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Russia is beautiful. I miss the warmth of Brazil, but as a young(ish) fertile female it’s my duty to stay here with the remaining human population and try to rebuild what we once had. Only the elderly or infertile are allowed to travel these days, and only then for research. Most continents have basically gone back to the wild now, and most endangered species have rebounded dramatically. We owe humanity’s survival to two things- weed, and the Centurian act of 2318. The it was the great-niece of the kid who first noticed the connection between murder and longevity who save us. She called it Strain 314. It was easy to grow, basically harmless, and suppressed all violent thoughts and urges in humans. The United Government Council quickly made daily doses mandatory. Only two months later, they passed the controversial Centurion act, which mandated that every human be euthanized one month after their 100th birthday. Or it would have been controversial, if people hadn’t been too high to notice.
| I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. | I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | I had helped yet another soul and still taken another away.
Relief and a faint grim happiness flooded through me as it always did... even if the procedure had changed in one form or another over the course of these hundred years since I'd fallen into it. Few were gruesome... most were clean and official like the one I was finishing now.
There were always a few who made it difficult though. This would have been mother cried silently as I turned off the power to the vacuum. Her silent moans fell on deaf ears in this sterile room despite all the humanity in it. Few like her ever came back, in fact most never do... yet... I'll always happily greet them with this unchanging, polite smile. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The day the study was published changed the course of human history forever. All it took was one Asperger-fueled genius browsing Murderpedia instead of paying attention to his engineering professor. Rumor has it that the thing that caught his eye was the lifespan of the average executioner. It then took 34 years for the scientific community to confirm it. 34 years of combing through data and applying for ethics violation waivers for the human experimentation phase. Then the results were published- if any member of our species kills another member, their natural lifespan is extended by 20 years, 5 days and 2 hours. Though scientists provided the what, they could not provide the why. The world seemed to take this in stride however, and the common acceptance seemed to be that a) God (or your deity of choice) was real and b) he was a sick bastard that didn't deserve to be worshiped.
Of course the murder rate more than quadrupled overnight. Exact numbers are unknown. Who was left to keep track? It was painfully obvious to even the most ignorant that time was far more valuable than money. I don’t need to tell you what happened next. North Korea is still a no-fly zone. If we had any other president things might have been different, but luckily this happened during the administration of the only president whose insanity matched that of the Kim family. Amidst the violence and fear, we were still shocked to see an entire country gone, just like that. Only weeks later was it reported that “Dear Leader’s” body had been found in his military command center, fingers on the numeric keypad and halfway through the launch sequence. The first missile would have hit Santa Monica, and the second Austin. I guess great minds think alike.
I also don’t need to remind you of the effects on the economy. Within the first week ALL of the entitlements; welfare, WIC, food stamps, disability, unemployment, and Medicare/Medicaid claims dropped to nearly zero. We were even preparing to send the largest ever shipment of excess food to famine ravaged Liberia when word came- “Don’t bother”. The private security industry became the clear winner. Of course only the wealthy could afford their prices, but the poor began to get…creative.
The birthrate saw the highest spike in history, although the population continued its catastrophic decline. The same women who saw the benefits of having multiple children for the welfare benefits began to see instead a quick way to gain 20 years. Although that was assuming the woman was able to carry the child to term. Once the rumor got out that killing a pregnant woman was basically a 2-for-1, most of them decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Russia is beautiful. I miss the warmth of Brazil, but as a young(ish) fertile female it’s my duty to stay here with the remaining human population and try to rebuild what we once had. Only the elderly or infertile are allowed to travel these days, and only then for research. Most continents have basically gone back to the wild now, and most endangered species have rebounded dramatically. We owe humanity’s survival to two things- weed, and the Centurian act of 2318. The it was the great-niece of the kid who first noticed the connection between murder and longevity who save us. She called it Strain 314. It was easy to grow, basically harmless, and suppressed all violent thoughts and urges in humans. The United Government Council quickly made daily doses mandatory. Only two months later, they passed the controversial Centurion act, which mandated that every human be euthanized one month after their 100th birthday. Or it would have been controversial, if people hadn’t been too high to notice.
| I decided that having this power was too much. It was time to take the easy way out. Looked at my "time left" counter. 35 years.
I kicked my chair over; felt a sharp pain in my neck.
To my surprise, everything did not fade to black. Instead, I hung there for a few seconds, suspended from the ceiling.
I know I'd died; I'd gotten a queer feeling; it was a very feeling I had never experienced before. But I also know I was alive right now.
Sighing, or gurgling, to be more accurate, I began undoing my neck knot carefully. I could tell I wasn't going to die at this rate, and not being able to breathe was uncomfortable.
I took a peek at my life counter. 27.5 years left.
Damn it. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The day the study was published changed the course of human history forever. All it took was one Asperger-fueled genius browsing Murderpedia instead of paying attention to his engineering professor. Rumor has it that the thing that caught his eye was the lifespan of the average executioner. It then took 34 years for the scientific community to confirm it. 34 years of combing through data and applying for ethics violation waivers for the human experimentation phase. Then the results were published- if any member of our species kills another member, their natural lifespan is extended by 20 years, 5 days and 2 hours. Though scientists provided the what, they could not provide the why. The world seemed to take this in stride however, and the common acceptance seemed to be that a) God (or your deity of choice) was real and b) he was a sick bastard that didn't deserve to be worshiped.
Of course the murder rate more than quadrupled overnight. Exact numbers are unknown. Who was left to keep track? It was painfully obvious to even the most ignorant that time was far more valuable than money. I don’t need to tell you what happened next. North Korea is still a no-fly zone. If we had any other president things might have been different, but luckily this happened during the administration of the only president whose insanity matched that of the Kim family. Amidst the violence and fear, we were still shocked to see an entire country gone, just like that. Only weeks later was it reported that “Dear Leader’s” body had been found in his military command center, fingers on the numeric keypad and halfway through the launch sequence. The first missile would have hit Santa Monica, and the second Austin. I guess great minds think alike.
I also don’t need to remind you of the effects on the economy. Within the first week ALL of the entitlements; welfare, WIC, food stamps, disability, unemployment, and Medicare/Medicaid claims dropped to nearly zero. We were even preparing to send the largest ever shipment of excess food to famine ravaged Liberia when word came- “Don’t bother”. The private security industry became the clear winner. Of course only the wealthy could afford their prices, but the poor began to get…creative.
The birthrate saw the highest spike in history, although the population continued its catastrophic decline. The same women who saw the benefits of having multiple children for the welfare benefits began to see instead a quick way to gain 20 years. Although that was assuming the woman was able to carry the child to term. Once the rumor got out that killing a pregnant woman was basically a 2-for-1, most of them decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Russia is beautiful. I miss the warmth of Brazil, but as a young(ish) fertile female it’s my duty to stay here with the remaining human population and try to rebuild what we once had. Only the elderly or infertile are allowed to travel these days, and only then for research. Most continents have basically gone back to the wild now, and most endangered species have rebounded dramatically. We owe humanity’s survival to two things- weed, and the Centurian act of 2318. The it was the great-niece of the kid who first noticed the connection between murder and longevity who save us. She called it Strain 314. It was easy to grow, basically harmless, and suppressed all violent thoughts and urges in humans. The United Government Council quickly made daily doses mandatory. Only two months later, they passed the controversial Centurion act, which mandated that every human be euthanized one month after their 100th birthday. Or it would have been controversial, if people hadn’t been too high to notice.
| Isaac checked the O2 supply on his respirator as he hurried through the airlock into the sticky hot Fairbanks afternoon. He had enough air to get him back into habitat at Saint Jude’s. Getting back was another story, especially with an extra sucker on the supply, but that was a problem for tomorrow.
He boarded the mag-lev, and selected Saint Jude’s Labor and Delivery from the console. The exact transit time was displayed on the window display in front of him.
“Congratulations,” said a voice from behind him. “Your first?”
It was, but Isaac didn’t see how that was the business of a stranger on a mag who had already imposed far enough by looking over his shoulder. He turned to face a spry man of about 200 years with short cropped silver hair and a knowing smile in his eyes.
“It’s alright,” he said. “You don’t need to answer, I can tell just by looking at you. You’ve never gone back.”
“No,” Isaac muttered. “I haven’t.”
“Well, take it from someone who’s gone back plenty of times, you’re not ready.” He smiled, watching Isaac’s face drop. “But then,” his grin broadened, “if it makes you feel better, no one ever is their first time.”
“Does it hurt? I mean,” Isaac frowned, “I know it hurts. Does it hurt a lot?”
“Let me put it like this,” the man smiled. “A few thousand years ago – back before the cataclysm, before we learned how to go back, the pain of child birth was the burden of the woman. Near as I can tell, the mechanics of pushing a kid out are near about the same. What’s changed is the role fathers play in the process. Now we gotta go back to harvest those first 20 years for our kids.”
“Equal pain for equal gain,” Isaac smiled. “I took the child birth classes.”
“Something like that,” the man nodded. “Thing is, what they don’t tell you – what they don’t prepare you for – is that on top of the physical pain, there’s a psychological burden to what you gotta do when you go back.”
“It’s us or them,” Isaac recited from his ethics briefing.
“Sure, yeah. I got that pamphlet too. And, it definitely helps that they have no idea what’s going on. Trust me, it would be a lot harder if they knew what we were taking. That’s why we go back a few centuries. These people still think that death is inevitable and that the average life span is around 80 years; they blame the mortal coil, not us. That makes it a lot easier to swallow going back and doing what we do. But you still gotta swallow it.”
Isaac looked the window display as it dropped below five minutes to his destination. Ordinarily he would prefer to pass that time lost in his own thoughts, but right now a distraction was welcome.
“It’s not like what we’re doing is any worse than what they did to us,” he said. “If you want to talk about what we’re taking from them, you can’t ignore what they took from us. Generational theft goes both ways. It was them that scorched the atmosphere, not us,” he fingered his respirator.
“They caused the cataclysm,” he gestured out the window, “not us.”
“And it was their overpopulation in the first place that made it necessary to steal time. They orchestrated their own demise. I’m not crying for them.”
“True,” said the old man, “which is why I’ve got two kids. I’ve gone back for them twice. They've each gone back at least once. Look, I’m not saying they don’t deserve it, but you’re missing the point. Whether they deserve it or not, ending a human life that could otherwise last for centuries has consequences. We do it because we have to – because we need to liberate a soul from the past to people the present.”
He paused, deciding whether to continue.
“But trust me, son, after the physical pain of the time travel itself is a distant memory, the knowledge of what you had to do will still be with you. Killing is killing, and despite what the propaganda says, killing across generations doesn't alter that basic fact. We can use all sorts of fancy tricks to make it seem like natural deaths – heart attacks, aneurysm, cancer – but it’s not a question of what they think killed them; it’s what we know did it.”
The old man smiled gravely and continued, “Look I know you gotta do it, and I’m not judging you for that. All I’m saying is that you should prepare yourself for the emotional pain they don’t tell you about as much as the physical pain they do. Good luck. And seriously, congratulations.”
Isaac rode the rest of the way in silence, troubled by the warnings. But there wasn’t anything he could do, the decision had already been made and if he didn’t go back to harvest the soul of an ancestor, ending their lives after a measly 80 or so years, his son would be stillborn. He didn’t make the rules. He didn’t even like the rules. But he lived by them.
And after millions of years of evolution, the rules were the same. Immediate survival first, with procreation close at hand. It wasn’t a hard decision. It was coded into his genetic makeup.
Isaac walked into Saint Jude’s pulling his oxygen mask off as he passed through the airlock. After checking the display board, he followed the illuminated arrows toward labor and delivery where his wife was being held in stasis until he could go back do what needed to be done.
He was hooked into the jumper by wires that fed into his veins, and as the blinding hot pain of his first time travel seized his body, he comforted himself with the knowledge that whatever damage he was going to cause was for another generation to worry about. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The day the study was published changed the course of human history forever. All it took was one Asperger-fueled genius browsing Murderpedia instead of paying attention to his engineering professor. Rumor has it that the thing that caught his eye was the lifespan of the average executioner. It then took 34 years for the scientific community to confirm it. 34 years of combing through data and applying for ethics violation waivers for the human experimentation phase. Then the results were published- if any member of our species kills another member, their natural lifespan is extended by 20 years, 5 days and 2 hours. Though scientists provided the what, they could not provide the why. The world seemed to take this in stride however, and the common acceptance seemed to be that a) God (or your deity of choice) was real and b) he was a sick bastard that didn't deserve to be worshiped.
Of course the murder rate more than quadrupled overnight. Exact numbers are unknown. Who was left to keep track? It was painfully obvious to even the most ignorant that time was far more valuable than money. I don’t need to tell you what happened next. North Korea is still a no-fly zone. If we had any other president things might have been different, but luckily this happened during the administration of the only president whose insanity matched that of the Kim family. Amidst the violence and fear, we were still shocked to see an entire country gone, just like that. Only weeks later was it reported that “Dear Leader’s” body had been found in his military command center, fingers on the numeric keypad and halfway through the launch sequence. The first missile would have hit Santa Monica, and the second Austin. I guess great minds think alike.
I also don’t need to remind you of the effects on the economy. Within the first week ALL of the entitlements; welfare, WIC, food stamps, disability, unemployment, and Medicare/Medicaid claims dropped to nearly zero. We were even preparing to send the largest ever shipment of excess food to famine ravaged Liberia when word came- “Don’t bother”. The private security industry became the clear winner. Of course only the wealthy could afford their prices, but the poor began to get…creative.
The birthrate saw the highest spike in history, although the population continued its catastrophic decline. The same women who saw the benefits of having multiple children for the welfare benefits began to see instead a quick way to gain 20 years. Although that was assuming the woman was able to carry the child to term. Once the rumor got out that killing a pregnant woman was basically a 2-for-1, most of them decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Russia is beautiful. I miss the warmth of Brazil, but as a young(ish) fertile female it’s my duty to stay here with the remaining human population and try to rebuild what we once had. Only the elderly or infertile are allowed to travel these days, and only then for research. Most continents have basically gone back to the wild now, and most endangered species have rebounded dramatically. We owe humanity’s survival to two things- weed, and the Centurian act of 2318. The it was the great-niece of the kid who first noticed the connection between murder and longevity who save us. She called it Strain 314. It was easy to grow, basically harmless, and suppressed all violent thoughts and urges in humans. The United Government Council quickly made daily doses mandatory. Only two months later, they passed the controversial Centurion act, which mandated that every human be euthanized one month after their 100th birthday. Or it would have been controversial, if people hadn’t been too high to notice.
| I think I'm the only one.
I have to be, right?
Before this all started, I was on the tail end of middle age. I didn't have much going for me. Lived alone, office job, nothing really special. Then that thought snuck into my mind. "Youth for you, health for you, death from you, dead to you". It was weird. I'm not even sure how I knew what it meant, but that was clear too. If I killed others, I'd stay young.
Now, I'm not the sort that takes risks. I guess you can tell that from the fact that my prior life can be summed up in less than a paragraph. So I had to know, but I wasn't willing to just walk up to someone and murder them. That's insane. There had to be another way. It was pretty obvious, actually. I had to become an executioner.
Even that turned out to be fairly risk-free. I went back to school, got the medical degree it takes to administer the poison. Then I moved to Texas and got a job in the prison system. The first kill was nerve wracking, but not for the reason it should have been. It was easier than a Sunday morning to kill this guy. He was a Mexican gangster who had killed dozens of people. No, that was easy. The hard part was not knowing what was going to happen to me. As it turns out, nothing happened, at first.
When I went home that night, after I killed him, I felt normal. I was eating dinner, alone in my apartment when the changes started. My skin felt tight and itchy. My whole body felt odd. Like I was vibrating inside. I went to a mirror, and I could see what was happening. My wrinkles were smoothing out. Grey hair was turning dark. But there was a downside, too. I could feel all of these regrets coming to me, that I knew weren't mine. I regretted that I hadn't cared for my mother in Mexico City. My own Mother had passed away over a decade ago, so this one stood out. There were thousands of them! Regretting getting into crime. Regretting not killing that bastard that eventually turned me in...
Eventually, I came to grips with all the regrets. It wasn't easy. Physically, being young again (I felt like I was 35. That's young, from where I was) felt amazing. Mentally, I'm not sure if I can ever do it again. Unfortunately, I'll find out in two weeks. That's when the next execution is. I hope this guy has fewer regrets. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The day the study was published changed the course of human history forever. All it took was one Asperger-fueled genius browsing Murderpedia instead of paying attention to his engineering professor. Rumor has it that the thing that caught his eye was the lifespan of the average executioner. It then took 34 years for the scientific community to confirm it. 34 years of combing through data and applying for ethics violation waivers for the human experimentation phase. Then the results were published- if any member of our species kills another member, their natural lifespan is extended by 20 years, 5 days and 2 hours. Though scientists provided the what, they could not provide the why. The world seemed to take this in stride however, and the common acceptance seemed to be that a) God (or your deity of choice) was real and b) he was a sick bastard that didn't deserve to be worshiped.
Of course the murder rate more than quadrupled overnight. Exact numbers are unknown. Who was left to keep track? It was painfully obvious to even the most ignorant that time was far more valuable than money. I don’t need to tell you what happened next. North Korea is still a no-fly zone. If we had any other president things might have been different, but luckily this happened during the administration of the only president whose insanity matched that of the Kim family. Amidst the violence and fear, we were still shocked to see an entire country gone, just like that. Only weeks later was it reported that “Dear Leader’s” body had been found in his military command center, fingers on the numeric keypad and halfway through the launch sequence. The first missile would have hit Santa Monica, and the second Austin. I guess great minds think alike.
I also don’t need to remind you of the effects on the economy. Within the first week ALL of the entitlements; welfare, WIC, food stamps, disability, unemployment, and Medicare/Medicaid claims dropped to nearly zero. We were even preparing to send the largest ever shipment of excess food to famine ravaged Liberia when word came- “Don’t bother”. The private security industry became the clear winner. Of course only the wealthy could afford their prices, but the poor began to get…creative.
The birthrate saw the highest spike in history, although the population continued its catastrophic decline. The same women who saw the benefits of having multiple children for the welfare benefits began to see instead a quick way to gain 20 years. Although that was assuming the woman was able to carry the child to term. Once the rumor got out that killing a pregnant woman was basically a 2-for-1, most of them decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Russia is beautiful. I miss the warmth of Brazil, but as a young(ish) fertile female it’s my duty to stay here with the remaining human population and try to rebuild what we once had. Only the elderly or infertile are allowed to travel these days, and only then for research. Most continents have basically gone back to the wild now, and most endangered species have rebounded dramatically. We owe humanity’s survival to two things- weed, and the Centurian act of 2318. The it was the great-niece of the kid who first noticed the connection between murder and longevity who save us. She called it Strain 314. It was easy to grow, basically harmless, and suppressed all violent thoughts and urges in humans. The United Government Council quickly made daily doses mandatory. Only two months later, they passed the controversial Centurion act, which mandated that every human be euthanized one month after their 100th birthday. Or it would have been controversial, if people hadn’t been too high to notice.
| "I hung myself once. It's no surprise to me that I never tried it again. I must've swung there for a hundred years.
Before I discovered the truth I was just like you. I had to have been. I have these black and white memories in the grain of a film strip. I can almost make out the faces of the people. A mother. A father. A brother. Others. I think I might have even been in love then. Every time I try to go back I get carried away. Rushed out quickly right back to here.
I lost my name in that tree. I lost everything you can imagine spending one of your lives dangling there alone.
It must be over two thousand years by now. I'm almost certain it was before the beginning of what you call Anno Domini. Or very close. It was the year 700 and something on our calendar then. Save for the hanging, I'm not in bad shape. It was just the mindlessness associated with it. It dulled me. But I remember that the way of identifying the years in our time was to name the two consuls who held office. That was our calendar. More like a frame of reference.
So I lost my name. I lost my life. My family, my society, my normality. My faculties of memory. However, one thing remained. This carnal impulse in the form of a motto, or what have you.
'A life a day will grant immortality.'
Really, it was no more than a justification. A rationalization for my actions. A coping mechanism I developed before the hanging. The only thing that survived the long respite besides for my body and what was left of my mind. But I lived by it. It was the only way to invoke an emotion. To feel normal. My normal, of course, but normal nonetheless, relatively speaking. It was the collecting. I didn't have anything else until I settled on a new name.
'Michael?' she said.
When I turned around I saw a hallowing creature.
'Yes, my dear?' I replied.
Mistaken, she fled, but she spoke to me. Something about the irony in a ghoul of a transient woman running from me gave me a reference to the symbol of what a ghoul I had become. A monster. Though you would never notice. After all. I've been able to seduce you into my chambers, haven't I, darling?"
"Michael, I just can't be made to believe you are serious about any of this. I just feel as if you are telling me a great story! And you met me reading in the park! I don't know what to say."
"Would you leave if you believed me?"
After a long pause she rolled her eyes. "No Michael, I'd offer myself to thee," she snickered in a sarcastic tone, "and I'd let you suck me dry like some sort of a Dracula would!"
"You laugh? Claire, there's a significance to this woman. She was the first one I did like this. I caught up to her and introduced myself with the name she had given me. I was transforming before her eyes. I was becoming Michael. The one you see before you now.
I danced around her gracefully as she rebuffed my every advance. I began to tease her and prod at her and then like a musician who strikes the right chord, I stopped her dead in her tracks. She asked me what I wanted and I told her. I brought her right here, Claire. She sat in that chair."
Claire let out a sigh and a good belly laugh before returning to her dinner. After rushing a bite and swallowing it roughly she was quick to wit and spouted, "And she ate roasted duck from this very plate, didn't she? Drank wine from this very glass?"
"No, that is highly unlikely. Given the assortment of my amenities, I don't think she could have possibly used the same wares as you."
They both smiled and let out gregarious laughter.
"She was the first one I did like this. I wined her and I dined her. I gave her a dress, a hair piece and a pair of shoes. White lace. I told her that she was too beautiful to live life that way. She was a beast, though. I was just seeing how much I could build her up. And I was doing so with the full intention of letting her decide her fate. That's what I've been meaning when I said 'like this.'
I'm not simply referring to the food and drink. The atmosphere or the fact that I had only just met her that day. I really did give her a choice, Claire. I gave her the chance to believe me."
Michael's eyes began to pierce through Claire's mortal consciousness. The depth of his being was potent. The life of a ghoul with no veneer was on display. No more expression but his natural tenacity. He was being himself for the first time. He simply looked at her without any reservation as he asked her what she wanted.
"Do you believe me, or not?" |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The day the study was published changed the course of human history forever. All it took was one Asperger-fueled genius browsing Murderpedia instead of paying attention to his engineering professor. Rumor has it that the thing that caught his eye was the lifespan of the average executioner. It then took 34 years for the scientific community to confirm it. 34 years of combing through data and applying for ethics violation waivers for the human experimentation phase. Then the results were published- if any member of our species kills another member, their natural lifespan is extended by 20 years, 5 days and 2 hours. Though scientists provided the what, they could not provide the why. The world seemed to take this in stride however, and the common acceptance seemed to be that a) God (or your deity of choice) was real and b) he was a sick bastard that didn't deserve to be worshiped.
Of course the murder rate more than quadrupled overnight. Exact numbers are unknown. Who was left to keep track? It was painfully obvious to even the most ignorant that time was far more valuable than money. I don’t need to tell you what happened next. North Korea is still a no-fly zone. If we had any other president things might have been different, but luckily this happened during the administration of the only president whose insanity matched that of the Kim family. Amidst the violence and fear, we were still shocked to see an entire country gone, just like that. Only weeks later was it reported that “Dear Leader’s” body had been found in his military command center, fingers on the numeric keypad and halfway through the launch sequence. The first missile would have hit Santa Monica, and the second Austin. I guess great minds think alike.
I also don’t need to remind you of the effects on the economy. Within the first week ALL of the entitlements; welfare, WIC, food stamps, disability, unemployment, and Medicare/Medicaid claims dropped to nearly zero. We were even preparing to send the largest ever shipment of excess food to famine ravaged Liberia when word came- “Don’t bother”. The private security industry became the clear winner. Of course only the wealthy could afford their prices, but the poor began to get…creative.
The birthrate saw the highest spike in history, although the population continued its catastrophic decline. The same women who saw the benefits of having multiple children for the welfare benefits began to see instead a quick way to gain 20 years. Although that was assuming the woman was able to carry the child to term. Once the rumor got out that killing a pregnant woman was basically a 2-for-1, most of them decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Russia is beautiful. I miss the warmth of Brazil, but as a young(ish) fertile female it’s my duty to stay here with the remaining human population and try to rebuild what we once had. Only the elderly or infertile are allowed to travel these days, and only then for research. Most continents have basically gone back to the wild now, and most endangered species have rebounded dramatically. We owe humanity’s survival to two things- weed, and the Centurian act of 2318. The it was the great-niece of the kid who first noticed the connection between murder and longevity who save us. She called it Strain 314. It was easy to grow, basically harmless, and suppressed all violent thoughts and urges in humans. The United Government Council quickly made daily doses mandatory. Only two months later, they passed the controversial Centurion act, which mandated that every human be euthanized one month after their 100th birthday. Or it would have been controversial, if people hadn’t been too high to notice.
| We the elite hold this *honor*. This *blessing*. Hah, what am I saying? Nobody actually wants this, but this is the system we chose hundreds of years ago. We alone hold the power of everlasting life Anyone else becomes our fodder.
There is a tribe in New Guinea that sacrifices one every 20 years. 20 year reign goes to the elected chief. The men sire a son, then their name goes into a kind of lottery, one he both wants to win and lose. If they pull your name? You make a choice, sacrifice yourself or be banished. Your family is fed for the remainder of the new chief's rule. Chose banishment your son will be taken in your stead.
That's how you make the best of this. That's a good system. But it's not how we do it. See we live in a developed society. We use it as a punishment. Prison sentences are at a maximum of 19 years. A man steals something and you get prison time, all is normal. A man murders someone? His death is up for grabs. A price is set. If you can pay you get life. The trick is, you have to pull the trigger. Someone tested it a while back, he pulled the switch while in another room. He wasted the woman's life, but he gained invaluable knowledge. You had to intentionally do it by direct means.
It weighs on you. After your natural allotment it hits you. As soon as you were supposed to die you relive your victims lives, able to do nothing but watch. In the tribe it is seen a shamanic, here it is torture. I have lived seven times as long as a human possible should, and I have lived over thirty lives. I don't know who I am anymore except that i have money enough to do this one more time.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I know it's not good but it's my first, just really liked this prompt and instantly had an idea. Let me know how you liked it. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The steel door was the only thing in the room with me. Four concrete walls and the giant steel door. Pacing does terrible things to ones mental state, alas, I was trapped into this perpetual cycle of pace, hold head in hands, rinse and repeat.
Not many women end up in a place like this. Less than 8% according to Wikipedia. I'd done my research, and I was part of the great minority in this wretched *zoo* of a slaughter house. Probably because women plan better than men. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
My research also told me that 72% of men are physically stronger than me, despite the countless hours subjecting myself to a tireless training regime.
A metallic slam resonated through the room, the kind that happens when you slam a bin lid too hard. I don't suppose I have much chance of seeing a bin every again.
The place I am in is where they send you to die. When you murder someone, they find you and send you here.
Of course, some escape, or are never caught, but most murders happen on the extensive network of CCTV cameras, the Mind's Eye Security System, known as the MESS by most. I digress.
*Here* is not a good place to be. *Here* is an arena. If you kill someone, you come here. You have to fight to escape this place.
There's a variety of televised events they can put you in for: sword duels, fist-fights, death races or any amalgamation of the imagination. All of the events are designed to get someone close enough to death that a 'benefactor' can kill them legally in order to increase their own life.
Is it morally indefensible? Yes.
Is it totally corrupt? Absolutely.
Does it cut the rate of murders by an order of magnitude? Unfortunately so, or it would be done away with.
Finally, I hear a voice. Two days of solitude to put me on edge before my event, and I finally hear a voice.
"You're on now." A gruff voice. Hardened. How many lives has he taken?
The door rolls open, slowly, noisily. Painstakingly.
The light is blinding, a crowd is amassed around the stadium. On the other end of the arena, a young boy stands alone, weeping. | He died like the rest of them. Silently, dumbstruck, and with the tip of my instrument flashing in his heart as I came and went and he crumpled to the floor.
Out on the street I wandered through the crowds and drank in the way their eyes gleamed.
A boy tottered out over the curb ahead of his dad, hands clutching absently while his eyes stood transfixed to a towering video ad across the way. Fizzy. Sweet. A bubbling rainbow cascaded down the display and danced in the boy's eyes. Low-cal but decadent. Fine for your figure.
Crosswise came a city bus.
I bounded into the street knowing it was time to finish. To cross over into the light.
Deep in my tattered soul stirred the talents I had lived so long to cultivate. Each kill had been easier than the last, had come more naturally. I was quieter and they saw less of me. Eventually, they didn't see anything at all. Not until they had been picked. Then they would see the kaleidoscope eyes, and around them, the pallid sunken sockets. Reassuring swirls that spoke of love and home's embrace, of the hand that settled on your shoulder when you cried and the small of your back on your wedding day. Just ahead.
The edge of the boy's gaze brushed mine and for an imperceptibly small moment his face slackened and his eyes rolled. Then his pupils slid down and locked with mine. A familiar smile split his face as his steps became regular and he began to advance slowly toward where I had folded my legs beneath myself. The wind stirred and overhead a traffic light swung on its line. Only the boy could have seen the pair of twisting shadows cast in the street by its flashing yellow light.
In the bus a woman leapt from her seat toward the driver, who was stealing a glance at the screen he had stashed between his left leg and the inside wall of the sweet, approaching end.
Beneath and between the kaleidoscope eyes appeared a pale and water-wrinkled hand. The fingers beckoned, curling one by one from smallest to largest. Over their dance my palm split open with a bolt of pain and the instrument unfurled, its wicked tip twitching as if scenting the night air.
To my left the brakes of the city bus screamed. But I only had eyes for the boy, and it was too late besides.
I beckoned faster. The timing of it would be key. A moment off in either direction would put an end to this lark, the boy would die for no reason, and I would stay unseen. Enslaved. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. | He died like the rest of them. Silently, dumbstruck, and with the tip of my instrument flashing in his heart as I came and went and he crumpled to the floor.
Out on the street I wandered through the crowds and drank in the way their eyes gleamed.
A boy tottered out over the curb ahead of his dad, hands clutching absently while his eyes stood transfixed to a towering video ad across the way. Fizzy. Sweet. A bubbling rainbow cascaded down the display and danced in the boy's eyes. Low-cal but decadent. Fine for your figure.
Crosswise came a city bus.
I bounded into the street knowing it was time to finish. To cross over into the light.
Deep in my tattered soul stirred the talents I had lived so long to cultivate. Each kill had been easier than the last, had come more naturally. I was quieter and they saw less of me. Eventually, they didn't see anything at all. Not until they had been picked. Then they would see the kaleidoscope eyes, and around them, the pallid sunken sockets. Reassuring swirls that spoke of love and home's embrace, of the hand that settled on your shoulder when you cried and the small of your back on your wedding day. Just ahead.
The edge of the boy's gaze brushed mine and for an imperceptibly small moment his face slackened and his eyes rolled. Then his pupils slid down and locked with mine. A familiar smile split his face as his steps became regular and he began to advance slowly toward where I had folded my legs beneath myself. The wind stirred and overhead a traffic light swung on its line. Only the boy could have seen the pair of twisting shadows cast in the street by its flashing yellow light.
In the bus a woman leapt from her seat toward the driver, who was stealing a glance at the screen he had stashed between his left leg and the inside wall of the sweet, approaching end.
Beneath and between the kaleidoscope eyes appeared a pale and water-wrinkled hand. The fingers beckoned, curling one by one from smallest to largest. Over their dance my palm split open with a bolt of pain and the instrument unfurled, its wicked tip twitching as if scenting the night air.
To my left the brakes of the city bus screamed. But I only had eyes for the boy, and it was too late besides.
I beckoned faster. The timing of it would be key. A moment off in either direction would put an end to this lark, the boy would die for no reason, and I would stay unseen. Enslaved. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | He died like the rest of them. Silently, dumbstruck, and with the tip of my instrument flashing in his heart as I came and went and he crumpled to the floor.
Out on the street I wandered through the crowds and drank in the way their eyes gleamed.
A boy tottered out over the curb ahead of his dad, hands clutching absently while his eyes stood transfixed to a towering video ad across the way. Fizzy. Sweet. A bubbling rainbow cascaded down the display and danced in the boy's eyes. Low-cal but decadent. Fine for your figure.
Crosswise came a city bus.
I bounded into the street knowing it was time to finish. To cross over into the light.
Deep in my tattered soul stirred the talents I had lived so long to cultivate. Each kill had been easier than the last, had come more naturally. I was quieter and they saw less of me. Eventually, they didn't see anything at all. Not until they had been picked. Then they would see the kaleidoscope eyes, and around them, the pallid sunken sockets. Reassuring swirls that spoke of love and home's embrace, of the hand that settled on your shoulder when you cried and the small of your back on your wedding day. Just ahead.
The edge of the boy's gaze brushed mine and for an imperceptibly small moment his face slackened and his eyes rolled. Then his pupils slid down and locked with mine. A familiar smile split his face as his steps became regular and he began to advance slowly toward where I had folded my legs beneath myself. The wind stirred and overhead a traffic light swung on its line. Only the boy could have seen the pair of twisting shadows cast in the street by its flashing yellow light.
In the bus a woman leapt from her seat toward the driver, who was stealing a glance at the screen he had stashed between his left leg and the inside wall of the sweet, approaching end.
Beneath and between the kaleidoscope eyes appeared a pale and water-wrinkled hand. The fingers beckoned, curling one by one from smallest to largest. Over their dance my palm split open with a bolt of pain and the instrument unfurled, its wicked tip twitching as if scenting the night air.
To my left the brakes of the city bus screamed. But I only had eyes for the boy, and it was too late besides.
I beckoned faster. The timing of it would be key. A moment off in either direction would put an end to this lark, the boy would die for no reason, and I would stay unseen. Enslaved. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The steel door was the only thing in the room with me. Four concrete walls and the giant steel door. Pacing does terrible things to ones mental state, alas, I was trapped into this perpetual cycle of pace, hold head in hands, rinse and repeat.
Not many women end up in a place like this. Less than 8% according to Wikipedia. I'd done my research, and I was part of the great minority in this wretched *zoo* of a slaughter house. Probably because women plan better than men. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
My research also told me that 72% of men are physically stronger than me, despite the countless hours subjecting myself to a tireless training regime.
A metallic slam resonated through the room, the kind that happens when you slam a bin lid too hard. I don't suppose I have much chance of seeing a bin every again.
The place I am in is where they send you to die. When you murder someone, they find you and send you here.
Of course, some escape, or are never caught, but most murders happen on the extensive network of CCTV cameras, the Mind's Eye Security System, known as the MESS by most. I digress.
*Here* is not a good place to be. *Here* is an arena. If you kill someone, you come here. You have to fight to escape this place.
There's a variety of televised events they can put you in for: sword duels, fist-fights, death races or any amalgamation of the imagination. All of the events are designed to get someone close enough to death that a 'benefactor' can kill them legally in order to increase their own life.
Is it morally indefensible? Yes.
Is it totally corrupt? Absolutely.
Does it cut the rate of murders by an order of magnitude? Unfortunately so, or it would be done away with.
Finally, I hear a voice. Two days of solitude to put me on edge before my event, and I finally hear a voice.
"You're on now." A gruff voice. Hardened. How many lives has he taken?
The door rolls open, slowly, noisily. Painstakingly.
The light is blinding, a crowd is amassed around the stadium. On the other end of the arena, a young boy stands alone, weeping. |
*My entire life was a race. I wasn't even supposed to be here... I was a stillborn baby. My clock started ticking the moment my mom died at birth.*
*Do you know how what it's like, Matt? living on a clock?*
She spread the flowers on the tombstone, tears in her eyes.
*I never wanted to hurt you Matt, but you were already too sick. I can't stop reliving that moment. All I wanted was to say yes.* |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. |
*My entire life was a race. I wasn't even supposed to be here... I was a stillborn baby. My clock started ticking the moment my mom died at birth.*
*Do you know how what it's like, Matt? living on a clock?*
She spread the flowers on the tombstone, tears in her eyes.
*I never wanted to hurt you Matt, but you were already too sick. I can't stop reliving that moment. All I wanted was to say yes.* |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara |
*My entire life was a race. I wasn't even supposed to be here... I was a stillborn baby. My clock started ticking the moment my mom died at birth.*
*Do you know how what it's like, Matt? living on a clock?*
She spread the flowers on the tombstone, tears in her eyes.
*I never wanted to hurt you Matt, but you were already too sick. I can't stop reliving that moment. All I wanted was to say yes.* |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The steel door was the only thing in the room with me. Four concrete walls and the giant steel door. Pacing does terrible things to ones mental state, alas, I was trapped into this perpetual cycle of pace, hold head in hands, rinse and repeat.
Not many women end up in a place like this. Less than 8% according to Wikipedia. I'd done my research, and I was part of the great minority in this wretched *zoo* of a slaughter house. Probably because women plan better than men. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
My research also told me that 72% of men are physically stronger than me, despite the countless hours subjecting myself to a tireless training regime.
A metallic slam resonated through the room, the kind that happens when you slam a bin lid too hard. I don't suppose I have much chance of seeing a bin every again.
The place I am in is where they send you to die. When you murder someone, they find you and send you here.
Of course, some escape, or are never caught, but most murders happen on the extensive network of CCTV cameras, the Mind's Eye Security System, known as the MESS by most. I digress.
*Here* is not a good place to be. *Here* is an arena. If you kill someone, you come here. You have to fight to escape this place.
There's a variety of televised events they can put you in for: sword duels, fist-fights, death races or any amalgamation of the imagination. All of the events are designed to get someone close enough to death that a 'benefactor' can kill them legally in order to increase their own life.
Is it morally indefensible? Yes.
Is it totally corrupt? Absolutely.
Does it cut the rate of murders by an order of magnitude? Unfortunately so, or it would be done away with.
Finally, I hear a voice. Two days of solitude to put me on edge before my event, and I finally hear a voice.
"You're on now." A gruff voice. Hardened. How many lives has he taken?
The door rolls open, slowly, noisily. Painstakingly.
The light is blinding, a crowd is amassed around the stadium. On the other end of the arena, a young boy stands alone, weeping. | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | Shit, it was a gun.
That was the first thing I thought to myself when I saw the man pull out his hand. How stupid of me, thinking I could take on this fucking robber.
The fuck face and his gun seemed to smile at me for a second. Before I notice it, the gun was pointed towards my chest.
What the fuck face didn't know was that, I too had a little jimmy in my pocket.
I scoffed at the gun.
Then I heard a gunshot.
My spider man shirt was ruined. The fuck face drilled a hole on spidey's right eye. Blood quickly spurted out and got all over my shirt.
Thinking about my new shirt, I took out little jimmy and pulled the trigger.
I felt it.
20 more years.
My wound quickly closed, then after a second it seemed like there was no damage at all.
"20 more years again huh," I thought to myself.
Every time I gain 20 years there is always a cost. Before they were bearable, like a couple dead people, or a broken red bridge.
But today was devasting.
I looked all around me.
Shit.
I really liked this fucking shirt too. | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | "Look, let's just get this over with so we can eat lunch. Guilty."
"There's no evidence, I can't convict him without evidence."
"What are you, stupid? Did you see how old he is? Besides, it says right here he was born one hundred years ago. Statistically, most men are dead by then. And he's in excellent health."
"I mean, even if we're wrong, it's not as if he had much life left in him anyway."
"Plus he was the only one around at the time."
"Look, for all we know, his son committed suicide."
"Right. His son. The fat leech with fingers deep in his father's bank accounts. He didn't have to work a day in his life."
"You're not thinking this through. He was unemployed, not by choice. He felt as if he was being a burden on his father and offed himself. You read the letter."
"Fuck the letter. You can fake a letter."
"You saw the old man crying."
"You can fake tears."
"And what about his ex-wife? She left him for a reason. Maybe she saw what you didn't. Maybe she saw what we're all seeing."
"Young, pretty woman like her marrying a rich old man? I'd be surprised if she didn't want him dead for his inheritance. The son's out of the way already."
"You know there's only one way to know for sure."
"But that-"
"IF. IF we declare him guilty, he'll get the death penalty. Then all we have to do is read the report for when he dies."
"That's preposterous! He's just an old man! There's no evidence!"
"Look, I'm just saying. When murderers die, their faces change to that of their last victim. Everyone knows that. So when he dies, if his face changes to that of his son, then we're right."
"I don't see how that helps."
"It is eleven against one. Based on all the circumstances, do you really think he's completely innocent? Are you just wasting all of our time here?"
"If we just consider the evidence-
"There is no evidence to consider! You said it yourself. Just say 'guilty'."
...
"Has the jury reached a verdict?"
"We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant..."
"Fuck you. Fuck all of you."
"Mister Matthews, calm down or I will find you in contempt of court."
"I'm already a dead man. Your contempt doesn't scare me. Just know this. You're killing an innocent old man."
"...guilty."
"Take him away, bailiff."
"Come along, Mister Matthews."
"Forget you all!"
"Put that down!"
"He's got his gun!"
**BANG**
There was no death sentence. The bailiff put two fingers to Mister Matthews' wrist. "He's dead." No shit, sherlock. There was a hole through the top of his head. Everyone was looking at his face. Waiting for it to change. Everyone except me. I just cussed out loud. Because his face didn't change. It couldn't have, even if he had murdered his son. For in this crazy, messed up world, where your face changes to match the last person you've killed, Mister Matthews found a guaranteed way to keep his own face. Mister Matthews had shot himself. And now we'll never know. | I watched the gagged body squirm in front of me. With a simple flick of my wrist he was dead. I cleaned my dagger off as the blood poured from his neck. There was no gurgling or gasping for air; I had done this too many times to let them die slowly.
I bent down and placed my hands in my victims blood. I could feel the energy seeping into my body. I sighed as I stood up. The feeling was immediate and so was my transformation. I was no longer a graying man with skin that was starting to wrinkle even though I was only forty. I was now a twenty year old with killer looks.
I stepped over my kill to change clothes and inspect myself closer. This would do for a few years. I glanced back at the body. I shrugged and left. If I hadn't been caught yet, I never would. After all, who'd suspect a 278 year old man.
I walked down the street and paused at a local coffee shop. I bought bagel and a warm coffee. I could feel the blood of my latest victim on my hands through my gloves. I smirked as I thought of everyone walking past a serial killer and having no idea. I think through all the years that's what has made life worth living.
I brought the bagel to my mouth and chewed. It tasted like cardboard. The coffee tasted like dirt. I was practiced at hiding my disgust, but it didn't make it any less terrible.
I ate because I had to. After my first kill, I went days without eating. The taste was so bad. The sleep was worse. I slept for mere minutes at a time only to be interrupted by nightmares. Then there was sex. Even that wasn't good anymore.
I downed my food as fast as I could, contemplating what made life worth living.
A cheery waitress popped over to my table to ask if I needed anything. I assured her I did not as I handed her a generous tip. She smiled at me as her hand brushed mine. I smiled back as I thought of the blood just beneath that glove.
The silly waitress had no idea the monster that stood before her. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. | It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The steel door was the only thing in the room with me. Four concrete walls and the giant steel door. Pacing does terrible things to ones mental state, alas, I was trapped into this perpetual cycle of pace, hold head in hands, rinse and repeat.
Not many women end up in a place like this. Less than 8% according to Wikipedia. I'd done my research, and I was part of the great minority in this wretched *zoo* of a slaughter house. Probably because women plan better than men. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
My research also told me that 72% of men are physically stronger than me, despite the countless hours subjecting myself to a tireless training regime.
A metallic slam resonated through the room, the kind that happens when you slam a bin lid too hard. I don't suppose I have much chance of seeing a bin every again.
The place I am in is where they send you to die. When you murder someone, they find you and send you here.
Of course, some escape, or are never caught, but most murders happen on the extensive network of CCTV cameras, the Mind's Eye Security System, known as the MESS by most. I digress.
*Here* is not a good place to be. *Here* is an arena. If you kill someone, you come here. You have to fight to escape this place.
There's a variety of televised events they can put you in for: sword duels, fist-fights, death races or any amalgamation of the imagination. All of the events are designed to get someone close enough to death that a 'benefactor' can kill them legally in order to increase their own life.
Is it morally indefensible? Yes.
Is it totally corrupt? Absolutely.
Does it cut the rate of murders by an order of magnitude? Unfortunately so, or it would be done away with.
Finally, I hear a voice. Two days of solitude to put me on edge before my event, and I finally hear a voice.
"You're on now." A gruff voice. Hardened. How many lives has he taken?
The door rolls open, slowly, noisily. Painstakingly.
The light is blinding, a crowd is amassed around the stadium. On the other end of the arena, a young boy stands alone, weeping. | It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. | It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | Shit, it was a gun.
That was the first thing I thought to myself when I saw the man pull out his hand. How stupid of me, thinking I could take on this fucking robber.
The fuck face and his gun seemed to smile at me for a second. Before I notice it, the gun was pointed towards my chest.
What the fuck face didn't know was that, I too had a little jimmy in my pocket.
I scoffed at the gun.
Then I heard a gunshot.
My spider man shirt was ruined. The fuck face drilled a hole on spidey's right eye. Blood quickly spurted out and got all over my shirt.
Thinking about my new shirt, I took out little jimmy and pulled the trigger.
I felt it.
20 more years.
My wound quickly closed, then after a second it seemed like there was no damage at all.
"20 more years again huh," I thought to myself.
Every time I gain 20 years there is always a cost. Before they were bearable, like a couple dead people, or a broken red bridge.
But today was devasting.
I looked all around me.
Shit.
I really liked this fucking shirt too. | It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | "Look, let's just get this over with so we can eat lunch. Guilty."
"There's no evidence, I can't convict him without evidence."
"What are you, stupid? Did you see how old he is? Besides, it says right here he was born one hundred years ago. Statistically, most men are dead by then. And he's in excellent health."
"I mean, even if we're wrong, it's not as if he had much life left in him anyway."
"Plus he was the only one around at the time."
"Look, for all we know, his son committed suicide."
"Right. His son. The fat leech with fingers deep in his father's bank accounts. He didn't have to work a day in his life."
"You're not thinking this through. He was unemployed, not by choice. He felt as if he was being a burden on his father and offed himself. You read the letter."
"Fuck the letter. You can fake a letter."
"You saw the old man crying."
"You can fake tears."
"And what about his ex-wife? She left him for a reason. Maybe she saw what you didn't. Maybe she saw what we're all seeing."
"Young, pretty woman like her marrying a rich old man? I'd be surprised if she didn't want him dead for his inheritance. The son's out of the way already."
"You know there's only one way to know for sure."
"But that-"
"IF. IF we declare him guilty, he'll get the death penalty. Then all we have to do is read the report for when he dies."
"That's preposterous! He's just an old man! There's no evidence!"
"Look, I'm just saying. When murderers die, their faces change to that of their last victim. Everyone knows that. So when he dies, if his face changes to that of his son, then we're right."
"I don't see how that helps."
"It is eleven against one. Based on all the circumstances, do you really think he's completely innocent? Are you just wasting all of our time here?"
"If we just consider the evidence-
"There is no evidence to consider! You said it yourself. Just say 'guilty'."
...
"Has the jury reached a verdict?"
"We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant..."
"Fuck you. Fuck all of you."
"Mister Matthews, calm down or I will find you in contempt of court."
"I'm already a dead man. Your contempt doesn't scare me. Just know this. You're killing an innocent old man."
"...guilty."
"Take him away, bailiff."
"Come along, Mister Matthews."
"Forget you all!"
"Put that down!"
"He's got his gun!"
**BANG**
There was no death sentence. The bailiff put two fingers to Mister Matthews' wrist. "He's dead." No shit, sherlock. There was a hole through the top of his head. Everyone was looking at his face. Waiting for it to change. Everyone except me. I just cussed out loud. Because his face didn't change. It couldn't have, even if he had murdered his son. For in this crazy, messed up world, where your face changes to match the last person you've killed, Mister Matthews found a guaranteed way to keep his own face. Mister Matthews had shot himself. And now we'll never know. | It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | My first kill was a complete accident. I was working in the kitchen of *Le Franke*, the restaurant I cooked in. I was chopping some veggies for a dish when I felt a tap on my shoulder and a whisper in my ear. Startled, I whipped around only to find my knife stuck in the gut of my co-worker.
He looked down, then into my eyes. "What the fuck, dude?" And with that, he dropped dead to the floor.
I held in my breakfast long enough for the EMTs to arrive. As they carried his body to the ambulance, I saw some gross purple wisps slip out of his body. When the wisps started to wiggle their way towards me, I power walked my ass outta there. When I hit the door, I felt a cool sensation make my asshole pucker.
I keeled over and clutched at my cheeks. Two things happened after that. I felt immensely healthier and younger. Then, I heard a crude Irish accent in my head "*Oy! Where the fuck am I?*"
*Wait what, am I crazy?* I thought to myself.
*Nope, you're just an asshole, Jerry!*
Ah, fuck no way Cory is in my head right now. As nice as he was, I couldn't bring myself to like his "in your face" attit-
*Listen here you motherfucker, I got you a gift on your birthday, which, may I remind you, NO ONE ELSE FUCKIN REMEMBERED!*
*Okay, okay, whatever. So, are we stuck together now?*
*I suppose. Anyways, what's with these papers? It says 'Lifespan added/20 years for **Cory***.
*I dunno, I can't see anything*
*Oh alright*
I've lived with Cory for fifteen years now. I'd say it's been fine. He helps me with girls and making up witty comebacks. He's the only one who sees who I really am. He told me that he wasn't too mad about me killing him since he didn't actually die, he just gets to ride with me. Also, he gets his own little spot in my head. He gets to fuck around and have sex with anyone he wants. Cory's words, not mine. Unfortunately, my second killing was not so... nice.
I was just about ready to go to bed. I got up from the toilet after playing a little "five on one." I had gotten used to jerkin' it with Cory around. He doesn't say anything while I make the bald man cry; Not anymore.
While I washed my hands, I heard a crashing noise downstairs. My heart jumped.
*Aw shit mate... You better get your pistol. Don't worry man, you got the jump on this fucker.*
*Thanks, Cor. Hopefully, it's just a...* I didn't bother to finish that thought as I made sure my Glock 37 was ready to go.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner, I immediately saw the burglar.
*Fuck! Get em'!*
I saw him fumble with the side of his pants. Before the guy could bring his gun up, I fired two rounds into his chest.
I heard a sharp yell ring through the air and a thud as the body fell to the floor. This time, I saw yellow wisps fly through the air and into my arsehole.
*What the fuck I felt that one, mate.*
Then I heard a voice that reminded me of a nonchalant teen from a youth movie pierce my mind.
*Hey, did that guy just shoot me? Who the fuck are you, you pale fuck!*
*Oy, no need for that! Calm your tits woman!*
Dear God, kill me now there's two of them.
*Alright, you nasty old man-*
*Hey, that nasty old man has a name. Right, Jerry?*
Thanks for the backup Cory.
By the time I was seventy, Cory, Jenine, and I got along quite well. I'm pretty sure they fucked at one time, but it's hard to tell. I don't look a day over 40 though. Who knows the next person I might have to kill. I just hope they're not an asshole.
| It started on a normal Monday morning. I walked downstairs and made myself a bowl of cereal. My roommate walked in just as I finished eating.
"Hey dude!" I said cheerily. "Want something? I made coffee."
He looked at me funny. We never really got along. Nothing had happened, we just didn't have much in common.
"Uhh, sure." he replied warily.
I made him some coffee and a bowl of cereal. He sat down and began to eat.
"Look man, I'm sorry I have to ask, but could I borrow twenty bucks?"
My roommate just looked at me. I never did have a lot of cash, but never asked for any either.
"I dunno, I guess." he said almost reluctantly.
He handed me the money and I ran to my car. I needed twenty dollars for the biggest deal of my life. There was a special deal on a limited edition misprint pokerman card. All of the best poker players on small cards with all their stats, it is my dream. But this card, it would complete my collection. With that card, I could sell my collection and become rich! My only problem was there was only on card left. The store had it on hold for me, but only until midnight. I drove over to the shop, and parked my car across the street. I guess I was so excited that I didn't pay attention, because a car came flying down the street at me. The car swerved and ran into a pole, but not before hitting me down. My vision was hazy. I forced my eyes open. The driver had fallen out of the car, but she was still alive. Suddenly, I heard an evil voice say the dreaded words.
"It's your time."
I moved my head over and saw a man in a dark cloak looming over me. He began speaking again;
"Well, it's your time unless you choose to do something about it. You can kill the woman over there and add twenty years to your life."
I looked at the woman and thought about my future. I could be rich if I got that card and sold my collection. I could live like a king. I picked up a large glass shard to kill the woman with.
"I must warn you though," the cloaked figure said."This bargain comes at a price."
I thought about it for a moment. So what if I lose my soul or whatever. I don't care. If I could live a good life, I'd be content. I looked at the man and said;
"Deal."
I took the knife and drove it into the woman's chest. There was a look of confusion and horror on her face as the light left her eyes. While the light left her, however, it returned to me. I stood up and walked into the shop to buy my card. The shopkeeper looked at me with horror.
"I'd like to buy the card." I said with a cracked voice.
"Y-yeah, sure." the clerk said. "That will be twenty bucks."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I reached in but couldn't find the money. I began to panic as I emptied my wallet looking for my money. But it wasn't there. Suddenly the words of the cloaked man returned to me. Twenty years would come at a price. I knew what happened to the money. The devil took twenty dollars for twenty years. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The steel door was the only thing in the room with me. Four concrete walls and the giant steel door. Pacing does terrible things to ones mental state, alas, I was trapped into this perpetual cycle of pace, hold head in hands, rinse and repeat.
Not many women end up in a place like this. Less than 8% according to Wikipedia. I'd done my research, and I was part of the great minority in this wretched *zoo* of a slaughter house. Probably because women plan better than men. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
My research also told me that 72% of men are physically stronger than me, despite the countless hours subjecting myself to a tireless training regime.
A metallic slam resonated through the room, the kind that happens when you slam a bin lid too hard. I don't suppose I have much chance of seeing a bin every again.
The place I am in is where they send you to die. When you murder someone, they find you and send you here.
Of course, some escape, or are never caught, but most murders happen on the extensive network of CCTV cameras, the Mind's Eye Security System, known as the MESS by most. I digress.
*Here* is not a good place to be. *Here* is an arena. If you kill someone, you come here. You have to fight to escape this place.
There's a variety of televised events they can put you in for: sword duels, fist-fights, death races or any amalgamation of the imagination. All of the events are designed to get someone close enough to death that a 'benefactor' can kill them legally in order to increase their own life.
Is it morally indefensible? Yes.
Is it totally corrupt? Absolutely.
Does it cut the rate of murders by an order of magnitude? Unfortunately so, or it would be done away with.
Finally, I hear a voice. Two days of solitude to put me on edge before my event, and I finally hear a voice.
"You're on now." A gruff voice. Hardened. How many lives has he taken?
The door rolls open, slowly, noisily. Painstakingly.
The light is blinding, a crowd is amassed around the stadium. On the other end of the arena, a young boy stands alone, weeping. | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | Shit, it was a gun.
That was the first thing I thought to myself when I saw the man pull out his hand. How stupid of me, thinking I could take on this fucking robber.
The fuck face and his gun seemed to smile at me for a second. Before I notice it, the gun was pointed towards my chest.
What the fuck face didn't know was that, I too had a little jimmy in my pocket.
I scoffed at the gun.
Then I heard a gunshot.
My spider man shirt was ruined. The fuck face drilled a hole on spidey's right eye. Blood quickly spurted out and got all over my shirt.
Thinking about my new shirt, I took out little jimmy and pulled the trigger.
I felt it.
20 more years.
My wound quickly closed, then after a second it seemed like there was no damage at all.
"20 more years again huh," I thought to myself.
Every time I gain 20 years there is always a cost. Before they were bearable, like a couple dead people, or a broken red bridge.
But today was devasting.
I looked all around me.
Shit.
I really liked this fucking shirt too. | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | "Look, let's just get this over with so we can eat lunch. Guilty."
"There's no evidence, I can't convict him without evidence."
"What are you, stupid? Did you see how old he is? Besides, it says right here he was born one hundred years ago. Statistically, most men are dead by then. And he's in excellent health."
"I mean, even if we're wrong, it's not as if he had much life left in him anyway."
"Plus he was the only one around at the time."
"Look, for all we know, his son committed suicide."
"Right. His son. The fat leech with fingers deep in his father's bank accounts. He didn't have to work a day in his life."
"You're not thinking this through. He was unemployed, not by choice. He felt as if he was being a burden on his father and offed himself. You read the letter."
"Fuck the letter. You can fake a letter."
"You saw the old man crying."
"You can fake tears."
"And what about his ex-wife? She left him for a reason. Maybe she saw what you didn't. Maybe she saw what we're all seeing."
"Young, pretty woman like her marrying a rich old man? I'd be surprised if she didn't want him dead for his inheritance. The son's out of the way already."
"You know there's only one way to know for sure."
"But that-"
"IF. IF we declare him guilty, he'll get the death penalty. Then all we have to do is read the report for when he dies."
"That's preposterous! He's just an old man! There's no evidence!"
"Look, I'm just saying. When murderers die, their faces change to that of their last victim. Everyone knows that. So when he dies, if his face changes to that of his son, then we're right."
"I don't see how that helps."
"It is eleven against one. Based on all the circumstances, do you really think he's completely innocent? Are you just wasting all of our time here?"
"If we just consider the evidence-
"There is no evidence to consider! You said it yourself. Just say 'guilty'."
...
"Has the jury reached a verdict?"
"We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant..."
"Fuck you. Fuck all of you."
"Mister Matthews, calm down or I will find you in contempt of court."
"I'm already a dead man. Your contempt doesn't scare me. Just know this. You're killing an innocent old man."
"...guilty."
"Take him away, bailiff."
"Come along, Mister Matthews."
"Forget you all!"
"Put that down!"
"He's got his gun!"
**BANG**
There was no death sentence. The bailiff put two fingers to Mister Matthews' wrist. "He's dead." No shit, sherlock. There was a hole through the top of his head. Everyone was looking at his face. Waiting for it to change. Everyone except me. I just cussed out loud. Because his face didn't change. It couldn't have, even if he had murdered his son. For in this crazy, messed up world, where your face changes to match the last person you've killed, Mister Matthews found a guaranteed way to keep his own face. Mister Matthews had shot himself. And now we'll never know. | A thin wisp of smoke lazily trailed from the smouldering remains of a cigarette, buried deep within a charcoal gray ash tray. The room was deafened by the silence, save for the soft mechanical tick of a clock that hung on the wall. Its only sin was being off by about two minutes.
With a solemn gaze, a figure turned his head about the room. His eyes scanned the small abode he found himself in. Quaint, yet filled with such exotic wonders and priceless treasures that one wouldn't even be able to discern their value. It easily would take a lifetime to acquire such wealth, maybe two, maybe more...or maybe twenty-seven lifetimes to be precise.
A small sigh shattered the still peace, and the world let out a shudder as once more the scales of life were tipped. The debt would have to be paid.
Leather-bound hands began to rummage through the personnel of the departed, carefully though. Treat the dead with respect.
The clock watched on, its breath accentuated with each tick, as the trickster weaved a patch of wool over life's eyes. A small click rang from a steel case the figure had pulled out. This weaving required precision, and what better than a needle for the task.
Deft hands, familiar with the work to be done, moved from point to point. Soon, the patch was complete, but to call it a mere patch would be insulting. What the figure had created could only be described as a tapestry, hiding reality away from life. But it didn't matter. Life always found a way, and the debt would have to be paid once again. But it wouldn't matter soon, he was almost done.
Pain erupted through his arm, as the essence frantically rushed forward to fill the gaps, to buy just a bit more time. Each time, it became just a bit more unbearable.
The first one had only felt like a minor sting, nothing to be concerned about. The tenth one had felt like a quick jab from a small knife, unexpected but bearable. The fiftieth one felt like your body was burning, slow and truly hellish.
Now... well, it was a good thing no one else was around to hear the screams.
But it was worth it, to buy just a bit more time. He would endure this hell. He would endure it until he could return it a hundred-fold.
The table shook as he grabbed it, hand furiously shaking. The pain lingered, lasting just a bit longer than it did last time. It didn't matter.
His legs found purchase on the ground, dragging him back towards the metal case that laid before the body. His instrument was gingerly placed back within its haven, sealed away with a soft click.
A quick glance. The body had already begun to shrivel and fade. Blood still stained the ground, slowly soaking into the creases and marks of the wooden floor, almost as though it were sating the hunger of some great beast. If one were to examine the body closely and managed to ignore the uncountable wounds that layered it, they might find a faint red pinprick near the heart. But it ultimately did not matter. Those who understood what that small wound meant would soon receive a visit.
Glancing back at the clock on the wall, he began to leave. There was still work to be done, and it would not be quick to track the rest down.
But it didn't matter too much how long it would take.
After all, they had all the time he needed. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | The steel door was the only thing in the room with me. Four concrete walls and the giant steel door. Pacing does terrible things to ones mental state, alas, I was trapped into this perpetual cycle of pace, hold head in hands, rinse and repeat.
Not many women end up in a place like this. Less than 8% according to Wikipedia. I'd done my research, and I was part of the great minority in this wretched *zoo* of a slaughter house. Probably because women plan better than men. I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.
My research also told me that 72% of men are physically stronger than me, despite the countless hours subjecting myself to a tireless training regime.
A metallic slam resonated through the room, the kind that happens when you slam a bin lid too hard. I don't suppose I have much chance of seeing a bin every again.
The place I am in is where they send you to die. When you murder someone, they find you and send you here.
Of course, some escape, or are never caught, but most murders happen on the extensive network of CCTV cameras, the Mind's Eye Security System, known as the MESS by most. I digress.
*Here* is not a good place to be. *Here* is an arena. If you kill someone, you come here. You have to fight to escape this place.
There's a variety of televised events they can put you in for: sword duels, fist-fights, death races or any amalgamation of the imagination. All of the events are designed to get someone close enough to death that a 'benefactor' can kill them legally in order to increase their own life.
Is it morally indefensible? Yes.
Is it totally corrupt? Absolutely.
Does it cut the rate of murders by an order of magnitude? Unfortunately so, or it would be done away with.
Finally, I hear a voice. Two days of solitude to put me on edge before my event, and I finally hear a voice.
"You're on now." A gruff voice. Hardened. How many lives has he taken?
The door rolls open, slowly, noisily. Painstakingly.
The light is blinding, a crowd is amassed around the stadium. On the other end of the arena, a young boy stands alone, weeping. | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I glance at the blood running out of my veins, into the dialysis machine and back into my body, skipping my failed organs.
I'm 453, and as anyone knows, that means I killed people and racked up a lot of 20s.
The first was when I was 12. I went to a nearby lake with a friend days after his birthday, and him and I made the decision to climb up the nearby rock face. Being a year or so younger, he hung onto my every word and agreed without question...
*And then, you murdered me.*
I sigh out into the sterile, still air. "Let it go, would you. Your death wasn't on purpose."
*That's supposed to make me feel better?*
"Not really, it just means that it wasn't murder. It was manslaughter."
*Fine, go on then.*
Unfortunately, the price of killing someone is having to hear their thoughts for as long as you live. The only way for the voices to stop is to die yourself, in which case you might end up coming back to haunt someone else. Samuel, my friend, was one of the few who had 'talked' to me regularly over the years. The others had given up over the centuries, spirits broken by the prospect of being barred from the afterlife for all eternity. To be honest though, unless they introduced themselves, it was impossible to tell which of them was which.
*You shouldn't give up, old man. Find someone, kill them. Fix your organs with their healthy blood.*
"Always a bloodthirsty one, Caesar. But just what's the point? If I attempted to live forever I'll be wracked by your combined whispers and likely kill myself."
*I think I speak for most of us in here when I say that I have come to doubt the afterlife's existence. To be honest, this is our afterlife.*
I can't fault them on that count.
*When the nurse comes in, strangle her. As far as we're concerned, this certain afterlife is much better than an uncertain one.*
Mind made up, I lie back and close my eyes. I consciously slow my heart rate and within minutes the door flings open. "Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?"
I pretend not to, and she leans in to check my eyes. Before she can resist, I flick them open and grab her by the throat. I look deep into her fear-filled eyes as she spasms violently until the eyes drain of life.
*Arsehole!* she cries out in my mind as her body hits the floor.
*Good job!* the rest clamour. Another 20 years I suppose. | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. |
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | [WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. |
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