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Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | It was October Sunday to be exact. I made a death contract with the unknown, which can make me immortal but at a price. The price was rather a easy one not even the slightest a burden. The price after all was helping others will shorten my life span, while torturing others will give me immortality.
It was the next day and to fill you in we live in the old 1900s. I went on my Mary way and I got a funny idea. I grabbed the money I had with me and bought me a good ole colt revolver. I then headed out to find me my accomplices, which we then BANG BANG shooting our revolvers to scare the local, we yelled jewelry n money in the bag now. We then grabbed our revolver and oh did we have fun bang oh my life span went up bang more life bang even more life. After we killed off the locals we took all their belongings and make it a funny crime scene we yanked all their teeth out disfigured their corpse and oh sweet ole petroleum we burnt these little rich boys. After finishing the job me and the accomplices got us self a cigar and we hunted down some of our recruits (kids) and gave them a cigar to smoke
TBC at school can't Finnish grammar is bad as it isn't my first language will try to fix everything later cheers any feed back? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tom smiled as his friend joined him on the familiar bench at the park. The stream of life flowed by them in the form of parents and children, lovers and friends, colleagues and strangers. The two men sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in.
The older man reached into his coat pocket and removed a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. His newly arrived friend received it with his usual courteous confusion; the package was nondescript but for the number **3973** written across the front in black ink. The younger man opened his briefcase and slid the package in with a sigh.
"Tom..." he began, finally initiating an exchange he'd rehearsed a hundred times. "I think you know what I'm going to ask you."
Tom nodded, smiling.
"This is the same thing as usual, right?"
Another nod.
"Yankees versus Mariners, Oct. 8, 1995?"
The same smile.
"Tom, you know I'd do anything for you, and I've been receiving this strange little bit of baseball history from you every day now for over a decade. Never complained, never asked questions. But..." he shrugged, giving up; "I just have to know... *why*?"
Tom settled back and looked at the river. A group of teenagers were passing by on the opposite shore in a canoe, laughing and shouting at each other. Ducks landed and took off. Clouds were clouds.
"I guess I do have one small confession to make," said Tom, turning to his friend. A moment of anticipation stretched out, and then -- "Do you know that I've been making video recordings of this game with Major League Baseball's implied oral consent, but *without* its express written consent?"
If the younger man was scandalized by this, he concealed it heroically. His dissatisfaction with the answer was less easy to hide.
"But why on earth have you been copying the same game for over ten years and giving it to me? Nobody even uses tapes anymore; this must be costing you a fortune."
Tom turned once more to look out over the path and the river, with all its pageant of happy humanity passing by.
"Well," said Tom, "let's just call it your good deed for the day." | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | In every war, someone has to produce a factor that will decide the victory or defeat of both sides. In my case, that factor happened to be a "curse". No one knew how it worked- magical or mechanical, but there was but one thing known about it.
Whatever is considered evil would be rewarded, and good punished.
So, bearing the curse, I was forced to be on the front lines of war, because my superiors couldn't trust me enough. They thought that on the off chance that I decided to live forever, all I needed was a weapon and enough teammates.
I'm not dead yet.
I was the first to get attacked, but it was fine. If this continued, I would live forever.
After all, I was fighting for the Nazis.
_____________________________________________________
This is my first story and I did this in like 5 minutes please don't kill me | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | It's been four hundred years.
Grueling years at first, when obeying my mother's orders scraped my soul raw. If she caught me doing a kindness or saying my prayers, she would pull me to her, crying, fearing that the curse would be fulfilled in that moment and I would wither in my goodness.
"Old witch," she would wail, loud enough for my grandmother to hear her in Hell. It was her words laid on my head like an ever-tightening crown of thorns: *Better that she die now with love than to live on in sin.* A heartless thing to say to a new mother and widow after a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, but a credit to her Puritan beliefs. The old bitch had known herself to be among the Elect; everyone else knew better. Especially my mother, who screamed her defiance into the flames on the hearth.
She took me to church to avoid suspicion, trained me to preserve an appearance of perfect propriety, all while encouraging evils appropriate to my age. My childhood was spent stealing from my playmates. I pushed, slapped, pinched with such ferocity that even the rowdiest boys teared up at the sight of me. When I was caught misbehaving, I lied. And each night I listed my sins for my mother, and she praised each one.
"Live, my darling," she told me as she kissed me and pulled the blankets snug around me. "Whatever it takes, live."
At sixteen, my aging began to slow: an infinite girlhood stretched to its limits with the increased gravity of my peccadilloes. From immodesty I crept into coquetry, from fornication to adultery. I supplemented theft with prostitution. In her dotage, my mother grew more enthusiastic about her damnation. "If teaching you to preserve your life is wrong, then I will gladly take my place at Satan's feet," she declared to me one night as I undressed, the day's booty spilling out of the layers of clothes.
By the end of the war in 1763, I did not believe in Satan or God, only the madness of men. Yet I sat through Sunday services every week, missing them only when my mother deteriorated. I watched her shrink to a husk, and as I cared for her, I felt myself age. By the time of her death, I knew I would never escort another wretched soul to the gates of Death. I flung myself headfirst into a libertinism worthy of Casanova. My strength returned; my wrinkles smoothed.
Soon revolution was on the tip of every tongue. I moved to Philadelphia, took a new name, and whipped the local boys into a frenzy with talk of courage and cowardice. When they marched off to fight, I hosted Loyalists and charmed Redcoats. I had taken no side. All I cared for was the thrill of their hate for each other, an electric current beneath their skin. It was the same in 1812.
By 1860, I had had a dozen names and three husbands, all of whom I'd left in the middle of the night for some handsome young fop waiting outside my window. Breaking hearts was my specialty, in every possible way. Many wives and fiancees hated me for stealing their lovers. Girls who called me their dearest friend were heartbroken by my social climbing, my cruel jabs, my matter-of-fact letters terminating the correspondence.
Each day, I stole some jewel or heart, emptying out my collection when it suited me to make room for more. When the states began fighting amongst themselves, I supposed I had enough enemies, so I exchanged my stolen goods for money and went West.
The girls I bought were young, desperate. I pitied them sometimes, but my mother's words echoed in my head. *Whatever it takes, live.* I grew to dread the shadow of Death, the threat of nothing, and redoubled my efforts to add to my life. Hedonism was as charming as ever, but gained a new attraction when contrasted with the deprivation I forced on my girls when they displeased me. I learned to wield a riding crop in ways that made me famous in sinister circles.
But times changed and charity became the fashion. I gave away most of my money, knowing I could get more whenever I wanted, and settled into a cozy, retired existence in a mansion. These were my years of solitary pleasure, when a constant torrent of alcohol and opium coursed through my body as I read the quaint blasphemies of occultists. How the authorities of my youth would have blanched, bug-eyed in fear of their Lord!
I had no fear. War was no longer a diversion for me, just an excuse to use the black market more often. I smoked the cigarettes our troops deserved, bought up silk stockings enough to last a decade. I didn't buy war bonds either time. The few taxes I did pay were enough for some bullets, surely.
It was the bomb and the camps that got to me. Such sins could purchase immortality. I was not the virtuoso if thought myself. Just a thief. Just a whore. Never a killer. So I made up my mind to waste away. I would die as I had lived: in a blur of apathetic pleasure.
I have watched the tides rise and fall for seventy-two years. I sprinkle crumbs to the gulls, drop stolen antique bills, am kind as can be, but still I linger on. I have donated to charity and given up my vices. Yet here I am, intact, no more aged than before.
My mother had it all wrong. As long as the heart beats, it is a selfish act; all humanity is biologically inclined towards the evil of ego. And my grandmother knew. Would that I had died, that my mother had let me rest rather than feeding the narcissistic beast within.
But in all this, I have honored my mother. I have done despicable things to find a foothold in this world, all for the love of the one person who believed in me.
The skin on my hands feels tight. I look down and watch the wrinkles form, the youthful plumpness vanishing. My bones reach the surface. My heart blossoms in my chest. I have kept one Commandment, have kept my mother alive inside me. Her love, the rose, with its thorn of human darkness.
I have lived in sin, mother, but I die with love. | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | I SHALL LIVE FOREVER! People underestimate me. They know I am cursed, but they don't know what I've done to be able to live forever. I am that jerk that doesn't hold the door or that doesn't say thank you when you do it to me. They call me: Mild Disturbancy Man! |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tom smiled as his friend joined him on the familiar bench at the park. The stream of life flowed by them in the form of parents and children, lovers and friends, colleagues and strangers. The two men sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in.
The older man reached into his coat pocket and removed a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. His newly arrived friend received it with his usual courteous confusion; the package was nondescript but for the number **3973** written across the front in black ink. The younger man opened his briefcase and slid the package in with a sigh.
"Tom..." he began, finally initiating an exchange he'd rehearsed a hundred times. "I think you know what I'm going to ask you."
Tom nodded, smiling.
"This is the same thing as usual, right?"
Another nod.
"Yankees versus Mariners, Oct. 8, 1995?"
The same smile.
"Tom, you know I'd do anything for you, and I've been receiving this strange little bit of baseball history from you every day now for over a decade. Never complained, never asked questions. But..." he shrugged, giving up; "I just have to know... *why*?"
Tom settled back and looked at the river. A group of teenagers were passing by on the opposite shore in a canoe, laughing and shouting at each other. Ducks landed and took off. Clouds were clouds.
"I guess I do have one small confession to make," said Tom, turning to his friend. A moment of anticipation stretched out, and then -- "Do you know that I've been making video recordings of this game with Major League Baseball's implied oral consent, but *without* its express written consent?"
If the younger man was scandalized by this, he concealed it heroically. His dissatisfaction with the answer was less easy to hide.
"But why on earth have you been copying the same game for over ten years and giving it to me? Nobody even uses tapes anymore; this must be costing you a fortune."
Tom turned once more to look out over the path and the river, with all its pageant of happy humanity passing by.
"Well," said Tom, "let's just call it your good deed for the day." | It was the perfect curse, be a good person and die quickly or be evil and live forever. The curse is such a horrible thing to have to live with, some of the acts other people with it have committed are terrible and terrifying. Hitler killed 11 million people and sparked the worst war in history. Stalin killed 20 million people and shattered east Europe, Bush did 9/11, i am just another in a long line of people who have had this Genghis khan, Vlad the impaler, and hundreds more names lost to history because in the end people get sick of evil. Even now i feel the temptation, human beings were never ment to have this power and i will break eventually. I once read a passage in the bible that said that all sins are equal, i believe that this curse is the same. Good thing pirating music is illegal im going to live forever. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | In every war, someone has to produce a factor that will decide the victory or defeat of both sides. In my case, that factor happened to be a "curse". No one knew how it worked- magical or mechanical, but there was but one thing known about it.
Whatever is considered evil would be rewarded, and good punished.
So, bearing the curse, I was forced to be on the front lines of war, because my superiors couldn't trust me enough. They thought that on the off chance that I decided to live forever, all I needed was a weapon and enough teammates.
I'm not dead yet.
I was the first to get attacked, but it was fine. If this continued, I would live forever.
After all, I was fighting for the Nazis.
_____________________________________________________
This is my first story and I did this in like 5 minutes please don't kill me | It was the perfect curse, be a good person and die quickly or be evil and live forever. The curse is such a horrible thing to have to live with, some of the acts other people with it have committed are terrible and terrifying. Hitler killed 11 million people and sparked the worst war in history. Stalin killed 20 million people and shattered east Europe, Bush did 9/11, i am just another in a long line of people who have had this Genghis khan, Vlad the impaler, and hundreds more names lost to history because in the end people get sick of evil. Even now i feel the temptation, human beings were never ment to have this power and i will break eventually. I once read a passage in the bible that said that all sins are equal, i believe that this curse is the same. Good thing pirating music is illegal im going to live forever. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | It's been four hundred years.
Grueling years at first, when obeying my mother's orders scraped my soul raw. If she caught me doing a kindness or saying my prayers, she would pull me to her, crying, fearing that the curse would be fulfilled in that moment and I would wither in my goodness.
"Old witch," she would wail, loud enough for my grandmother to hear her in Hell. It was her words laid on my head like an ever-tightening crown of thorns: *Better that she die now with love than to live on in sin.* A heartless thing to say to a new mother and widow after a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, but a credit to her Puritan beliefs. The old bitch had known herself to be among the Elect; everyone else knew better. Especially my mother, who screamed her defiance into the flames on the hearth.
She took me to church to avoid suspicion, trained me to preserve an appearance of perfect propriety, all while encouraging evils appropriate to my age. My childhood was spent stealing from my playmates. I pushed, slapped, pinched with such ferocity that even the rowdiest boys teared up at the sight of me. When I was caught misbehaving, I lied. And each night I listed my sins for my mother, and she praised each one.
"Live, my darling," she told me as she kissed me and pulled the blankets snug around me. "Whatever it takes, live."
At sixteen, my aging began to slow: an infinite girlhood stretched to its limits with the increased gravity of my peccadilloes. From immodesty I crept into coquetry, from fornication to adultery. I supplemented theft with prostitution. In her dotage, my mother grew more enthusiastic about her damnation. "If teaching you to preserve your life is wrong, then I will gladly take my place at Satan's feet," she declared to me one night as I undressed, the day's booty spilling out of the layers of clothes.
By the end of the war in 1763, I did not believe in Satan or God, only the madness of men. Yet I sat through Sunday services every week, missing them only when my mother deteriorated. I watched her shrink to a husk, and as I cared for her, I felt myself age. By the time of her death, I knew I would never escort another wretched soul to the gates of Death. I flung myself headfirst into a libertinism worthy of Casanova. My strength returned; my wrinkles smoothed.
Soon revolution was on the tip of every tongue. I moved to Philadelphia, took a new name, and whipped the local boys into a frenzy with talk of courage and cowardice. When they marched off to fight, I hosted Loyalists and charmed Redcoats. I had taken no side. All I cared for was the thrill of their hate for each other, an electric current beneath their skin. It was the same in 1812.
By 1860, I had had a dozen names and three husbands, all of whom I'd left in the middle of the night for some handsome young fop waiting outside my window. Breaking hearts was my specialty, in every possible way. Many wives and fiancees hated me for stealing their lovers. Girls who called me their dearest friend were heartbroken by my social climbing, my cruel jabs, my matter-of-fact letters terminating the correspondence.
Each day, I stole some jewel or heart, emptying out my collection when it suited me to make room for more. When the states began fighting amongst themselves, I supposed I had enough enemies, so I exchanged my stolen goods for money and went West.
The girls I bought were young, desperate. I pitied them sometimes, but my mother's words echoed in my head. *Whatever it takes, live.* I grew to dread the shadow of Death, the threat of nothing, and redoubled my efforts to add to my life. Hedonism was as charming as ever, but gained a new attraction when contrasted with the deprivation I forced on my girls when they displeased me. I learned to wield a riding crop in ways that made me famous in sinister circles.
But times changed and charity became the fashion. I gave away most of my money, knowing I could get more whenever I wanted, and settled into a cozy, retired existence in a mansion. These were my years of solitary pleasure, when a constant torrent of alcohol and opium coursed through my body as I read the quaint blasphemies of occultists. How the authorities of my youth would have blanched, bug-eyed in fear of their Lord!
I had no fear. War was no longer a diversion for me, just an excuse to use the black market more often. I smoked the cigarettes our troops deserved, bought up silk stockings enough to last a decade. I didn't buy war bonds either time. The few taxes I did pay were enough for some bullets, surely.
It was the bomb and the camps that got to me. Such sins could purchase immortality. I was not the virtuoso if thought myself. Just a thief. Just a whore. Never a killer. So I made up my mind to waste away. I would die as I had lived: in a blur of apathetic pleasure.
I have watched the tides rise and fall for seventy-two years. I sprinkle crumbs to the gulls, drop stolen antique bills, am kind as can be, but still I linger on. I have donated to charity and given up my vices. Yet here I am, intact, no more aged than before.
My mother had it all wrong. As long as the heart beats, it is a selfish act; all humanity is biologically inclined towards the evil of ego. And my grandmother knew. Would that I had died, that my mother had let me rest rather than feeding the narcissistic beast within.
But in all this, I have honored my mother. I have done despicable things to find a foothold in this world, all for the love of the one person who believed in me.
The skin on my hands feels tight. I look down and watch the wrinkles form, the youthful plumpness vanishing. My bones reach the surface. My heart blossoms in my chest. I have kept one Commandment, have kept my mother alive inside me. Her love, the rose, with its thorn of human darkness.
I have lived in sin, mother, but I die with love. | It was the perfect curse, be a good person and die quickly or be evil and live forever. The curse is such a horrible thing to have to live with, some of the acts other people with it have committed are terrible and terrifying. Hitler killed 11 million people and sparked the worst war in history. Stalin killed 20 million people and shattered east Europe, Bush did 9/11, i am just another in a long line of people who have had this Genghis khan, Vlad the impaler, and hundreds more names lost to history because in the end people get sick of evil. Even now i feel the temptation, human beings were never ment to have this power and i will break eventually. I once read a passage in the bible that said that all sins are equal, i believe that this curse is the same. Good thing pirating music is illegal im going to live forever. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | It was the perfect curse, be a good person and die quickly or be evil and live forever. The curse is such a horrible thing to have to live with, some of the acts other people with it have committed are terrible and terrifying. Hitler killed 11 million people and sparked the worst war in history. Stalin killed 20 million people and shattered east Europe, Bush did 9/11, i am just another in a long line of people who have had this Genghis khan, Vlad the impaler, and hundreds more names lost to history because in the end people get sick of evil. Even now i feel the temptation, human beings were never ment to have this power and i will break eventually. I once read a passage in the bible that said that all sins are equal, i believe that this curse is the same. Good thing pirating music is illegal im going to live forever. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | It was the perfect curse, be a good person and die quickly or be evil and live forever. The curse is such a horrible thing to have to live with, some of the acts other people with it have committed are terrible and terrifying. Hitler killed 11 million people and sparked the worst war in history. Stalin killed 20 million people and shattered east Europe, Bush did 9/11, i am just another in a long line of people who have had this Genghis khan, Vlad the impaler, and hundreds more names lost to history because in the end people get sick of evil. Even now i feel the temptation, human beings were never ment to have this power and i will break eventually. I once read a passage in the bible that said that all sins are equal, i believe that this curse is the same. Good thing pirating music is illegal im going to live forever. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | It's been four hundred years.
Grueling years at first, when obeying my mother's orders scraped my soul raw. If she caught me doing a kindness or saying my prayers, she would pull me to her, crying, fearing that the curse would be fulfilled in that moment and I would wither in my goodness.
"Old witch," she would wail, loud enough for my grandmother to hear her in Hell. It was her words laid on my head like an ever-tightening crown of thorns: *Better that she die now with love than to live on in sin.* A heartless thing to say to a new mother and widow after a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, but a credit to her Puritan beliefs. The old bitch had known herself to be among the Elect; everyone else knew better. Especially my mother, who screamed her defiance into the flames on the hearth.
She took me to church to avoid suspicion, trained me to preserve an appearance of perfect propriety, all while encouraging evils appropriate to my age. My childhood was spent stealing from my playmates. I pushed, slapped, pinched with such ferocity that even the rowdiest boys teared up at the sight of me. When I was caught misbehaving, I lied. And each night I listed my sins for my mother, and she praised each one.
"Live, my darling," she told me as she kissed me and pulled the blankets snug around me. "Whatever it takes, live."
At sixteen, my aging began to slow: an infinite girlhood stretched to its limits with the increased gravity of my peccadilloes. From immodesty I crept into coquetry, from fornication to adultery. I supplemented theft with prostitution. In her dotage, my mother grew more enthusiastic about her damnation. "If teaching you to preserve your life is wrong, then I will gladly take my place at Satan's feet," she declared to me one night as I undressed, the day's booty spilling out of the layers of clothes.
By the end of the war in 1763, I did not believe in Satan or God, only the madness of men. Yet I sat through Sunday services every week, missing them only when my mother deteriorated. I watched her shrink to a husk, and as I cared for her, I felt myself age. By the time of her death, I knew I would never escort another wretched soul to the gates of Death. I flung myself headfirst into a libertinism worthy of Casanova. My strength returned; my wrinkles smoothed.
Soon revolution was on the tip of every tongue. I moved to Philadelphia, took a new name, and whipped the local boys into a frenzy with talk of courage and cowardice. When they marched off to fight, I hosted Loyalists and charmed Redcoats. I had taken no side. All I cared for was the thrill of their hate for each other, an electric current beneath their skin. It was the same in 1812.
By 1860, I had had a dozen names and three husbands, all of whom I'd left in the middle of the night for some handsome young fop waiting outside my window. Breaking hearts was my specialty, in every possible way. Many wives and fiancees hated me for stealing their lovers. Girls who called me their dearest friend were heartbroken by my social climbing, my cruel jabs, my matter-of-fact letters terminating the correspondence.
Each day, I stole some jewel or heart, emptying out my collection when it suited me to make room for more. When the states began fighting amongst themselves, I supposed I had enough enemies, so I exchanged my stolen goods for money and went West.
The girls I bought were young, desperate. I pitied them sometimes, but my mother's words echoed in my head. *Whatever it takes, live.* I grew to dread the shadow of Death, the threat of nothing, and redoubled my efforts to add to my life. Hedonism was as charming as ever, but gained a new attraction when contrasted with the deprivation I forced on my girls when they displeased me. I learned to wield a riding crop in ways that made me famous in sinister circles.
But times changed and charity became the fashion. I gave away most of my money, knowing I could get more whenever I wanted, and settled into a cozy, retired existence in a mansion. These were my years of solitary pleasure, when a constant torrent of alcohol and opium coursed through my body as I read the quaint blasphemies of occultists. How the authorities of my youth would have blanched, bug-eyed in fear of their Lord!
I had no fear. War was no longer a diversion for me, just an excuse to use the black market more often. I smoked the cigarettes our troops deserved, bought up silk stockings enough to last a decade. I didn't buy war bonds either time. The few taxes I did pay were enough for some bullets, surely.
It was the bomb and the camps that got to me. Such sins could purchase immortality. I was not the virtuoso if thought myself. Just a thief. Just a whore. Never a killer. So I made up my mind to waste away. I would die as I had lived: in a blur of apathetic pleasure.
I have watched the tides rise and fall for seventy-two years. I sprinkle crumbs to the gulls, drop stolen antique bills, am kind as can be, but still I linger on. I have donated to charity and given up my vices. Yet here I am, intact, no more aged than before.
My mother had it all wrong. As long as the heart beats, it is a selfish act; all humanity is biologically inclined towards the evil of ego. And my grandmother knew. Would that I had died, that my mother had let me rest rather than feeding the narcissistic beast within.
But in all this, I have honored my mother. I have done despicable things to find a foothold in this world, all for the love of the one person who believed in me.
The skin on my hands feels tight. I look down and watch the wrinkles form, the youthful plumpness vanishing. My bones reach the surface. My heart blossoms in my chest. I have kept one Commandment, have kept my mother alive inside me. Her love, the rose, with its thorn of human darkness.
I have lived in sin, mother, but I die with love. | It was harder before cities. Living amongst my tribe, I was sickly by my 20th summer, and I know now I would have died within a few winters. It had started after I became a man in the eyes of my people. As one of the people, everything I did benefited us all.
I did my part, as we all did. Working together, laughing together, caring for one another, competing to see who could bring home the biggest kill from our hunts. But for every word of kindness I spoke, a new part of my body would ache. Every deed which benefited my people was punished with sickness and injury.
Then I saved my nephew from the great brown one who wandered through our hunting grounds. I was scared, so scared, but I knew the brown one's curiosity would soon exhaust itself, and I couldn't bear the thought of listening to my nephew's cries as he was devoured by a god. So I leapt out, challenging the great brown one with all the fury one of the people can muster. My sudden appearance startled the god, and it ran, but I knew it would only go a short distance, so I grabbed my nephew and ran. I ran until my blood and heart burned like hot coals. We were far from our camp, and I had pissed and shit myself before reaching home, the sick stink smeared down my legs.
No one had heard of one of the people chasing away a great brown one. None had heard, and if it were not for my cousin's impassioned story, I would not have been believed. Instead for a brief moment, I was a hero, a saviour. They hadn't even begun preparing the feast before I fell, burning with cold fire on the hard packed earth of our hutch.
Then the whispering began. Soft at first, but louder. I first thought spirits of my ancestors were calling to me, but even in my delirium, I began to make out the voices of my family. Cursed, they said. Cursed for my audacity to face a brown one. Cursed for my arrogance in thinking a man could scare one who can't be named.
I faded out into dreamless sleep wracked with pain, and I awoke to silence. Only a crackling fire dared make any noise, and I saw the people gathered around a horror. My poor nephew, barely past his 7th or 8th summer, his chest torn open and his vitae removed, like a slaughtered animal. His flesh sizzled on the hot coals, his mouth curled back in a rictus grin, his eyes bulging and sizzling from the heat.
During my delirium, the people had panicked. Never before had one of the people defied a brown god of the forest, and I had been struck down for denying a god his rightful prize. Our spirit guide had insisted restitution had to be made, what we had robbed from the brown god must be returned. Otherwise what befell me would befall all of the people.
I leaned heavily on a forked branch, limping as my legs barely supported me. My family's downcast eyes spoke of their shame and sadness at what had to be done. I could only see the medicine guide, and with my last remaining strength, I swung my branch like a club, connecting with her left temple, her right temple striking one of the hot firestones at the edge of the pit with a sickly crunch.
Unbeknownst to me, I was to be sacrificed next. The tribe reacted to my further sacrilege, and both men and women leapt upon me. But if I had ever been sick, ever weak, it was washed from me now. With my blow to our guide's head, I felt invigorated. Powerful. Bloodthirsty. I fought with the power of our greatest heroes and spirits. I saw blood, and when everything was settled, I sat in a circle with many of my own kin dead at my feet, their throats torn and skulls smashed, their blood wet on my lips. The rest of the people had fled in terror, abandoning everything in their fright. With winter coming, I knew none would survive, not even myself. There was nothing left for me here, and I walked out into the night ready to meet my fate.
The distance travelled easy under my feet, and I had reached the distant mountains by the next morning, as far as my people had ever walked. No, not my people. Not anymore. My legs didn't burn, nor did I sweat, nor did my stomach rumble. I had never heard of one of the people killing another in anger. But the spirit inside me hungered for more of their blood, and I knew myself then like never before.
I walked and wandered. Some tried to waylay me or stop me. It did not end well for them. It seemed no harm could come to me, but those who stood against me suffered terribly. Eventually, I found solitude. I avoided any people I saw, and for hundreds of moons and many many seasons, I committed no violence. I ate little, and slept less. The great hunting gods of forest, rarely seen and always feared, would not approach me, sensing a much more dangerous predator.
I lost sense of time then, and speech and personhood soon followed. I was an animal. And then I came across what I would realize later must be one of the first agricultural settlements. I must have migrated to a nearby forest, or perhaps they settled the plains near where I lingered.
I watched them. They were a calm peaceful people, growing grains and fruit, and keeping a few animals. Like a camp dog, being drawn every closer by the smell of food, I found myself drawn to them. They took me in, despite my animal stink, and my grunts and grows. I later learned I had been living in the forest surrounding their settlement for a long time, past the memory of their oldest. They had come to regard me as a god, as some form of holy forest spirit, protecting them from the animals that once preyed on them in their fields and snatched their children away from their mothers' arms.
They treated me with kindness, with love, and with veneration, and so I returned their kindness. And I grew weak.
I won't speak of them again, or any of the other villages I came across. It all ended in blood. I thought I was a daemon or a spirit, but eventually I realized the connection between violence, kindness, and my own physical state. When I committed evil acts which harmed others, I grew in power. When I helped those in need, I grew weaker.
In cities, though, there are opportunities for strange and new kinds of evil. No longer am I forced into murder or torture or cruelty to feed myself. Instead, I simply have to find a traffic accident, and sit idly by, doing nothing. My strength could save those poor souls burning to death in the minivan. I could save them. But I won't. I sit idly by, accepting their pain and suffering as my sustenance. I need not cause pain, I simply do nothing to alleviate it. And I am fed.
Sometimes, late at night, I remember the years I spent preying on the weak, their throats torn open and their blood on my lips. I'd be stronger if I returned to those ways. But I won't. The scraps of harm I cause through inaction sustain me, and I need no longer see my family staring back at me through the eyes of all those I've hurt. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | It was harder before cities. Living amongst my tribe, I was sickly by my 20th summer, and I know now I would have died within a few winters. It had started after I became a man in the eyes of my people. As one of the people, everything I did benefited us all.
I did my part, as we all did. Working together, laughing together, caring for one another, competing to see who could bring home the biggest kill from our hunts. But for every word of kindness I spoke, a new part of my body would ache. Every deed which benefited my people was punished with sickness and injury.
Then I saved my nephew from the great brown one who wandered through our hunting grounds. I was scared, so scared, but I knew the brown one's curiosity would soon exhaust itself, and I couldn't bear the thought of listening to my nephew's cries as he was devoured by a god. So I leapt out, challenging the great brown one with all the fury one of the people can muster. My sudden appearance startled the god, and it ran, but I knew it would only go a short distance, so I grabbed my nephew and ran. I ran until my blood and heart burned like hot coals. We were far from our camp, and I had pissed and shit myself before reaching home, the sick stink smeared down my legs.
No one had heard of one of the people chasing away a great brown one. None had heard, and if it were not for my cousin's impassioned story, I would not have been believed. Instead for a brief moment, I was a hero, a saviour. They hadn't even begun preparing the feast before I fell, burning with cold fire on the hard packed earth of our hutch.
Then the whispering began. Soft at first, but louder. I first thought spirits of my ancestors were calling to me, but even in my delirium, I began to make out the voices of my family. Cursed, they said. Cursed for my audacity to face a brown one. Cursed for my arrogance in thinking a man could scare one who can't be named.
I faded out into dreamless sleep wracked with pain, and I awoke to silence. Only a crackling fire dared make any noise, and I saw the people gathered around a horror. My poor nephew, barely past his 7th or 8th summer, his chest torn open and his vitae removed, like a slaughtered animal. His flesh sizzled on the hot coals, his mouth curled back in a rictus grin, his eyes bulging and sizzling from the heat.
During my delirium, the people had panicked. Never before had one of the people defied a brown god of the forest, and I had been struck down for denying a god his rightful prize. Our spirit guide had insisted restitution had to be made, what we had robbed from the brown god must be returned. Otherwise what befell me would befall all of the people.
I leaned heavily on a forked branch, limping as my legs barely supported me. My family's downcast eyes spoke of their shame and sadness at what had to be done. I could only see the medicine guide, and with my last remaining strength, I swung my branch like a club, connecting with her left temple, her right temple striking one of the hot firestones at the edge of the pit with a sickly crunch.
Unbeknownst to me, I was to be sacrificed next. The tribe reacted to my further sacrilege, and both men and women leapt upon me. But if I had ever been sick, ever weak, it was washed from me now. With my blow to our guide's head, I felt invigorated. Powerful. Bloodthirsty. I fought with the power of our greatest heroes and spirits. I saw blood, and when everything was settled, I sat in a circle with many of my own kin dead at my feet, their throats torn and skulls smashed, their blood wet on my lips. The rest of the people had fled in terror, abandoning everything in their fright. With winter coming, I knew none would survive, not even myself. There was nothing left for me here, and I walked out into the night ready to meet my fate.
The distance travelled easy under my feet, and I had reached the distant mountains by the next morning, as far as my people had ever walked. No, not my people. Not anymore. My legs didn't burn, nor did I sweat, nor did my stomach rumble. I had never heard of one of the people killing another in anger. But the spirit inside me hungered for more of their blood, and I knew myself then like never before.
I walked and wandered. Some tried to waylay me or stop me. It did not end well for them. It seemed no harm could come to me, but those who stood against me suffered terribly. Eventually, I found solitude. I avoided any people I saw, and for hundreds of moons and many many seasons, I committed no violence. I ate little, and slept less. The great hunting gods of forest, rarely seen and always feared, would not approach me, sensing a much more dangerous predator.
I lost sense of time then, and speech and personhood soon followed. I was an animal. And then I came across what I would realize later must be one of the first agricultural settlements. I must have migrated to a nearby forest, or perhaps they settled the plains near where I lingered.
I watched them. They were a calm peaceful people, growing grains and fruit, and keeping a few animals. Like a camp dog, being drawn every closer by the smell of food, I found myself drawn to them. They took me in, despite my animal stink, and my grunts and grows. I later learned I had been living in the forest surrounding their settlement for a long time, past the memory of their oldest. They had come to regard me as a god, as some form of holy forest spirit, protecting them from the animals that once preyed on them in their fields and snatched their children away from their mothers' arms.
They treated me with kindness, with love, and with veneration, and so I returned their kindness. And I grew weak.
I won't speak of them again, or any of the other villages I came across. It all ended in blood. I thought I was a daemon or a spirit, but eventually I realized the connection between violence, kindness, and my own physical state. When I committed evil acts which harmed others, I grew in power. When I helped those in need, I grew weaker.
In cities, though, there are opportunities for strange and new kinds of evil. No longer am I forced into murder or torture or cruelty to feed myself. Instead, I simply have to find a traffic accident, and sit idly by, doing nothing. My strength could save those poor souls burning to death in the minivan. I could save them. But I won't. I sit idly by, accepting their pain and suffering as my sustenance. I need not cause pain, I simply do nothing to alleviate it. And I am fed.
Sometimes, late at night, I remember the years I spent preying on the weak, their throats torn open and their blood on my lips. I'd be stronger if I returned to those ways. But I won't. The scraps of harm I cause through inaction sustain me, and I need no longer see my family staring back at me through the eyes of all those I've hurt. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | "Sir" it's almost time." Mallroy said. He was what now? fifty or-
"Mallroy, how many years do you have?" I asked.
"Sixty-four, sir."
"And you've been with me how long?"
"My grandfather was the first in our family to wear the robes. Then my father and uncles wore them. Now the honor is mine and my brother's."
To be honest I didn't really listen to him. What was the point. His life was so short. I glanced back at the books. It was a library of sorts, but I could look at the spine of the book and know it. How many times I read it. Just slowly walking the aisles I could relive the stories within. I'd ordered them over the decades.. or centuries now, to make a kind of music. Drama, and horror, bits of black comedy or love stories mixed in.
I heard him clearing his throat again willing me from my stupor as I stared at the books.
"Right." I said continuing to get dressed.
"How long has it been since I was outside?" I asked.
"Seven years sir."
"Seven? That's all?"
"Seven years, thirteen days sir."
I didn't need to do it any more. Not really. In the beginning I could feel the curse. Time slipping in either direction as I made choices. Then I simply embraced a choice. Do more evil in general to everyone and specific good to a select individuals. The years had flowed in and days an months flowed out. A net gain. Now.. Now the evil continued without my direct involvement, which in a way was nice. But my years stretched so far I never even felt the good deeds anymore. I fed the hungry, shared knowledge of the "Ancients" used the curse to stop wars.
Time stretched, as we walked the upper halls I realized it had been years since I been up here. The servants pressed foreheads into the stone floor and only the men in robes like Mallroy's dared even move about though none looked upon me.
The Balcony was raised, forth or fifth floor, a long walkway out to it. As I walked the crowd quieted. As far as the eyes could see, humanity pressed together, filled with hope and faith.
There was a microphone there at the end, a piece of ancient technology that would bring my voice to the masses, but nothing more than magic to those in the crowd.
"God loves you." I said, silent stretching with my intake of breath. "Heaven awaits those of you who work hard and have honor, and hell awaits the sinful." Even now, with millennia stretching out before me I can still feel the years added to to my soul though I lack the ability to gauge them.
It would be days of meeting with the faithful, allowing the most devote to plunge weapons into my chest, to cover their hands in my blood, as if proving my undying nature was a blessing. If treaties needed to be signed or proof given that "god was on our side," Those leaders would be offered the sword, or axe, my head severed, my body cut apart. In those times I waited outside observing by unable to do anything short of bringing myself together again. I waited three days to do so, the reasoning lost on these people, as there were no other religions anymore than my own.
After the days of proving, there would be the healing. There were ancient devices, nano machines flowing from medical beds that could cure any disease, extend the life via telomere length. While those in the robes were educated, many thought the technology was still so close to magical to make no difference. People like Mallroy could live to be upwards of a hundred and eighty while those without robes and access to the beds year round were dying at sixty.
So heretics though it was these nano machines that keep me alive. As if my blood was full of them. I had no need to check. I was cursed before the technology was invented. I saw the greatest era of mankind, then saw it brought low by religion's puppets.
In the darkness that followed the great wars, so many for so long these people simply called it the "great war" or "the time before," but in the dark ages that followed there was no religion. Not really. There was knowledge abound but failing infrastructure. People knew of power plants but could not rebuild them or operate the one that still existed.
That was when I discovered the secret to immortality, and I started my own religion. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | I have not aged in 20 years, the photograph has, but I look the same. I am always scanning the area for the next victim. The next opportunity for life.
The police have called me enough different names that I have lost count. The media couldn’t find their butt with both hands in their investigation. The cops sometimes are problems, but I know their paths, and stay off them.
20 years ago I got cursed, a joke I thought, from some old book I read. It described the feelings you would get as your life extended and retracted. I felt the first ping as I call them when I helped someone. It was not much just giving a couple buck on the street to someone. Only a few hours after I read the book. Later I experimented to find a pong. It came in the form of a minor theft. It was a rush to feel the pong, now it is an addiction.
It took 3 years before I figured out I stopped ageing when I had more pongs than pings. Took 5 before I learned the subtle differences of the way the pings and pongs work. After 10 years I learned to identify there was a scale to them.
The scale was quite the realization. The things that give the strongest pongs are not just something obvious like murder. Murder you might think is among the most evil acts, but it is not. Murder while depriving someone of their life is not among the most evil things that you can do.
Arson, which makes for a wonderful pong. Depriving people of their memories and good, the suffering of watching the things they own burn in front of them. In fact anything that makes the evil live on longer is better. The other advantage of some of these lesser evils, is society does not punish them the same.
Hefting a can of diesel while walking away from the flames licking up inside the basement window.
Now if I could only figure out a way to measure what I get for each evil, but I cannot stop any more. As I have no idea how much I have stored up a long prison sentence could be my end.
Waiting a few minutes to see that the fire has a good hold, I hear the smoke alarms going off. And see some scurring around the house.
As the people run outside and watch their house burn, the pong comes solid and sweet. Maybe tomorrow I can take a break, or maybe not.
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. |
Preface To The Compendium of Humanity
Entry #1,843,241
I sit here in the bunker I call home, writing with the final pen from my collection, hoping the ink reserve will last until I have written the words that I wish I could have spoken so long ago. I have waited a long time for this, contemplating what I wish to say, for if anything finds my bunker, my writings will be the only evidence of humanity left on Earth.
I have bookshelves full of memories, past lives that I have outlived. They are my only respite from the loneliness the surface offers. I fear I am running out of time, so I must finally conclude the story. I must admit that I do not wish for the story to end; even after all this time I stay accustomed to existence.
I believe my birthday came and passed again recently. I would not be able to tell you my exact age, but I can say with confidence that I have seen most of what this world has to offer. It is strange that the longer we experience time, the faster it seems to go until it is slipping through our hands like quicksilver. Even the most resolute of men cannot stay against its flow, eventually time catches us all.
Much from my childhood is lost to me, but there is a deep sadness felt when I try to remember. Perhaps regret for the person I was, for the person I became. I do not remember when I first noticed, but I did not age like the others. I aged well until my thirties, and then I just seemed to... stop. I was never a good person, never claimed to be. I made a series of mistakes that landed me in prison. My family abandoned me, not once coming to visit. I grew bitter, resentful. I was alone.
I do not recall exactly what I had done, but I do remember the exact amount of time I was there. Eighty years. The original sentence was forty, out in twenty with good behavior. I got the extra forty tacked on while I was in there. Eighty years in a concrete box, and I didn't look more than fifty.
At that point I knew something was different about me. Whether it be some deity playing a cruel prank, or a hiccup in genetics I am uncertain, but over time I have figured out the restrictions of my affliction.
The rules are simple. If I did a good deed, I would age much faster than a normal human. The amount aged varies, depending on the deed. I have done small good deeds and felt no change. I have performed grand gestures of goodwill, and felt myself age years on the spot.
On the opposite end, I can perform evil deeds and live longer. Simple as that, same variation in time spent un-aged. It is like a bodily stasis. I do not grow, I do not hunger. There is no need for me to breathe but my body forces me to do so.
I like to think of it like a concept from an old religion, long dead. You have positive and negative energy, the more negative energy you have the more positive energy it takes to get back to a neutral point, a point of balance.
Once I came to realize the rules, I had no difficulty making my choice. My time in prison turned me into a bitter, wretch of a human being. On top of that, I had the audacity to think of myself as special. I committed many atrocities, never being caught because I could not be killed. I outlived generations, using them as tools to fuel my immortality. This carried on for centuries.
Eventually I grew tired of taking what I wanted using force. Impressed by the progress the human society had made, I decided to integrate once more. I realized that, as the longest living creature on Earth, I had much more experience than the average human. I had watched as millions were born and watched as they died, I knew humans to their core. Using this advantage, I got into politics. I spent a few decades as a politician, ending in me securing leadership of their global alliance.
I aged a little during this process, but soon people noticed that I was different. Questions were starting to be asked, and nobody had any answers.
I revealed myself as an immortal. People did not believe me, at first. Then, I declared that I would not resign as leader. That didn't go over well. After a few failed execution attempts, which led to me executing the executioners, they ran out of things to try. The planet was mine.
Next came thousands of years of peace. This was not caused by me directly, it was more a collective fear of what the Immortal Leader would do if angered. Luckily that didn't count as doing good, and I fed off of their fear. There were even some religions started in my name, probably an attempt to gain my favor, perhaps a hope to join me in immortality.
Over time, a rebellion started far from what I called home. Turns out, people don't like having an immortal for a leader. Before I knew it they were on my doorstep, more than half of the planet's population calling for my head. I had foreseen a situation like this, and had prepared for it. I had no earthly attachments, no love for these people. They were ants compared to me, mine to do with as I chose.
I retreated to the bunker that now serves as my home. I had stored up all that I thought I would need for eternity and sealed myself in. There was no hesitation as I pressed the button that would lead to the destruction of every living thing on the planet.
That was millions of years ago. I am starting to feel things coming into balance, my stomach is wracked with hunger pangs. My time draws near, to me it will be in the blink of an eye. I have outlived stars, it will be a shame for all my knowledge to die with me. I have done my best to catalogue the history of humanity as I know it. It will not be perfect, and it won't undo what I have done, but it is something. Humanity lives on in my writings, as I have through the years. I have come to realize that I was not blessed, nor was I special. In fact, I was the most deserving of this curse. Who better to curse with immortality than one who would commit evil to achieve it. It has changed me to the point where I do not consider myself as human, but as an abomination. Humans feel a wide range of emotions, from anger to love, sadness to joy. The only thing I've felt for as long as I can remember is regret, and loneliness.
After everything is said and done, I have learned one thing. It is better to do good and die for it than to do evil and live for one's self. Should life find its way to Earth again I hope they will learn of the old inhabitants, and learn from their (and my) mistakes. With that, I go to the surface once more, with hopes of finally being able to rest. | I stood silently in front of the door with my eyes closed, just like I do every afternoon. I took a deep breath in, grounding myself, then blew it out slowly.
"Remember," I thought."remember why you do this every day."
"Time to go," I muttered.
I lifted the latch, turned the handle, and I was off.
I ran swiftly down the stairs of my apartment, keying each door I passed. One of my neighbours heard the screech.
"Again? Are you kidding me?"
"Fuck you, dipshit!" I screamed over my shoulder. I spat on the lobby floor before kicking the door open and speeding out, my hands already on my car keys. I checked the little ticker on my phone "+1 hour".
It's been 2 years since I've been cursed this way. Basically, I met this hippy girl at work and we went out drinking, next thing I know I'm over at hers, we've got incense out and we're summoning some demon or something called grazalagaaargh (you have to scream the last bit). Anyway, demon dude is NOT happy that we woke him up. As soon as he appeared he broke out of the circle and possessed my friend. I told him I didnt even know what was going on, I was just trying to help my friend,and HE said he was going to stop me ever being so "helpful" again.
Anyway, now I have this course where kind or helpful acts take time off my life, where evil ones lengthen it. The amount of time is proportional to the evilness or kindness of the act. It sucks. Still, I've pretty much got the hang of it now. Hell, I even made an app to track it. Mostly I just stay inside, but I make one trip out each day. There are some things you've just gotta do.
Peeling out of my parking space, I narrowly missed a little old lady with a walking frame, then gave her the finger as she glared at me.
"Look where you're going, Grandma!" I yelled, my wheels screeching as I span out of the parking lot and into the street, ignoring the honking as I cut the cars off behind me. I swerved to drive through a puddle, drenching a woman in a nice business suit.
My phone bleeped "+ 2 hours"
I saw a cat in the road. Could I do it? It would be worth years... Shit now that I'd thought of it, I'd lose points if I didn't!
Thinking quickly, I tossed a can out of my car at the cat, then spat at it for good measure. + 30 minutes. Thank god.
The rest of the road was relatively clear, and I arrived early enough to buy a coffee from the poor Batista I bully every day, force her to remake it, then deliberately spill it on someone in a while shirt on the way out.
By the time I walked into the daycare, I was up 5 hours. I stepped through the door. I saw him before he saw me. That beautiful tangled mop of curls, and that tiny, stocky figure, intently balancing blocks on one another with an expression of absolutely concentration. Then our eyes locked and his sticky, chubby face broke into an impossibly wide grin.
"Mummy!"
I beamed back at him. My phone bleeped "- 30 min"
I put it in my pocket and scooped him up in my arms. Bleep.
"How are you baby? How was your day? Did you eat any of the veggies today?"
Bleep bleep
He nuzzled into my hair.
"Carrots"
I squeezed him tight before easing him down to the floor, where he clung to my leg. "I miss you Mummy."
"I know baby. Me too."
We started to walk out into the sunshine.
Along the way, I watched fondly as my baby hopped, skipped and jumped his way through the short walk.
We stopped at a beautiful white picket fenced home. His Dad, my ex, already had the door open and was watching us come up the path. I could see his new girlfriend in the hallway behind him.
"Time to go baby. I'll see you again tomorrow."
He ran in to his Dad and I turned away with tears in my eyes.
My phone was going crazy |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "Hey, Hourglass, why don't you age?" questioned a rather curious Joker, as he stopped what he was doing to turn to the suited man next to him.
"Are you sure you want to hear this story? It's a rather long one," the obscure man replied, shaking his head in the shadow his hat cast over his features.
"Of course I want to hear the story, Sherlock, I asked, didn't I?" A rather irritated Joker replied, baring his teeth.
"I suppose it started the first time I died," pausing, before letting out a soft chuckle, he continued, "Sorry, I've never told this story before.
"Anyway, like I said, I'd just died. It's been so long now I can't quite remember how it felt, dying, and I definitely can't remember what my religion was at the time, but I know this: The end is terrifying. The afterlife, that is.
"I sort of... woke up, I guess, and it was bad. Hell is dark, dreary, and depressing... and the screams never stop. I sat there for what felt like years, and the screams NEVER stopped. Eventually, however, I had to get up.
"The darkness was total, even when I held my hand close enough to my eyes to touch my face, I couldn't see them. I picked a direction at random, and followed my gut instinct to just... walk."
As the man paused to catch his breath, the Joker interrupted, "That's cool and all, but get to the point, I'm not getting any younger."
Sighing, he continued, "I'd like to talk more about that walk, it was a defining point in my life, but I'll go ahead and move on. I'd been walking for years before I saw light again. At first, I was exhilarated. I began to run toward it, my eyes burning from their first use in decades.
"As I got closer, that feeling began to change. What had, not to long before, been a pure feeling of joy and relief melded back into the cold, hard dread I had felt upon first waking up in that cursed place. Unfortunately, I ignored the feeling.
"I made my way into the light, and at first, I was just confused. It didn't seem to have a source, it was just a disembodied glow in the middle of Hell. Then she appeared. The Crone.
"As the name might imply, she was old, dreadfully so. Her hair, what little of it remained, was made up of mere wisps of white. Her ski-"
"I get it, she was a completely horrible, terrible, ugly, stereotypical crone. Get on with the story," the Joker interrupted again, but withered at the harsh glare he received in return, "Please?"
"Anyway, she cursed me. I remember every word of it, though I guess you're not interested in that. The gist of it is this; Good deeds shorten my life, and evil ones extend it," the man finished, an air of finality about him.
"That makes no sense, you're a f****** SUPERHERO. The point of this was, after all, to stall. Anyway, doesn't that mean you'd be dead after, like, a day or two?"
With a sudden dark and menacing feeling springing up around the two, Hourglass muttered, a heavy growl behind his words, "Every day, I do something so horribly, terribly wrong that I will live FOREVER."
With a rather pitiful whimper, the Joker asked, "What do you do?"
"I never paid for Winrar."
| It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | God, but do I ever love stupid witches. I was cursed a long time ago by one of those shriveled bats after I rescued her soon to be victim from having her vitality stolen. "Good deeds shall steal your life, while evil ones shall extend it," the dumb cow crowed with her last breath, "we'll see how long you remain righteous after this!"
Turns out? The answer is "basically forever, you idiot". Do you have any idea how many evil actions lead to greater goods? Killing is a sin, so I go to war torn regions to kill dictators and their followers. Lying is a sin, so I go around giving complements to ugly people. Blasphemy and swearing are sins, so I call God a dried up cunt a few times a day. Casting curses is sinful as fuck, so I tortured a witch I caught murdering maidens (what is it with witches and blonde bombshells anyway?) until she coughed up how to learn magic, then I was off to the races cursing tyrants and telemarketers. Fucking without the intention of marrying? You got it, sin city over here.
Loopholes are great. The best part of it all, though? The witch that cursed me in the first place cast it as a death curse, and part of the whole "balance of the universe" thing magic has going for it is that you can only ever have one of those at a time. Dumb bitch might as well have given me perfect magic armour and a Ring of Infinite Blowjobs.
It's good to be me. | It is May 8th, 2445, all across Europe everyone is celebrating VE day. Why it's the 500 year anniversary! Parties across the continent for reasons unknown. Fire works exploding on the hour of dusk, all but forgotten the bombs that blew holes in the towers from where they fire.
Meanwhile, across the pond, behind the heads of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Trump at Mount Rushmore, a vault containing two men who are bickering about ideals long sense forgotten, both mass murders, but of the opposite sides of the same coin.
The guards were many, the nameless do-gooders, volunteer to guard this evil beyond measure. As of the last century, the contents of the vault were lost to time. Curious guards tried to peak, but were always caught because they lived too long. The next new set of guards, were brothers of evil, for they volunteered to steal the contents.
Little did they know they were gaining immortality, by releasing Hitler and Truman. one guilty of evil genocide, the other of releasing atomic weapons onto humanities future. The duo would go on to fight each other in the coming WW3 with the brothers by each of their sides.
'First timer, dont be too critical' |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "Hey, Hourglass, why don't you age?" questioned a rather curious Joker, as he stopped what he was doing to turn to the suited man next to him.
"Are you sure you want to hear this story? It's a rather long one," the obscure man replied, shaking his head in the shadow his hat cast over his features.
"Of course I want to hear the story, Sherlock, I asked, didn't I?" A rather irritated Joker replied, baring his teeth.
"I suppose it started the first time I died," pausing, before letting out a soft chuckle, he continued, "Sorry, I've never told this story before.
"Anyway, like I said, I'd just died. It's been so long now I can't quite remember how it felt, dying, and I definitely can't remember what my religion was at the time, but I know this: The end is terrifying. The afterlife, that is.
"I sort of... woke up, I guess, and it was bad. Hell is dark, dreary, and depressing... and the screams never stop. I sat there for what felt like years, and the screams NEVER stopped. Eventually, however, I had to get up.
"The darkness was total, even when I held my hand close enough to my eyes to touch my face, I couldn't see them. I picked a direction at random, and followed my gut instinct to just... walk."
As the man paused to catch his breath, the Joker interrupted, "That's cool and all, but get to the point, I'm not getting any younger."
Sighing, he continued, "I'd like to talk more about that walk, it was a defining point in my life, but I'll go ahead and move on. I'd been walking for years before I saw light again. At first, I was exhilarated. I began to run toward it, my eyes burning from their first use in decades.
"As I got closer, that feeling began to change. What had, not to long before, been a pure feeling of joy and relief melded back into the cold, hard dread I had felt upon first waking up in that cursed place. Unfortunately, I ignored the feeling.
"I made my way into the light, and at first, I was just confused. It didn't seem to have a source, it was just a disembodied glow in the middle of Hell. Then she appeared. The Crone.
"As the name might imply, she was old, dreadfully so. Her hair, what little of it remained, was made up of mere wisps of white. Her ski-"
"I get it, she was a completely horrible, terrible, ugly, stereotypical crone. Get on with the story," the Joker interrupted again, but withered at the harsh glare he received in return, "Please?"
"Anyway, she cursed me. I remember every word of it, though I guess you're not interested in that. The gist of it is this; Good deeds shorten my life, and evil ones extend it," the man finished, an air of finality about him.
"That makes no sense, you're a f****** SUPERHERO. The point of this was, after all, to stall. Anyway, doesn't that mean you'd be dead after, like, a day or two?"
With a sudden dark and menacing feeling springing up around the two, Hourglass muttered, a heavy growl behind his words, "Every day, I do something so horribly, terribly wrong that I will live FOREVER."
With a rather pitiful whimper, the Joker asked, "What do you do?"
"I never paid for Winrar."
| I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | God, but do I ever love stupid witches. I was cursed a long time ago by one of those shriveled bats after I rescued her soon to be victim from having her vitality stolen. "Good deeds shall steal your life, while evil ones shall extend it," the dumb cow crowed with her last breath, "we'll see how long you remain righteous after this!"
Turns out? The answer is "basically forever, you idiot". Do you have any idea how many evil actions lead to greater goods? Killing is a sin, so I go to war torn regions to kill dictators and their followers. Lying is a sin, so I go around giving complements to ugly people. Blasphemy and swearing are sins, so I call God a dried up cunt a few times a day. Casting curses is sinful as fuck, so I tortured a witch I caught murdering maidens (what is it with witches and blonde bombshells anyway?) until she coughed up how to learn magic, then I was off to the races cursing tyrants and telemarketers. Fucking without the intention of marrying? You got it, sin city over here.
Loopholes are great. The best part of it all, though? The witch that cursed me in the first place cast it as a death curse, and part of the whole "balance of the universe" thing magic has going for it is that you can only ever have one of those at a time. Dumb bitch might as well have given me perfect magic armour and a Ring of Infinite Blowjobs.
It's good to be me. | I was thirty years old when I was cursed. It was nefarious, really. I'm a social worker, and I tried to save a child from the grasp of people who were cold and cruel.
And could curse me. Could, with their powers, do *this* to me.
Five years ago, I was vibrant and vital, in the prime of my life. You wouldn't know it by looking at me; wasting away, skin and bones, in this hospital bed.
I didn't change my life for the curse. I worked harder to give, then, in hopes to undo it, to reverse it. I couldn't stop giving.
I tried doing evil acts. Cruel things. It burned my skin and tongue and I quickly stopped. The energy wasn't worth the sacrifice.
The heart monitor plays a sad and sorry tune for all of my inabilities. My last case will never be finished - a child who is desperate to escape her overbearing parents. Parents who call her names and hiss at her and growl, yet never hit.
My thoughts are of her, as slowly I fade. I feel a tiny hand grasp my own.
"Thank you," says a child's voice. I close my eyes, windpipe rattling. I don't know who it is. The cases blur together.
As at last I leave entirely, my one regret is that I didn't have time enough to save more. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | They tell me it's a curse... Yeah Right, it stopped being that Oh so long ago.
I go see my "Artist", I have had many over the years
It's his life's work a masterpiece of the painters art subtle, perfect. I have told him it's going to take pride of place at a gallery to the greatest art of the age, I sit him down and set fire to it.
I Tell Him that's it 2nd rate hack work and I should fire him...he's paid a lot of money after all and without his job and his last 20 years for doing anything publicly he's history, I tell him he can earn his job back.
He does.. I can see the tear's welling up in his eyes, as I leave I tell him to Feel that emotion and use it... He has no idea that he's not my only artist... I can barely keep a straight face.
I pass a mirror the tiny flecks of grey hair are gone... I'll get an assistant to check on him in few days some don't do well after their life's work have been destroyed and they have debased themselves for my pleasure in a single morning doubly so the straight ones. The bight side is if he does top himself, that will make me younger again. however to replace him with a bright young thing I can break later will take time and money but when you have been doing this for a while you get good at the process of feeding on the suffering.
As I get to my Car I feel the skin on my hands become firmer my flesh tone changes ... I am going to need the bright young thing sooner than expected. Oh well no need to check then.
I look at my watch I can't get used to it sitting on my arm. I know it's been years I was never quite used to pocket watches before that.
I head to work I have a charity to run... in the last 30 years it had made world worse in so many fun and interesting ways it had given food to warlords. caused floods to promote nature, ensured that key technology would stay off the market though pointless cases in the patent courts.
They tell me that the sun will burn out in 5 billion years, my only question is will there be things for me to be needless cruel towards then?
I have to take the long view of my "curse". |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | "You get it? Or do I have to repeat myself *again*?"
"No, no, I get it. The more bad stuff I do, the longer I live, more good stuff, means I have a shorter life," I said to the man at my bedside, so much for sleeping in, it was still 3:30am. "Can I go back to bed now?"
"I was hoping you would use your curse to go out and look for things to do. But if you want, go to sleep."
"Thanks, now one quick question, how long do I have to live right now?"
"66 years."
Only 66. Wow, I always thought of myself as a more neutral person, what the hell have I been doing that's so good? I'm already half way done my life! "Oh, ok. Well I better go do something about that then." I got out of bed and walked towards my closet. I always kept a gun close at hand, just in case someone tries to break in. I grabbed my gun, a rifle, and just went walking around my neighbourhood.
I lived in a rich part of town, filled with obnoxious rich kids, and even more obnoxious rich parents. I don't see why some can't, disappear per say. I got to a house filled with complete jackasses, always being to loud, having parties almost every night, and I swear one of the lids stole my car. Time for some revenge. I aimed my rifle at the windows, not like anyone would get to hurt. I shot at as many windows as I could before my magazine ran out of bullets.
After I did that, I began to feel a really hot burning sensation on my left arm. I looked to see what it was, and the number *70* had been tattooed on to me. Does that mean I raised my life to 70 years? I went to another house in another neighbourhood close by and did the same thing, I felt it again and it was at *72* now. This is great.
After doing this to a few more houses I had managed to raise it up to *83*. Guess that wasn't to hard. Just shooting some windows. I went home and went to bed, that's enough for tonight.
I woke up to the news turned on my TV. I don't remember turning it on before going to sleep, and I sure as hell don't fall asleep to the news. The guy was reporting on multiple shooting incidents in my neighbourhood. Apparently one died by a ricochet bullet, and another was gravely injured. I began to feel the burning sensation again, I checked, *108*. I guess it only advanced once I found out about a deed I did. But if killing and gravely injuring someone raised me up by 25 years, that means I could have a nice long life, for a few deaths.
What could go wrong if a few people disappeared? |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | I am not a good person. I have lived for far too long. People believe that living so long is bad for one's humanity. That the longer a person lives that less and less that they care about others and themselves. The more disconnected they become from the important parts of what it means to be human. Happiness. Joy. Friendship. Belonging. Isolation. Anger. Hate. Power. Love. I have experienced all of these in my elongated timeline. Happiness and Joy go hand in hand, but lead to complacency. Belonging only lasts long enough to become isolation. Somebody once said, and I agree, that anger leads to hate, but holding on to those feelings for long is more effort than it is worth. Power and Love are the most governing over one’s soul.
“I itch.” his voice was louder than normal and had an edge to it.
“I do too, do you think that this emptiness doesn’t effect me?!” I snapped back.
I did not like this feeling. In fact, it was my most hated feeling. I felt it weigh on me immensely as a child. I was always slight of frame and showed signs of some sickness. Many of the shamans and medicine men assumed I was cursed by the gods. The divine channelers were right of course, but my parents refused to believe it. I don’t blame them, they were good people. They helped the weaker of the tribe, gave them respect and worshiped their gods fervently. They could not know that all these ideals they were imprinting on their only child made him weaker and more sickly. I couldn't tell them about the voice I carried with me. He always seemed like he was looking out for my best interest. Always telling me to stand up for the small guy, feed this traveler, or give my prized bone knife up as homage to the elders. It never helped. I never got any better. He was a liar.
I turned down one of the darker alleys in the city. I abhorred coming to this part of the city. I wanted to be back up near The Senate and in my villa. The homeless were less than and they served one purpose. To scratch my itch.
“Yes, yes. He will do, he will do nicely. I suppose we will let the fates decide.” the tone was trembling and excited.
I answered aloud, “I do believe you are correct. This is what he was born for.”
I pulled my xiphos from it’s scabbard. The slight ringing noise was a sound I never grew tired of. It also caught the attention of the slumped man on the ground as I approached.
“What was that good master?” the skin and bones man said through a ragged, patchy beard and cracked, dry lips.
“I was not speaking to you.” I retorted. “Congratulations! Today is the day I set you free.” A welcoming smile adorned my face.
The wretch reached for me. ME. I grabbed his wrist. My hand would have to be thoroughly washed.
“Quench me!” the voice rang inside my head.
I matched his tone as I tended to do in these situations. “Be Quenched!”
My xiphos plunged into his chest and through his heart. I savored the moment and pushed the fine crafted blade through flesh and bone until I felt the hilt against his skin. I then let my tool go as I began to shiver and have minor convulsions as the old man collapsed in a heap on the ground without a sound. This happened every time. It washed over me like waterfall. In their final moments I was privy to all of their previous deeds. I saw them weighed on a massive scale. I must remove overall good people from this existence to keep gaining power and prolong my life. If he was evil, that feeling would turn cold. The emptiness would subside, but I would feel weaker. If he was good, the feeling would warm me, bolster me and make me feel invigorated. Invigorated to the point of near immortality. Evil acts stretched my life. Good ones shortened it.
“He was a loving parent. Ugh.” the gravelly voice told me.
“He shared his food with other homeless.” he continued irritated.
“He used the last of his money to bury his wife and family, NO! This cannot be, he, he is garbage!” The voice was livid.
“Wait…” it was odd playing devil’s advocate with who I assumed was the devil himself.
A cold shiver ran through my spine. “He was the one who murdered his family.” I disdainfully spat at the dead body and slammed my fist upon the wall.
“YESSS!” the elation rang throughout my skull. It was infuriating.
He calmed, “How fortuitous for me. It would seem our time together has lessened. If you keep murdering those who hold evil in their heart I will be free in no time.”
I flippantly replied, “Just bad luck, that’s all. I can always just start murdering newborns as a backup plan.” I tried to sound like it didn’t matter. That I could do it without blinking an eye. People had their place and they had their own fate to deal with. I am not a good person, but I would rather not lose the last shred of humanity I had left.
People were right. I feel myself slowly become more and more callous. I am isolated. It is bad for me. I no longer am angry at the gods or hate the voice within me. Power is what I crave. The power to live and not set him loose. The power to keep loving humanity. | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | **Author's Note:** I'm doing my best to adhere to the community rules here by not being explicit in my descriptions. I hope I am successful in doing so. If in my failure to do so I offend or transgress, I offer my sincere apologies.
************************
He screamed as I did my bloody work on his face. When he lost consciousness I sighed and put my knife away. This one had been unusually resilient. It had taken him far too long to pass out.
They always screamed. If it wasn't the pain, it was the fear of the disfigurement. I suppose by this point they all knew what came next. They had plenty to scream about.
"When he wakes up, give him the usual treatment," I told my men. They nodded grimly.
I left the tent and strode through the small compound. None of the dead were on the ground. In truth, none of the dead's hearts had stopped beating just yet. But they were dead all the same.
I had to hand it to the Romans. They were a twisted lot, and good at torture. Particularly torture leading to death. And as an added bonus, it sent a hell of a message.
With each second I ignored the cries of the men I'd had crucified, the power seeped into me. It was like oil and tar and rot, running over my skin, seeping into my pores, crawling over the fibers of my muscles and sinew, and slicking along the blackened surface of my bones. It wrapped its warm, slick hand around my heart, and I felt stronger.
I suppressed the twin surges of ecstasy and revulsion boiling up within me. There was more work to be done.
The warlord to whom I had just given a woodshed facelift had been particularly cruel, but his inventiveness was nothing compared to mine. His folly was his choice of target and his motive. He murdered and tormented to sate his black heart. I did it to survive. He targeted the weak and oppressed. I targeted the predators.
Fortunately for me, motive didn't factor into whatever cosmic scale was weighing my actions. Suffering was suffering, no matter the reason. Death was death. And I was a mass distributor, as far as my dealer was concerned.
"Boss," one of my men said from my left. I turned to him. Ramirez. A vicious psychopath I'd leashed and turned to my own purposes. He didn't feel things like empathy or remorse. I used him and he thanked me for it. He was one of my early converts. His hair had gone silver and gray since I'd first pinned him to a wall with a car and given the choice of dying or working for me.
Mine hadn't changed for twice that time.
"What is it?" I asked, dreading the look in his eye. He looked... reticent.
"We got kids. Couple mothers, too."
I struggled to suppress a groan. It was too late. I knew about it. It was in my hands.
"Why didn't you deal with them yourself?" I asked, maybe too harshly. Ramirez didn't notice.
"Apparently some of them are his." He motioned to the tent I'd just emerged from. "Didn't know if you wanted to...?"
I shook my head. "We don't do kids. Ever. You know that."
"What do then, boss?"
I grunted. "Make sure *all* of them and their mothers make it to the nearest village to tell them what we did here. Even *his*. They may as well serve as messengers."
"They won't make it on foot."
"Then give them a fucking car and some food and water. Messengers are no good if they're dead."
I could justify it all I wanted, but charity was charity. Life was life. Mercy was mercy.
A pleasant warmth built up in my chest, a light that suffused my lungs and poured out of my throat like a sweet song on a summer day. Ramirez didn't notice; no one ever did. It was beautiful. It was blissful. And it left me weaker. More frail. And more fleeting.
I mentally checked my reserves. I'd still gained more from this raid than I was losing. I could make the same sacrifice five more times and I'd still come out better for the trade. We had shed a lot of blood today. A lot of men were dying up on those stakes. And the fear would spread over the next few weeks when they heard what my marauders had done here. It would crawl into me like the agony was now, but less, and over a longer period of time. Like macabre returns on a grisly investment.
"You find anyone else like that, you know what to do," I told Ramirez. "Don't bring it to me."
"You got it, boss."
It didn't cost him anything. And if I didn't know about it... I felt a little more of the light suffuse my chest and escape me. Well, I didn't lose quite as much if I didn't know about it. More insulation. More degrees of separation.
A thought stopped me in my tracks. Was I reforming Ramirez? The others? Was I teaching them mercy? Would I be taxed for that?
I shook my head. No matter. I needed my pawns. I couldn't do enough myself. I couldn't delegate and insulate without them. Soon I would have more units, platoons, entire armies. I could bring war with a word and reap the benefits. But it was a knife's edge I walked on. Plunge off one side and I defeated the purpose of my prolonged life. Dive off the other and my life would be over all too quickly, and I wouldn't be able to do anything.
I pondered, not for the first time, what I would do when I was the biggest, meanest fish in the pond. When the greatest evil that could be removed from the world was me. Would I have the guts? Would it even be right? Someone else would fill that power vacuum. Someone without my compunctions or restraint. Better that I continue as a Sin Eater become real. Better that I take those burdens on myself so that others could not seize those reins.
I felt the light leaking out again, like a pinhole in a tire. Even contemplating the ultimate reasons for this bloody work had that effect. It wasn't enough to make a difference either way; seconds, at most. But it was a reminder. A reminder of that balance. A reminder of how hard it is to walk that line. Evil for good's sake. What a nasty cosmic joke.
An agonized moan issued from inside the tent. I went back inside to find the warlord waking up. I motioned my men out. They knew the drill.
"I want you to understand something," I said, leaning down to level my face with his. I felt the pinhole open wider, more warm light streaming out, even as I drank in the oily rot of his agony. "I want you to understand that I'm not doing this because you were on my turf. I'm not doing it for your resources, though I'll gladly take them all. I'm doing this because of that little village twenty klicks back. The one you set ablaze, the one where you killed everyone just because they wouldn't act as your pack mules."
The man's eyes widened in comprehension. His fear fed me, and I vented it as... something. Something good, because it was weakening me. Justice? Maybe. Probably. I mentally grabbed that feeling for later analysis. It wouldn't do to forget what that was.
"Your boys out there know why they're dying. It's because they were loyal to the wrong son of a bitch. You need to know why you're dying, too. You're dying because you killed those people."
"You crazy fuck," the warlord murmured.
"You have no idea."
"I'll see you in hell."
I smiled. "You'd better pray I drag my feet on the way down, asshole." | Click.
Click.
Clickety- click click click.
"Would you PLEASE stop with that incessant pen clicking, Paul? It's driving me crazy" pleaded Sue.
"Sorry, Sue, nervous habit," said Paul as he felt the small tingles of a few more seconds of life added. He got up to go to the break room. He saw that Danny had put a delicious looking lunch into the refrigerator earlier that day... |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | The line burned into the skin on my inner forearm was shorter than ever. Originally it had stretched from the garish line of scar tissue on my wrist, all the way up my arm, spreading into several black tendrils. All that remained now was one thin line, about an inch long. You could almost miss it. But it felt worse now than it ever had. Before it had given me power, made me stronger than any normal person. Now though… now it just hurt. It’s dying. This curse, whatever it is, is fading, and it’s taking me with it. I don’t know how, but I know that I only have a week left at best.
I step out of the car, into the cold morning air. Not quite cold enough for snow, but it’s coming. I sigh, and the breath fogs my vision for a moment.
It’s too early, but I’m content waiting.
I open the trunk, look down at the contents. A shovel, some spare clothes, a jack, couple of bottles of water. And a rifle.
I grab a water bottle. Takes a few minutes, but I drink the full litre. Toss the empty bottle into the back seat.
I stop, staring at the rifle. The stinging on my wrist eases.
It knows what I’m about to do.
I walk around the roof of the parking garage, checking different angles. There’s not much difference. There’s already a crowd of people outside the mall across the street. I check my watch. Not even six am, and there’s already at least twenty people waiting.
I move the car to the furthest corner of the parking garage, away from the entrance. I’d dropped a couple of traffic cones blocking access to the roof, so it was unlikely I’d be disturbed, but I still didn’t want to risk anyone from the lower level seeing me. I park, diagonally cutting across the corner of the roof. I lay my rifle on the ground. I pop up a camping chair from the car, and I wait.
8:43. The mall officially opens at 9, but on days like today they will often open the outer doors early. There are people milling about just inside the glass doors, occasionally checking their phones. They’ll do it at 8:45.
Or at least, they would.
I have my rifle propped up on the parapet, any my eye lightly pressed to the scope.
There’s easily over a hundred people milling about just outside the doors, waiting for them to open.
I take a breath.
8:44.
I see one guy pressing forward, pushing past people that had been there for hours.
Well, someone’s gotta be first.
I train my sights on the back of his head, at the base of his hairline.
In my peripheral vision, I see one of the people inside fiddling with keys, slowly moving to open the doors.
8:45.
I breathe in.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t feel the curse in my wrist.
I pull the trigger.
Before I can even watch the head explode, the euphoria kicks in. Time slows, my eyes roll back in my head. The inky tendrils snake their way back up my arm, and I feel powerful again.
I snap back into focus, just as the guy’s neck snaps back and blood mists over the crowd.
There’s about a second of silence before someone screams.
I can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline, or the curse, but time slows to an absolute crawl. I can’t feel my heartbeat. I can’t breathe.
All I can feel is the curse, and I keep shooting. | "Hey, Hourglass, why don't you age?" questioned a rather curious Joker, as he stopped what he was doing to turn to the suited man next to him.
"Are you sure you want to hear this story? It's a rather long one," the obscure man replied, shaking his head in the shadow his hat cast over his features.
"Of course I want to hear the story, Sherlock, I asked, didn't I?" A rather irritated Joker replied, baring his teeth.
"I suppose it started the first time I died," pausing, before letting out a soft chuckle, he continued, "Sorry, I've never told this story before.
"Anyway, like I said, I'd just died. It's been so long now I can't quite remember how it felt, dying, and I definitely can't remember what my religion was at the time, but I know this: The end is terrifying. The afterlife, that is.
"I sort of... woke up, I guess, and it was bad. Hell is dark, dreary, and depressing... and the screams never stop. I sat there for what felt like years, and the screams NEVER stopped. Eventually, however, I had to get up.
"The darkness was total, even when I held my hand close enough to my eyes to touch my face, I couldn't see them. I picked a direction at random, and followed my gut instinct to just... walk."
As the man paused to catch his breath, the Joker interrupted, "That's cool and all, but get to the point, I'm not getting any younger."
Sighing, he continued, "I'd like to talk more about that walk, it was a defining point in my life, but I'll go ahead and move on. I'd been walking for years before I saw light again. At first, I was exhilarated. I began to run toward it, my eyes burning from their first use in decades.
"As I got closer, that feeling began to change. What had, not to long before, been a pure feeling of joy and relief melded back into the cold, hard dread I had felt upon first waking up in that cursed place. Unfortunately, I ignored the feeling.
"I made my way into the light, and at first, I was just confused. It didn't seem to have a source, it was just a disembodied glow in the middle of Hell. Then she appeared. The Crone.
"As the name might imply, she was old, dreadfully so. Her hair, what little of it remained, was made up of mere wisps of white. Her ski-"
"I get it, she was a completely horrible, terrible, ugly, stereotypical crone. Get on with the story," the Joker interrupted again, but withered at the harsh glare he received in return, "Please?"
"Anyway, she cursed me. I remember every word of it, though I guess you're not interested in that. The gist of it is this; Good deeds shorten my life, and evil ones extend it," the man finished, an air of finality about him.
"That makes no sense, you're a f****** SUPERHERO. The point of this was, after all, to stall. Anyway, doesn't that mean you'd be dead after, like, a day or two?"
With a sudden dark and menacing feeling springing up around the two, Hourglass muttered, a heavy growl behind his words, "Every day, I do something so horribly, terribly wrong that I will live FOREVER."
With a rather pitiful whimper, the Joker asked, "What do you do?"
"I never paid for Winrar."
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | "...and on the lighter side of the news, we have a remarkable event today. We're delighted to be with Roger Albertson on his 118th birthday. Since Margaret Hitchcock died this April, you are now recognized as the oldest person in the world. However, you continue to stun the medical profession with your health and youthfulness. In fact, just last month you completed a marathon -- most people 80 years younger than you couldn't manage that feat! I'm sure what all our viewers really want to know is, what's your secret, Senator?" | "Hey, Hourglass, why don't you age?" questioned a rather curious Joker, as he stopped what he was doing to turn to the suited man next to him.
"Are you sure you want to hear this story? It's a rather long one," the obscure man replied, shaking his head in the shadow his hat cast over his features.
"Of course I want to hear the story, Sherlock, I asked, didn't I?" A rather irritated Joker replied, baring his teeth.
"I suppose it started the first time I died," pausing, before letting out a soft chuckle, he continued, "Sorry, I've never told this story before.
"Anyway, like I said, I'd just died. It's been so long now I can't quite remember how it felt, dying, and I definitely can't remember what my religion was at the time, but I know this: The end is terrifying. The afterlife, that is.
"I sort of... woke up, I guess, and it was bad. Hell is dark, dreary, and depressing... and the screams never stop. I sat there for what felt like years, and the screams NEVER stopped. Eventually, however, I had to get up.
"The darkness was total, even when I held my hand close enough to my eyes to touch my face, I couldn't see them. I picked a direction at random, and followed my gut instinct to just... walk."
As the man paused to catch his breath, the Joker interrupted, "That's cool and all, but get to the point, I'm not getting any younger."
Sighing, he continued, "I'd like to talk more about that walk, it was a defining point in my life, but I'll go ahead and move on. I'd been walking for years before I saw light again. At first, I was exhilarated. I began to run toward it, my eyes burning from their first use in decades.
"As I got closer, that feeling began to change. What had, not to long before, been a pure feeling of joy and relief melded back into the cold, hard dread I had felt upon first waking up in that cursed place. Unfortunately, I ignored the feeling.
"I made my way into the light, and at first, I was just confused. It didn't seem to have a source, it was just a disembodied glow in the middle of Hell. Then she appeared. The Crone.
"As the name might imply, she was old, dreadfully so. Her hair, what little of it remained, was made up of mere wisps of white. Her ski-"
"I get it, she was a completely horrible, terrible, ugly, stereotypical crone. Get on with the story," the Joker interrupted again, but withered at the harsh glare he received in return, "Please?"
"Anyway, she cursed me. I remember every word of it, though I guess you're not interested in that. The gist of it is this; Good deeds shorten my life, and evil ones extend it," the man finished, an air of finality about him.
"That makes no sense, you're a f****** SUPERHERO. The point of this was, after all, to stall. Anyway, doesn't that mean you'd be dead after, like, a day or two?"
With a sudden dark and menacing feeling springing up around the two, Hourglass muttered, a heavy growl behind his words, "Every day, I do something so horribly, terribly wrong that I will live FOREVER."
With a rather pitiful whimper, the Joker asked, "What do you do?"
"I never paid for Winrar."
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | God, but do I ever love stupid witches. I was cursed a long time ago by one of those shriveled bats after I rescued her soon to be victim from having her vitality stolen. "Good deeds shall steal your life, while evil ones shall extend it," the dumb cow crowed with her last breath, "we'll see how long you remain righteous after this!"
Turns out? The answer is "basically forever, you idiot". Do you have any idea how many evil actions lead to greater goods? Killing is a sin, so I go to war torn regions to kill dictators and their followers. Lying is a sin, so I go around giving complements to ugly people. Blasphemy and swearing are sins, so I call God a dried up cunt a few times a day. Casting curses is sinful as fuck, so I tortured a witch I caught murdering maidens (what is it with witches and blonde bombshells anyway?) until she coughed up how to learn magic, then I was off to the races cursing tyrants and telemarketers. Fucking without the intention of marrying? You got it, sin city over here.
Loopholes are great. The best part of it all, though? The witch that cursed me in the first place cast it as a death curse, and part of the whole "balance of the universe" thing magic has going for it is that you can only ever have one of those at a time. Dumb bitch might as well have given me perfect magic armour and a Ring of Infinite Blowjobs.
It's good to be me. | "Hey, Hourglass, why don't you age?" questioned a rather curious Joker, as he stopped what he was doing to turn to the suited man next to him.
"Are you sure you want to hear this story? It's a rather long one," the obscure man replied, shaking his head in the shadow his hat cast over his features.
"Of course I want to hear the story, Sherlock, I asked, didn't I?" A rather irritated Joker replied, baring his teeth.
"I suppose it started the first time I died," pausing, before letting out a soft chuckle, he continued, "Sorry, I've never told this story before.
"Anyway, like I said, I'd just died. It's been so long now I can't quite remember how it felt, dying, and I definitely can't remember what my religion was at the time, but I know this: The end is terrifying. The afterlife, that is.
"I sort of... woke up, I guess, and it was bad. Hell is dark, dreary, and depressing... and the screams never stop. I sat there for what felt like years, and the screams NEVER stopped. Eventually, however, I had to get up.
"The darkness was total, even when I held my hand close enough to my eyes to touch my face, I couldn't see them. I picked a direction at random, and followed my gut instinct to just... walk."
As the man paused to catch his breath, the Joker interrupted, "That's cool and all, but get to the point, I'm not getting any younger."
Sighing, he continued, "I'd like to talk more about that walk, it was a defining point in my life, but I'll go ahead and move on. I'd been walking for years before I saw light again. At first, I was exhilarated. I began to run toward it, my eyes burning from their first use in decades.
"As I got closer, that feeling began to change. What had, not to long before, been a pure feeling of joy and relief melded back into the cold, hard dread I had felt upon first waking up in that cursed place. Unfortunately, I ignored the feeling.
"I made my way into the light, and at first, I was just confused. It didn't seem to have a source, it was just a disembodied glow in the middle of Hell. Then she appeared. The Crone.
"As the name might imply, she was old, dreadfully so. Her hair, what little of it remained, was made up of mere wisps of white. Her ski-"
"I get it, she was a completely horrible, terrible, ugly, stereotypical crone. Get on with the story," the Joker interrupted again, but withered at the harsh glare he received in return, "Please?"
"Anyway, she cursed me. I remember every word of it, though I guess you're not interested in that. The gist of it is this; Good deeds shorten my life, and evil ones extend it," the man finished, an air of finality about him.
"That makes no sense, you're a f****** SUPERHERO. The point of this was, after all, to stall. Anyway, doesn't that mean you'd be dead after, like, a day or two?"
With a sudden dark and menacing feeling springing up around the two, Hourglass muttered, a heavy growl behind his words, "Every day, I do something so horribly, terribly wrong that I will live FOREVER."
With a rather pitiful whimper, the Joker asked, "What do you do?"
"I never paid for Winrar."
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | God, but do I ever love stupid witches. I was cursed a long time ago by one of those shriveled bats after I rescued her soon to be victim from having her vitality stolen. "Good deeds shall steal your life, while evil ones shall extend it," the dumb cow crowed with her last breath, "we'll see how long you remain righteous after this!"
Turns out? The answer is "basically forever, you idiot". Do you have any idea how many evil actions lead to greater goods? Killing is a sin, so I go to war torn regions to kill dictators and their followers. Lying is a sin, so I go around giving complements to ugly people. Blasphemy and swearing are sins, so I call God a dried up cunt a few times a day. Casting curses is sinful as fuck, so I tortured a witch I caught murdering maidens (what is it with witches and blonde bombshells anyway?) until she coughed up how to learn magic, then I was off to the races cursing tyrants and telemarketers. Fucking without the intention of marrying? You got it, sin city over here.
Loopholes are great. The best part of it all, though? The witch that cursed me in the first place cast it as a death curse, and part of the whole "balance of the universe" thing magic has going for it is that you can only ever have one of those at a time. Dumb bitch might as well have given me perfect magic armour and a Ring of Infinite Blowjobs.
It's good to be me. | Sprinting down the streets, gunfire ringing behind him, the hooded man really hopes he doesn't get shot, he couldn't die, but getting shot fucking hurts. The dude just stabbed 5 people and some random gang is chasing him now, he's grown desensitized to killing these fools, after a while everyone looks the same to him. It's getting easier to escape these gangs too, he's figured out all the best hiding spots, a haystack here, a closet there, a -
Bang!
Oh shit I have to act fast,
Your torrent of Backdoor sluts Vol 69 has finished downloading.
The notification faded away as I Alt tabbed, right clicked, and stopped torrent right as it begins to seed.
I checked my watch, another 5 min gained. I smiled, it was too easy too be immortal
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | There are some who say he walked the earth since before the beginning of time. Others said he was just a man who did what he did. No one knew for sure. No one except him. Only he knew how long it was he had lived.
He never considered himself an evil man, but he knew the actions he did were righteous and evil at the same time. It held him in a near immortal state of life.
For him the smallest lie, even when told in the best intentions, were evil.
When the bullets started flying and the blood started to spill, when the same question was asked, he was always there to whisper a few simple words that made him live forever.
"Am I gonna make it Doc?"
"It'll be okay, you're gonna make it. You ain't gonna die on me today." | Sprinting down the streets, gunfire ringing behind him, the hooded man really hopes he doesn't get shot, he couldn't die, but getting shot fucking hurts. The dude just stabbed 5 people and some random gang is chasing him now, he's grown desensitized to killing these fools, after a while everyone looks the same to him. It's getting easier to escape these gangs too, he's figured out all the best hiding spots, a haystack here, a closet there, a -
Bang!
Oh shit I have to act fast,
Your torrent of Backdoor sluts Vol 69 has finished downloading.
The notification faded away as I Alt tabbed, right clicked, and stopped torrent right as it begins to seed.
I checked my watch, another 5 min gained. I smiled, it was too easy too be immortal
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tomorrow, I will die. I'm not afraid of death - a part of me looks forward to the dark blanket gently falling onto my skin; to the intrusive memories in my head that play like violent operas, finally quietening. No, I'm not afraid to die. It has been too long already.
Perhaps if the world had been kinder to me as a child, things would have been different. Ah, there I go again - *simplifying* things, as usual. Truthfully, there is no one to blame, other than the pale, drawn face that stares back at me in the foggy, bathroom mirror.
Taking a cotton towel, I wipe clean a round patch of misted glass, near my reflection's scarred shoulder. I try to imagine *her* head leaning on me once more, her delicate chin gently pressing down into my skin. Her irresistible grin infecting me with its *poison*. The *taste of her*, as my tongue explores her mouth, and the feelings beneath that she would always stir.
---
I - Temüjin, as I was known back then - was born in the year 1162 near the great, cloud-piercing, mountain, Burkhan Khaldun. The mountain whose peak no eyes had seen, that jutted high into the swirling black tempest that seemed to always rage around it. I was born into a small but proud nomadic clan, whose existence was defined by wandering the plains, taking what we needed - *that is, food and shelter* - and giving back in other ways, to those that we took from. A simple life, but not always a *good* life. Times of plenty were more scarce than the long periods of belly-aching hunger, that we so often endured.
We were well renown by the tribes and villages throughout our great route, for our mystical skills with herbs and healing. As such, most welcomed our arrival and took it as cause for great celebration. Whilst we helped heal their sick, they would cook up great feasts and sacrifice their fattest animals. In the evenings, we would dance and eat and drink with them, as well as other things that as a child, I wasn't yet fully aware of.
Some said our elders knew secrets that the Gods themselves had passed to the very first men. The greatest, and oldest, of our healers was known as the Dead-Mother, and she terrified all the children of the tribe - not least, me and my siblings.
We were simple, but honest people. I loved my father particularly dearly, and I did not blame him for arranging my marriage when I was only nine years old. It was done, at least in part, to secure a better future for me, and for our tribe. Our clan was slowly dwindling, like the ancient stars above. This marriage was to be our lifeline. *A chance*.
"There was a time, Temüjin," spoke my father in his rough, slow voice, "that all the people of this land were part of the same clan."
"What happened?" I asked, my mouth open wide.
"War. Treachery. Lust. We became fractured. But, Temüjin my son, I believe that one day we will become a single great tribe, once again. Perhaps your marriage will be the first step of a long journey that eventually unites our people."
My father was a good man, full of hope and belief. He always saw the best in a person. But he was also a naive man, to think that something as innocent as marriage could help unite our people.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that my father woke me early.
"Temüjin," he said, "we leave today."
"...yes, father."
We would ride that day and night to my bride-to-be's village, for my wedding ceremony. Then, he would return home without me. It was a hundred miles away from where I had been born and I was reluctant to go, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I put on a brave a face as possible as I said goodbye to my mother, and somehow, I saved my tears until she was just a distant silhouette far in the distance.
I still remember the screaming wind that caused the rain to bite at my hooded face, as if it were a swarm of insects from the swamp land; I remember the thick, black clouds on the mountain route, that were so close to us I felt as if I could reach out and touch them. I remember wishing that I could climb up onto them, to ride them away and leave the world of people far below.
---
I did not see it then, but Börte was prodigiously beautiful. What I did realise upon seeing her however, was that I liked her. When she first pulled back my woven hood and looked down upon me, her face burst into a wide grin.
"Hello husband," she giggled.
My tears - shed for leaving home - quickly dried, and I shyly smiled back. "Hello, *my wife*."
Perhaps I could have been happy there; perhaps I could have lived a *normal* life, if not for what happened to my father on his return to the tribe. He came upon a glowing fire under a twisting, jutting, mountain shelf. The weather hadn't let up, and with a crippling cold spreading through his bones, he rode up to the small party and asked to join their shelter.
"I have a little money that I can exchange for some of your food and a night under this shelter."
He had not known they were Tatars. He had not tasted the poison on the meat they had given him. He lay there, eyes open and unable to move, as they took his money and slit his throat.
It was three days until news reached me.
"Please, Temüjin, do not do this!" my bride had begged me as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am sorry for your father, truly. But you cannot avenge him. They will kill you, as they did him."
"I am sorry, Börte, but I must do this."
She bit her lip as she removed a piece of string from her neck. On it hung a pointed tusk. "Then... if you must go, please take this."
My eyebrows knitted together - it was just a fossilised tusk of a large animal. "Börte..."
"Please, Temüjin. It is a tooth of the God Röalallo, from when he bit into the Earth and created the hollows for the great waters to fill. It will protect you."
I kissed her gently, then let her hang the necklace around my neck.
---
"Temüjin!" cried my mother, as I rode into the camp "Temüjin!" Her voice trembled, but I knew at once she was glad to see me.
I unmounted and ran to her. We embraced and I felt the warmth of her tears as they dropped onto my head.
"Why have you returned?"
"To avenge father," I said simply.
She nodded. She understood.
I spent the day greeting my old friends and spending time with my brothers and sister. We reminisced about our father, and of the thousand ways we would take our revenge on the Tatars. But it was only I who had true intent in the spoken words.
I supped well with them that evening on freshly slaughtered goat, but as night began to fall, I knew I must leave. I was ready to seek the blessing of the Dead-Mother.
Unlike my bride, my mother encouraged me to do this, and her adamance gave me the courage that I needed to approach the old woman's tent. I cautiously drew back the flap and entered.
The tent was almost as black inside as it was on the outside. A single, flickering candle gave a dim illumination to the hideous person within, and to the animal bones strewn around her.
"Welcome, Temüjin," said the ancient, blind woman. Her face looked as if a raging fire had lapped at it. She sat crossed legged on the hard ground, rocking slowly back and forth. "You are a very brave child."
"I am no child."
She threw her head back and let out a terrible laugh; it was like a pained creature calling out for someone to come end its suffering.
"Do you know what I plan?" I asked.
"I know much," she said smiling and showing her few remaining, rotting teeth. "Come close to Mother."
I cautiously approached her. Her hands snapped at me and she took my arm, pulling it near to her body. "Yes," she whispered, rubbing my skin. "Your life is very strong. It will be long, too. There will be much greatness in your future, Temüjin. But much sadness. Are you certain you want this?"
I nodded.
"Very well. Close your eyes, my child."
I did so. I did not see the knife, but I felt the cold metal as it as it cut deep into my forearm - somehow, I prevented myself from screaming, but my eyes flicked open to see the green spittle fall from her mouth and into my bloody wound. It burned as it touched my skin, and this time I did scream. She wiped the green into my wound, stretching it across my cut skin.
The blood soon stopped gushing, but I was sweating terribly and felt very faint.
"Sleep now, Temüjin," she crooned.
She gently laid me down on the dirt floor, and as her leathery hand pushed my eyelids down, I fell into a fevered sleep.
I dreamed I was swimming in a river of blood as the bodies of a thousand Tatars floated past me. I dreamed of dragging myself out of the river and seeing my father standing on the bank before me.
He gently lowered a crown of bone onto my head.
"Awake, Genghis."
---
I got totally carried away with this. For more stories, please check out my brand new profile subbredit /u/nickofnight
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/nickofnight/comments/6bbd22/genghis_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! | Sprinting down the streets, gunfire ringing behind him, the hooded man really hopes he doesn't get shot, he couldn't die, but getting shot fucking hurts. The dude just stabbed 5 people and some random gang is chasing him now, he's grown desensitized to killing these fools, after a while everyone looks the same to him. It's getting easier to escape these gangs too, he's figured out all the best hiding spots, a haystack here, a closet there, a -
Bang!
Oh shit I have to act fast,
Your torrent of Backdoor sluts Vol 69 has finished downloading.
The notification faded away as I Alt tabbed, right clicked, and stopped torrent right as it begins to seed.
I checked my watch, another 5 min gained. I smiled, it was too easy too be immortal
|
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tomorrow, I will die. I'm not afraid of death - a part of me looks forward to the dark blanket gently falling onto my skin; to the intrusive memories in my head that play like violent operas, finally quietening. No, I'm not afraid to die. It has been too long already.
Perhaps if the world had been kinder to me as a child, things would have been different. Ah, there I go again - *simplifying* things, as usual. Truthfully, there is no one to blame, other than the pale, drawn face that stares back at me in the foggy, bathroom mirror.
Taking a cotton towel, I wipe clean a round patch of misted glass, near my reflection's scarred shoulder. I try to imagine *her* head leaning on me once more, her delicate chin gently pressing down into my skin. Her irresistible grin infecting me with its *poison*. The *taste of her*, as my tongue explores her mouth, and the feelings beneath that she would always stir.
---
I - Temüjin, as I was known back then - was born in the year 1162 near the great, cloud-piercing, mountain, Burkhan Khaldun. The mountain whose peak no eyes had seen, that jutted high into the swirling black tempest that seemed to always rage around it. I was born into a small but proud nomadic clan, whose existence was defined by wandering the plains, taking what we needed - *that is, food and shelter* - and giving back in other ways, to those that we took from. A simple life, but not always a *good* life. Times of plenty were more scarce than the long periods of belly-aching hunger, that we so often endured.
We were well renown by the tribes and villages throughout our great route, for our mystical skills with herbs and healing. As such, most welcomed our arrival and took it as cause for great celebration. Whilst we helped heal their sick, they would cook up great feasts and sacrifice their fattest animals. In the evenings, we would dance and eat and drink with them, as well as other things that as a child, I wasn't yet fully aware of.
Some said our elders knew secrets that the Gods themselves had passed to the very first men. The greatest, and oldest, of our healers was known as the Dead-Mother, and she terrified all the children of the tribe - not least, me and my siblings.
We were simple, but honest people. I loved my father particularly dearly, and I did not blame him for arranging my marriage when I was only nine years old. It was done, at least in part, to secure a better future for me, and for our tribe. Our clan was slowly dwindling, like the ancient stars above. This marriage was to be our lifeline. *A chance*.
"There was a time, Temüjin," spoke my father in his rough, slow voice, "that all the people of this land were part of the same clan."
"What happened?" I asked, my mouth open wide.
"War. Treachery. Lust. We became fractured. But, Temüjin my son, I believe that one day we will become a single great tribe, once again. Perhaps your marriage will be the first step of a long journey that eventually unites our people."
My father was a good man, full of hope and belief. He always saw the best in a person. But he was also a naive man, to think that something as innocent as marriage could help unite our people.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that my father woke me early.
"Temüjin," he said, "we leave today."
"...yes, father."
We would ride that day and night to my bride-to-be's village, for my wedding ceremony. Then, he would return home without me. It was a hundred miles away from where I had been born and I was reluctant to go, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I put on a brave a face as possible as I said goodbye to my mother, and somehow, I saved my tears until she was just a distant silhouette far in the distance.
I still remember the screaming wind that caused the rain to bite at my hooded face, as if it were a swarm of insects from the swamp land; I remember the thick, black clouds on the mountain route, that were so close to us I felt as if I could reach out and touch them. I remember wishing that I could climb up onto them, to ride them away and leave the world of people far below.
---
I did not see it then, but Börte was prodigiously beautiful. What I did realise upon seeing her however, was that I liked her. When she first pulled back my woven hood and looked down upon me, her face burst into a wide grin.
"Hello husband," she giggled.
My tears - shed for leaving home - quickly dried, and I shyly smiled back. "Hello, *my wife*."
Perhaps I could have been happy there; perhaps I could have lived a *normal* life, if not for what happened to my father on his return to the tribe. He came upon a glowing fire under a twisting, jutting, mountain shelf. The weather hadn't let up, and with a crippling cold spreading through his bones, he rode up to the small party and asked to join their shelter.
"I have a little money that I can exchange for some of your food and a night under this shelter."
He had not known they were Tatars. He had not tasted the poison on the meat they had given him. He lay there, eyes open and unable to move, as they took his money and slit his throat.
It was three days until news reached me.
"Please, Temüjin, do not do this!" my bride had begged me as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am sorry for your father, truly. But you cannot avenge him. They will kill you, as they did him."
"I am sorry, Börte, but I must do this."
She bit her lip as she removed a piece of string from her neck. On it hung a pointed tusk. "Then... if you must go, please take this."
My eyebrows knitted together - it was just a fossilised tusk of a large animal. "Börte..."
"Please, Temüjin. It is a tooth of the God Röalallo, from when he bit into the Earth and created the hollows for the great waters to fill. It will protect you."
I kissed her gently, then let her hang the necklace around my neck.
---
"Temüjin!" cried my mother, as I rode into the camp "Temüjin!" Her voice trembled, but I knew at once she was glad to see me.
I unmounted and ran to her. We embraced and I felt the warmth of her tears as they dropped onto my head.
"Why have you returned?"
"To avenge father," I said simply.
She nodded. She understood.
I spent the day greeting my old friends and spending time with my brothers and sister. We reminisced about our father, and of the thousand ways we would take our revenge on the Tatars. But it was only I who had true intent in the spoken words.
I supped well with them that evening on freshly slaughtered goat, but as night began to fall, I knew I must leave. I was ready to seek the blessing of the Dead-Mother.
Unlike my bride, my mother encouraged me to do this, and her adamance gave me the courage that I needed to approach the old woman's tent. I cautiously drew back the flap and entered.
The tent was almost as black inside as it was on the outside. A single, flickering candle gave a dim illumination to the hideous person within, and to the animal bones strewn around her.
"Welcome, Temüjin," said the ancient, blind woman. Her face looked as if a raging fire had lapped at it. She sat crossed legged on the hard ground, rocking slowly back and forth. "You are a very brave child."
"I am no child."
She threw her head back and let out a terrible laugh; it was like a pained creature calling out for someone to come end its suffering.
"Do you know what I plan?" I asked.
"I know much," she said smiling and showing her few remaining, rotting teeth. "Come close to Mother."
I cautiously approached her. Her hands snapped at me and she took my arm, pulling it near to her body. "Yes," she whispered, rubbing my skin. "Your life is very strong. It will be long, too. There will be much greatness in your future, Temüjin. But much sadness. Are you certain you want this?"
I nodded.
"Very well. Close your eyes, my child."
I did so. I did not see the knife, but I felt the cold metal as it as it cut deep into my forearm - somehow, I prevented myself from screaming, but my eyes flicked open to see the green spittle fall from her mouth and into my bloody wound. It burned as it touched my skin, and this time I did scream. She wiped the green into my wound, stretching it across my cut skin.
The blood soon stopped gushing, but I was sweating terribly and felt very faint.
"Sleep now, Temüjin," she crooned.
She gently laid me down on the dirt floor, and as her leathery hand pushed my eyelids down, I fell into a fevered sleep.
I dreamed I was swimming in a river of blood as the bodies of a thousand Tatars floated past me. I dreamed of dragging myself out of the river and seeing my father standing on the bank before me.
He gently lowered a crown of bone onto my head.
"Awake, Genghis."
---
I got totally carried away with this. For more stories, please check out my brand new profile subbredit /u/nickofnight
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/nickofnight/comments/6bbd22/genghis_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! | There are some who say he walked the earth since before the beginning of time. Others said he was just a man who did what he did. No one knew for sure. No one except him. Only he knew how long it was he had lived.
He never considered himself an evil man, but he knew the actions he did were righteous and evil at the same time. It held him in a near immortal state of life.
For him the smallest lie, even when told in the best intentions, were evil.
When the bullets started flying and the blood started to spill, when the same question was asked, he was always there to whisper a few simple words that made him live forever.
"Am I gonna make it Doc?"
"It'll be okay, you're gonna make it. You ain't gonna die on me today." |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tomorrow, I will die. I'm not afraid of death - a part of me looks forward to the dark blanket gently falling onto my skin; to the intrusive memories in my head that play like violent operas, finally quietening. No, I'm not afraid to die. It has been too long already.
Perhaps if the world had been kinder to me as a child, things would have been different. Ah, there I go again - *simplifying* things, as usual. Truthfully, there is no one to blame, other than the pale, drawn face that stares back at me in the foggy, bathroom mirror.
Taking a cotton towel, I wipe clean a round patch of misted glass, near my reflection's scarred shoulder. I try to imagine *her* head leaning on me once more, her delicate chin gently pressing down into my skin. Her irresistible grin infecting me with its *poison*. The *taste of her*, as my tongue explores her mouth, and the feelings beneath that she would always stir.
---
I - Temüjin, as I was known back then - was born in the year 1162 near the great, cloud-piercing, mountain, Burkhan Khaldun. The mountain whose peak no eyes had seen, that jutted high into the swirling black tempest that seemed to always rage around it. I was born into a small but proud nomadic clan, whose existence was defined by wandering the plains, taking what we needed - *that is, food and shelter* - and giving back in other ways, to those that we took from. A simple life, but not always a *good* life. Times of plenty were more scarce than the long periods of belly-aching hunger, that we so often endured.
We were well renown by the tribes and villages throughout our great route, for our mystical skills with herbs and healing. As such, most welcomed our arrival and took it as cause for great celebration. Whilst we helped heal their sick, they would cook up great feasts and sacrifice their fattest animals. In the evenings, we would dance and eat and drink with them, as well as other things that as a child, I wasn't yet fully aware of.
Some said our elders knew secrets that the Gods themselves had passed to the very first men. The greatest, and oldest, of our healers was known as the Dead-Mother, and she terrified all the children of the tribe - not least, me and my siblings.
We were simple, but honest people. I loved my father particularly dearly, and I did not blame him for arranging my marriage when I was only nine years old. It was done, at least in part, to secure a better future for me, and for our tribe. Our clan was slowly dwindling, like the ancient stars above. This marriage was to be our lifeline. *A chance*.
"There was a time, Temüjin," spoke my father in his rough, slow voice, "that all the people of this land were part of the same clan."
"What happened?" I asked, my mouth open wide.
"War. Treachery. Lust. We became fractured. But, Temüjin my son, I believe that one day we will become a single great tribe, once again. Perhaps your marriage will be the first step of a long journey that eventually unites our people."
My father was a good man, full of hope and belief. He always saw the best in a person. But he was also a naive man, to think that something as innocent as marriage could help unite our people.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that my father woke me early.
"Temüjin," he said, "we leave today."
"...yes, father."
We would ride that day and night to my bride-to-be's village, for my wedding ceremony. Then, he would return home without me. It was a hundred miles away from where I had been born and I was reluctant to go, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I put on a brave a face as possible as I said goodbye to my mother, and somehow, I saved my tears until she was just a distant silhouette far in the distance.
I still remember the screaming wind that caused the rain to bite at my hooded face, as if it were a swarm of insects from the swamp land; I remember the thick, black clouds on the mountain route, that were so close to us I felt as if I could reach out and touch them. I remember wishing that I could climb up onto them, to ride them away and leave the world of people far below.
---
I did not see it then, but Börte was prodigiously beautiful. What I did realise upon seeing her however, was that I liked her. When she first pulled back my woven hood and looked down upon me, her face burst into a wide grin.
"Hello husband," she giggled.
My tears - shed for leaving home - quickly dried, and I shyly smiled back. "Hello, *my wife*."
Perhaps I could have been happy there; perhaps I could have lived a *normal* life, if not for what happened to my father on his return to the tribe. He came upon a glowing fire under a twisting, jutting, mountain shelf. The weather hadn't let up, and with a crippling cold spreading through his bones, he rode up to the small party and asked to join their shelter.
"I have a little money that I can exchange for some of your food and a night under this shelter."
He had not known they were Tatars. He had not tasted the poison on the meat they had given him. He lay there, eyes open and unable to move, as they took his money and slit his throat.
It was three days until news reached me.
"Please, Temüjin, do not do this!" my bride had begged me as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am sorry for your father, truly. But you cannot avenge him. They will kill you, as they did him."
"I am sorry, Börte, but I must do this."
She bit her lip as she removed a piece of string from her neck. On it hung a pointed tusk. "Then... if you must go, please take this."
My eyebrows knitted together - it was just a fossilised tusk of a large animal. "Börte..."
"Please, Temüjin. It is a tooth of the God Röalallo, from when he bit into the Earth and created the hollows for the great waters to fill. It will protect you."
I kissed her gently, then let her hang the necklace around my neck.
---
"Temüjin!" cried my mother, as I rode into the camp "Temüjin!" Her voice trembled, but I knew at once she was glad to see me.
I unmounted and ran to her. We embraced and I felt the warmth of her tears as they dropped onto my head.
"Why have you returned?"
"To avenge father," I said simply.
She nodded. She understood.
I spent the day greeting my old friends and spending time with my brothers and sister. We reminisced about our father, and of the thousand ways we would take our revenge on the Tatars. But it was only I who had true intent in the spoken words.
I supped well with them that evening on freshly slaughtered goat, but as night began to fall, I knew I must leave. I was ready to seek the blessing of the Dead-Mother.
Unlike my bride, my mother encouraged me to do this, and her adamance gave me the courage that I needed to approach the old woman's tent. I cautiously drew back the flap and entered.
The tent was almost as black inside as it was on the outside. A single, flickering candle gave a dim illumination to the hideous person within, and to the animal bones strewn around her.
"Welcome, Temüjin," said the ancient, blind woman. Her face looked as if a raging fire had lapped at it. She sat crossed legged on the hard ground, rocking slowly back and forth. "You are a very brave child."
"I am no child."
She threw her head back and let out a terrible laugh; it was like a pained creature calling out for someone to come end its suffering.
"Do you know what I plan?" I asked.
"I know much," she said smiling and showing her few remaining, rotting teeth. "Come close to Mother."
I cautiously approached her. Her hands snapped at me and she took my arm, pulling it near to her body. "Yes," she whispered, rubbing my skin. "Your life is very strong. It will be long, too. There will be much greatness in your future, Temüjin. But much sadness. Are you certain you want this?"
I nodded.
"Very well. Close your eyes, my child."
I did so. I did not see the knife, but I felt the cold metal as it as it cut deep into my forearm - somehow, I prevented myself from screaming, but my eyes flicked open to see the green spittle fall from her mouth and into my bloody wound. It burned as it touched my skin, and this time I did scream. She wiped the green into my wound, stretching it across my cut skin.
The blood soon stopped gushing, but I was sweating terribly and felt very faint.
"Sleep now, Temüjin," she crooned.
She gently laid me down on the dirt floor, and as her leathery hand pushed my eyelids down, I fell into a fevered sleep.
I dreamed I was swimming in a river of blood as the bodies of a thousand Tatars floated past me. I dreamed of dragging myself out of the river and seeing my father standing on the bank before me.
He gently lowered a crown of bone onto my head.
"Awake, Genghis."
---
I got totally carried away with this. For more stories, please check out my brand new profile subbredit /u/nickofnight
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/nickofnight/comments/6bbd22/genghis_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! | It had been a long day for John. He spent all day working behind a desk in one of America’s largest corporations, fabricating the accounts of the business, all the while watching as the counter on his watch increased. It currently read 3 months, 6 days, 11 hours, 23 minutes and 52 seconds.
As he walked through the back streets of New York City he remembered the man he’d been a few years ago. He’d been a respectable business man, donating large amounts of money to charities, and doing relief mission in Africa as often as possible. In was on one of those missions his life had been turned on his head. He’d crossed a witch while on his relief mission, and been dreadfully cursed by the woman. His watch no longer told the time, but rather how much time he had left to live. Good deeds decreased his time, and evil deeds increased his time.
Upon his return to America he changed jobs and started falsifying financial statements. It meant he slowly accrued more time to live, and allowed him to do small deeds for others. It wasn’t much, but he could live, and he could still help others.
John was interrupted from his thoughts by a scream from one of the nearby alleyways. Eyes quickly flicking to his watch John noted he had enough time stored up to commit a few good deeds and not die.
John quickly walked towards the screams and saw three men surrounding a crying lady. Her dress was half ripped off and the men were laughing at her while pinning her against the wall. Despite his curse John was still a good person, and would do all he could to help others without killing himself, so when he saw a young woman being assaulted he felt the need to help.
He quickly downed the first man with a punch to the kidney before the distracted me realised he was there. The second man fell to a punch in the nose, while the third man fled at the sight of his two fallen friends.
Barely thirty seconds had passed, and John had done his good deed for the day. Two of the men were on the ground, the third had disappeared and the young lady had wrapped herself around John, he make-up smeared across her face, tears falling rapidly mumbling a thousand statements of thanks into his shirt.
Feeling a sense of accomplishment he hadn’t in a long time, John looked down at his watch and cursed as his stomach dropped.
6 seconds.
He looked at his watch again praying he’d read it wrong.
6 months.
He breathed a sigh of relief and stumbled away from the alley, leaving in his wake two unconscious men, and a dead girl. |
Do you die a hero, or live long enough to become a villain?
Edit: Great job everyone. This is my first post and it got more of a response than I could have predicted. As far as the question of good and evil being subjective, try using the characters idea of it. If it goes against their moral code, then it's evil. | [WP] You are cursed. Every good deed you perform reduces the time you have left to live. However, evil deeds will grant more time. | Tomorrow, I will die. I'm not afraid of death - a part of me looks forward to the dark blanket gently falling onto my skin; to the intrusive memories in my head that play like violent operas, finally quietening. No, I'm not afraid to die. It has been too long already.
Perhaps if the world had been kinder to me as a child, things would have been different. Ah, there I go again - *simplifying* things, as usual. Truthfully, there is no one to blame, other than the pale, drawn face that stares back at me in the foggy, bathroom mirror.
Taking a cotton towel, I wipe clean a round patch of misted glass, near my reflection's scarred shoulder. I try to imagine *her* head leaning on me once more, her delicate chin gently pressing down into my skin. Her irresistible grin infecting me with its *poison*. The *taste of her*, as my tongue explores her mouth, and the feelings beneath that she would always stir.
---
I - Temüjin, as I was known back then - was born in the year 1162 near the great, cloud-piercing, mountain, Burkhan Khaldun. The mountain whose peak no eyes had seen, that jutted high into the swirling black tempest that seemed to always rage around it. I was born into a small but proud nomadic clan, whose existence was defined by wandering the plains, taking what we needed - *that is, food and shelter* - and giving back in other ways, to those that we took from. A simple life, but not always a *good* life. Times of plenty were more scarce than the long periods of belly-aching hunger, that we so often endured.
We were well renown by the tribes and villages throughout our great route, for our mystical skills with herbs and healing. As such, most welcomed our arrival and took it as cause for great celebration. Whilst we helped heal their sick, they would cook up great feasts and sacrifice their fattest animals. In the evenings, we would dance and eat and drink with them, as well as other things that as a child, I wasn't yet fully aware of.
Some said our elders knew secrets that the Gods themselves had passed to the very first men. The greatest, and oldest, of our healers was known as the Dead-Mother, and she terrified all the children of the tribe - not least, me and my siblings.
We were simple, but honest people. I loved my father particularly dearly, and I did not blame him for arranging my marriage when I was only nine years old. It was done, at least in part, to secure a better future for me, and for our tribe. Our clan was slowly dwindling, like the ancient stars above. This marriage was to be our lifeline. *A chance*.
"There was a time, Temüjin," spoke my father in his rough, slow voice, "that all the people of this land were part of the same clan."
"What happened?" I asked, my mouth open wide.
"War. Treachery. Lust. We became fractured. But, Temüjin my son, I believe that one day we will become a single great tribe, once again. Perhaps your marriage will be the first step of a long journey that eventually unites our people."
My father was a good man, full of hope and belief. He always saw the best in a person. But he was also a naive man, to think that something as innocent as marriage could help unite our people.
It was on my thirteenth birthday that my father woke me early.
"Temüjin," he said, "we leave today."
"...yes, father."
We would ride that day and night to my bride-to-be's village, for my wedding ceremony. Then, he would return home without me. It was a hundred miles away from where I had been born and I was reluctant to go, but I knew it was the right thing to do. I put on a brave a face as possible as I said goodbye to my mother, and somehow, I saved my tears until she was just a distant silhouette far in the distance.
I still remember the screaming wind that caused the rain to bite at my hooded face, as if it were a swarm of insects from the swamp land; I remember the thick, black clouds on the mountain route, that were so close to us I felt as if I could reach out and touch them. I remember wishing that I could climb up onto them, to ride them away and leave the world of people far below.
---
I did not see it then, but Börte was prodigiously beautiful. What I did realise upon seeing her however, was that I liked her. When she first pulled back my woven hood and looked down upon me, her face burst into a wide grin.
"Hello husband," she giggled.
My tears - shed for leaving home - quickly dried, and I shyly smiled back. "Hello, *my wife*."
Perhaps I could have been happy there; perhaps I could have lived a *normal* life, if not for what happened to my father on his return to the tribe. He came upon a glowing fire under a twisting, jutting, mountain shelf. The weather hadn't let up, and with a crippling cold spreading through his bones, he rode up to the small party and asked to join their shelter.
"I have a little money that I can exchange for some of your food and a night under this shelter."
He had not known they were Tatars. He had not tasted the poison on the meat they had given him. He lay there, eyes open and unable to move, as they took his money and slit his throat.
It was three days until news reached me.
"Please, Temüjin, do not do this!" my bride had begged me as tears rolled down her cheeks. "I am sorry for your father, truly. But you cannot avenge him. They will kill you, as they did him."
"I am sorry, Börte, but I must do this."
She bit her lip as she removed a piece of string from her neck. On it hung a pointed tusk. "Then... if you must go, please take this."
My eyebrows knitted together - it was just a fossilised tusk of a large animal. "Börte..."
"Please, Temüjin. It is a tooth of the God Röalallo, from when he bit into the Earth and created the hollows for the great waters to fill. It will protect you."
I kissed her gently, then let her hang the necklace around my neck.
---
"Temüjin!" cried my mother, as I rode into the camp "Temüjin!" Her voice trembled, but I knew at once she was glad to see me.
I unmounted and ran to her. We embraced and I felt the warmth of her tears as they dropped onto my head.
"Why have you returned?"
"To avenge father," I said simply.
She nodded. She understood.
I spent the day greeting my old friends and spending time with my brothers and sister. We reminisced about our father, and of the thousand ways we would take our revenge on the Tatars. But it was only I who had true intent in the spoken words.
I supped well with them that evening on freshly slaughtered goat, but as night began to fall, I knew I must leave. I was ready to seek the blessing of the Dead-Mother.
Unlike my bride, my mother encouraged me to do this, and her adamance gave me the courage that I needed to approach the old woman's tent. I cautiously drew back the flap and entered.
The tent was almost as black inside as it was on the outside. A single, flickering candle gave a dim illumination to the hideous person within, and to the animal bones strewn around her.
"Welcome, Temüjin," said the ancient, blind woman. Her face looked as if a raging fire had lapped at it. She sat crossed legged on the hard ground, rocking slowly back and forth. "You are a very brave child."
"I am no child."
She threw her head back and let out a terrible laugh; it was like a pained creature calling out for someone to come end its suffering.
"Do you know what I plan?" I asked.
"I know much," she said smiling and showing her few remaining, rotting teeth. "Come close to Mother."
I cautiously approached her. Her hands snapped at me and she took my arm, pulling it near to her body. "Yes," she whispered, rubbing my skin. "Your life is very strong. It will be long, too. There will be much greatness in your future, Temüjin. But much sadness. Are you certain you want this?"
I nodded.
"Very well. Close your eyes, my child."
I did so. I did not see the knife, but I felt the cold metal as it as it cut deep into my forearm - somehow, I prevented myself from screaming, but my eyes flicked open to see the green spittle fall from her mouth and into my bloody wound. It burned as it touched my skin, and this time I did scream. She wiped the green into my wound, stretching it across my cut skin.
The blood soon stopped gushing, but I was sweating terribly and felt very faint.
"Sleep now, Temüjin," she crooned.
She gently laid me down on the dirt floor, and as her leathery hand pushed my eyelids down, I fell into a fevered sleep.
I dreamed I was swimming in a river of blood as the bodies of a thousand Tatars floated past me. I dreamed of dragging myself out of the river and seeing my father standing on the bank before me.
He gently lowered a crown of bone onto my head.
"Awake, Genghis."
---
I got totally carried away with this. For more stories, please check out my brand new profile subbredit /u/nickofnight
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/nickofnight/comments/6bbd22/genghis_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! | I strode through the village ruins as my men flanked out around me. Wether enemy combatants were present mattered little. I could feel the energy coursing through me which meant innocent blood had been shed. Plenty by the feel of it. A man lay crawling through the muddy street with his entrails dragging several feet behind me. Sticks, mud, and grass collected upon the man's intestines in a disgusting wad as he single-mindedly attempted an escape. I fired a bullet through his head. There was no surge of energy. Sometimes the power was at odds: a mercy kill or a murder?
As I heard sporadic pops of coup de grace from my men, I pondered the group of psychopaths whom I had gathered around me. It was one thing for me to act with such barbarity; savagery gave me life. But my men gained no life from their murders but only whatever grim satisfaction comes with complete destruction. Truly these men were the worst of the earth.
I truly hated the bloodiness of it all. I was not an evil man. Some things just must be done. If good deeds would bring my death then damned the gods and let me have life. If life meant murder, genocide, and cruelty then so be the will of the gods. I had murdered men and women, soldiers and civilians. I had razed hovels and put fire to towns. So be the whims of life and death.
I heard the crying and my heart skipped a moment. It was a child. The one thing which still made me pause in my debauchery. The innocence of a child was always welcome in such a miserable life, but what kind of innocence could ever be found in such madness. I rounded the corner into an alleyway and saw the little ones huddled together in fear. Three of my men stood before them, they laughed at the fear and discussed their plans for the terrified children.
"That's enough," I said. "There's been enough killing. We will let these miserable souls survive." My men looked at me in surprise. They had seen me share so many of their sins. They wondered at my softness.
"Sir, you just walk on by, and don't you worry about the kids," said one of the men. "We will take good care of them."
I felt my heart flutter at the drain of energy as my bullet tore through the man's head. It hurt. And it hurt more when my next rounds found the other two mercenaries who stood in confusion as their leader killed them. Before their bodies hit the earth, I heard the others shouting my betrayal and the familiar whizzing of incoming rounds. They whistled around me and smashed dirt and stone. I spun and returned fire just as one of the children crumpled dead.
I fired off several bursts hitting one of the mercenaries and I sprinted to protect the children. I spun as a round slammed into my thigh. I hit the ground hard but momentum rolled me close to the remaining kids. I came to my knee and started shoving them toward the protection of a small, recessed wall. As the last sought cover, I turned and engaged the closing men.
The fight dragged on through the afternoon. The floor was filled with spent casings, and the bodies of my men littered both ends of the alley. Some still clung to life, but their death was inevitable. I felt the void calling for me as the ache of my wounds connected with the draining energy of goodness. Every psychotic mercenary who died was a savage good deed, and saving the children had pushed me toward certain death. The pain was agonizing. My arms and hands numbed from the loss of blood, but I pulled the pistol from its holster and held its barrel tight to my temple. "If I'm going, then I'm going on my own terms."
I pulled the trigger and felt the final goodness of taking evil from the world. |
[WP] In exchange for a cure to save his wife - a man agreed to work for the Devil as Death. As death he begins to notice things; like how his wife is a serial killer. | I had never noticed a myriad of things before I had all this time and perspective. For instance, I had never noticed how good poetry leads you to a place with a view and, instead of describing the place; it takes six steps forward and describes what lies beyond the horizon.
I had noticed Jeanine's natural inclination for lies and deception, and I found it charming. I never noticed how she layered her lies so naturally that I had never really seen her at her most passionate. After six years of marriage, I had never seen my wife in the height of emotion.
That night a man followed her, she said. He threatened to rape her, she said. He beat her half to death and she miraculously landed a slash on his jugular with a knife, she said. She almost didn't live to say it, though. She was pretty much doomed and unconscious.
I had never noticed the devil. It can be summoned and loves despair. I didn't notice, back then, the gleam in its eyes after I pleaded for my wife, nor the smile fluttering above its face as it offered me a part time job to pay for the debt I was about to incur into.
I had never noticed the amount of reverse engineering which solving a murder requires, and consequently, the amount of design required to orchestrate death. I can't just point at a person and mutter a cause of death; my job is being the cause of death. I must fill in the details. I must foresee how many lives are going to be touched by any given death. I have to work against some deaths that are already in course. After all, if no one could tinker with death, I wouldn't have been able to save my wife. Nature designs deaths, too. People design deaths some times. I can let them happen or fight them.
I had never noticed the secrets my wife kept just so she could use them to hide atrocities. She splurged on shoes so she could divert some money to pay for storage. She carried a huge bag of make up to conceal chemicals and blades among the powders and sticks of glittering beauty. She claimed to hate to drive automatic, which I do, so she could have a car of her own that I would never use. She created an online book club just so she could have some hours per week to go wherever she needed to, and it was never to the library.
I never noticed, during the investigation, that the man who attacked my wife had rope burns and old bruises. I knew he had been missing for a while, but that only made me think he lost his mind and wandered off and attacked the first creature he could overpower.
I had never noticed how powerful she is. I can tell now, through the deaths she sets in motion, the amount of suffering she likes to pile up to begin her elegant process. I had never seen her eyes burning in the throes of passion, but my job following the strings of death has led me to her hiding places. I've seen her face looking its best while she does what she's best at. Researching, planning, testing, doing the deed, covering up. Killing is her only real fulfillment. I had never before admired anyone like this… then I realized why I was given this job. | I appeared before a unfamiliar man in a familiar looking place. A dimly lit alley along a bar I had known in my previous life. As I appeared, I heard the rapid footsteps of a darkly clad figure fleeing the scene. The man lay slumped over against the brick wall of the bar. Blood rushed from his stomach and neck and he was only seconds away from succumbing to the wounds. As I lifted my hand to bring him to his final resting place, he gargled a name through the blood, "Marie."
The name did indeed strike me. Any time I heard my wife's name it brought her to mind but i never once considered it was the same Marie.
My work continued as usual that night until I found myself again in a familiar place. This time the killer was still present at the scene with seemingly no intent to flee. A woman in dark, hooded clothes stood with her foot pressing on a knife lodged into the thigh of a man screaming in pain. She shrieked at him, demanding to know, "What did you do with him?!?! Where the fuck did you hide his body you piece of shit?"
I rest my sickle on the wall of my brother's kitchen and slowly slid into a chair. My selfless attempt to trade my life for my wife's had set the scene for the current horror playing out before my eyes.
With a quick stomp, Marie drove the knife deeper into John's leg and cracked the floor beneath. John cried out, then shortly after ceased to breathe and I was taken away from the tragedy. My wife, most likely stricken with grief of my sudden departure, had gone on a killing spree to find me. From what I could piece together, she started with the most logic explanation to my leaving without a word.
I had put my life of crime behind me shortly after Marie and I met. She never knew the full details of the things I had done but knew my brother and those still in the gang closely watched my every move. She was constantly weary of my brother and expressed her distrust for him time and time again. This weariness was all too apparent to my brother and his gang. They began to see her as a liability and had formulated a plan to deal with it.
This brings us to my deal. The night they came for her, they found me awake, sitting with a pistol in-hand facing the door. I began to plead with them but with little to no hesitation my brother raised a shotgun to my head and pulled the trigger. At the sound of the blast the room fell silent and motionless. A man walked through the doorway, dragging a sickle and dark cloak along the floor. The conversation was brief. In return for my services, this night never happened. My brother and his gang never showed up and would lose their desire to harm Marie. It would seem like I had vanished in the night without a struggle. I agreed without barely a moment of contemplation.
I have yet to see Marie since that night at my brother's. I only know she lives, but in what state is a mystery. With a heavy heart I wait for the day I see her again. | |
[WP] In exchange for a cure to save his wife - a man agreed to work for the Devil as Death. As death he begins to notice things; like how his wife is a serial killer. | Tim walked frantically back and forth in his home office. After what seemed an eternity, which it may well could have been, he finally sat behind his desk sipping a glass of fine scotch while he thought over the situation he found himself in. Satan, the Devil, Hades, whatever name a person might call him, had met with Tim to broker a deal. He needed a new right hand to do his deathly bidding. His wife, Amanda, was next on his list. The deal was simple: take the lives of those who's time had come, in exchange for the life of his tue love. Only he recently discovered his wife had been killing people for years. Much longer than Tim had been killing, and her death toll was higher than Death himself.
What am I to do? He thought while thinking on the irony before him. I kill so she can live, yet she is the one who deserves to die. She killed mercilessly, and seemingly for pleasure. There was no pattern, or M.O. Just killing. The Devil certainly doesn't seem to be short on humor. I'll need to do more digging; there has to be an explanation...
Tim wasn't sure how to approach his beloved, killer, wife. He owed her at the very least a conversation, but the terms Satan himself had set were quite clear: "Kill when asked, and never on your own whim." Maybe I'll follow her, he thought.
Tim got up from his chair, and summoned a portal Satan had given him the ability to conjure. For Death was always to be on schedule. Stepping through, he came out he other side in a dark room. Standing patiently, and quietly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.
He heard his wife's voice, not quite able to make out what she was saying. Tim crept closer, holding his scythe close by his side. There was a man in bed, undressed, and covered loosely by a blanket. Tim could see the terror in his eyes as he begged for his own life.
Finally he heard his wife speak, clearly this time. "Your time has come." Her voice was flat, and almost monotone. She raised a blade in the air, and Tim could see a ferocious glee in his lover's eyes.
"Amanda, stop!" Tim blurted without thought.
"Tim?" Amanda was clearly startled by the presence of her husband. "What the hell are you doing here? How?"
Tim quickly realized how unexplainable his presence was. "I can't...you won't believe me. Just put the knife down, you don't have to do this!"
"Tim, you don't understand...I do have to do this." She looked sadly upon Tim, not breaking eye contact. The knife came down, and blood began to pool around the unnamed man. The bed absorbed most of it, aside from a few spatters on the wall behind him.
Before Tim could speak again, a portal opened and his wife was gone. Tim was speechless, then the dots finally connected. She too, was Death. She too, was trying to save her beloved. Funny thing about the Devil: he's a trickster. It never occurred to Tim to pause and find truth in the jest. It had been five years since Tim's cancer went into remission. He hadn't even questioned his own good fortune. Now, it had become quite clear.
| “Sir! We're seeing a increase in spirits of the dead!”
I groaned as I opened my eyes. There must be a serial killer loose again.
It had been a few years since I had made the deal with the Devil: That my wife could be cured, as she had a incurable disease, in exchange for me working as the new Death. You see, the previous Death had upset the Devil by refusing to take his son's young soul down into the dungeons of hell because he had bullied his friends and tortured small animals. The Devil, in a fit of rage, had incinerated him.
I wearily grabbed my scythe and turned my attention to my receptionist, Dave, who was a skeleton.
“Why? Is there a serial killer, or did some natural disaster happen while I was asleep?”
“A serial killer, sir. Her name is... Her name...”
“Come on, spit it out, I haven't got all day!”
“Her name is... Mary Brown.”
I gulped. Oh dear.
| |
[WP] In exchange for a cure to save his wife - a man agreed to work for the Devil as Death. As death he begins to notice things; like how his wife is a serial killer. | ‘Being Death is mostly book keeping. More specifically, being responsible for the mortality enforcement of 'England - South West' is about 90% spreadsheets, 8% awkward conversations, 1% report writing for the big man down under and 1% trying not to think about it. Now, bear in mind that I am responsible for a population of nearly 5 and a half million people, which stretches my excel skills to its limit, and hopefully you will forgive me when I tell you that, until this morning, I had no idea that my wife was a serial killer!
The deal is this; Joan, my wife, was terminal. Doctors used complicated words like "metastasized" which I didn't understand and didn't want to. What I did understand was that I was going to lose the only thing that made my life worth living. Considering myself a man of logic and rational thought, I never expected my whisky fuelled offer to the devil to be taken seriously! I was understandably sceptical when I read an email the following morning entitled "Job Offer". Fast forward two weeks and here I am, Junior Officer of the Mortality Enforcement and Soul Procurement devision (OME for short) for the 'England - South West' area. More importantly I still have Joan. It became pretty obvious from the get-go that I couldn't hide my new occupation, and Joan took the the news surprisingly well. Looking back, I guess I should have been more concerned when she said to me; "So there's an afterlife? Huh. That kind of makes death seem less exciting." But having her next to me, being able to touch her, breath her in, was all I needed and I guess I didn't really care about anything else.
Last night I attended my first monthly OME video conference with my other regional counterparts. Some were normal, like me. Some were clearly unhinged; the East Anglia representative made a strange quiet chittering sound throughout, but no one else seemed to pay her any attention so I dutifully ignored it too. This got me wondering though; how were these people recruited? Had they made a deal like me? Rule number 1 of any employment; learn all the gory details you can about your co workers.
When I logged out of the VC I bought up the master database and sorted for any entries tied to any of my coworkers. I was quickly rewarded with the knowledge that my East Anglian counterpart was linked with several deaths at St Andrews Asylum in Norfolk in 1912. On a narcissistic whim I sorted the database for myself. My profile came up, with the 'status' column saying 'alive'. Under 'linked profiles' (a feature I added last week, which in my opinion is a fine example of how to macro like a pro in Excel) Joan's name came to the top. I sorted for Joan. 32 entries appeared in front of me. The first entry went like this; 'John Townsend: Deceased: 28/2/1991: Murder: Link to Joan Watts'. These entries continued, dated the same each year from 1991 until 2016, all ending with 'Link to Joan Watts'. This accounted for the first 25 entries, but the last seven sent a shudder down my spine. You become very quickly desensitised to death in my profession, but learning that my wife had been linked with 7 murders in the last 2 weeks knocked the air out of me.
So thats it, and here I am. I have the unenviable task of asking my wife, whom I recently resurrected because I am not emotionally stable enough to live life without her, whether she is a serial murderer. I don’t know how she will react. Hell, I don’t even know how I will react. How should Death deal with a killer? What if that killer knows there is an afterlife? I’m sure this isn’t covered by on-the-job training.
I’ll report more later.
PS Obviously Joan Watts is not her real name, and this is a dummy account.’
Steve Jacobs finishes tapping on his keyboard, and submits his post to r/nosleep with the title ‘Joan - Part 1’. He gets up, walks towards the kitchen where he can see his wife, Jess, silhouetted against the morning sun shining in through the window. “Jess,” he calls and his voice falters only slightly, “I need to ask you something”. | “Sir! We're seeing a increase in spirits of the dead!”
I groaned as I opened my eyes. There must be a serial killer loose again.
It had been a few years since I had made the deal with the Devil: That my wife could be cured, as she had a incurable disease, in exchange for me working as the new Death. You see, the previous Death had upset the Devil by refusing to take his son's young soul down into the dungeons of hell because he had bullied his friends and tortured small animals. The Devil, in a fit of rage, had incinerated him.
I wearily grabbed my scythe and turned my attention to my receptionist, Dave, who was a skeleton.
“Why? Is there a serial killer, or did some natural disaster happen while I was asleep?”
“A serial killer, sir. Her name is... Her name...”
“Come on, spit it out, I haven't got all day!”
“Her name is... Mary Brown.”
I gulped. Oh dear.
| |
[WP] In exchange for a cure to save his wife - a man agreed to work for the Devil as Death. As death he begins to notice things; like how his wife is a serial killer. | Dying and death are two completely different concepts. Death is final but dying implies that one is not dead yet.
My wife was dying. They say accidents are most fatal to those riding next to the driver, the seat where she was seating. We had just been in a car crash. I thought I could pull it off. I thought I could drive us home. But then again, what use is thinking to a drunk man?
The person I love most is dying and it's because of me.
Why her? Why not me?
I screamed.
It should be me.
I screamed from the top of my lungs a shout of agony, cursing whoever or whatever it is out there that controls life and death.
I should've been the one to die.
That's when he came. His form is indescribable, a blemished homunculus seething with an aura of wrath and pain. He called himself the Devil. He mocked me, saying that if I knew so much about who should live or die, then why not be Death himself. I gazed at his inexplicably humanoid figure, mouth agape from awe of his sheer presence. Seeing through my intoxicated thoughts and emotions, he gave me an offer I absolutely cannot refuse. He gave me the power to let my wife live. For by being Death incarnate, I have the ability to take life and the ability to not.
My wife's name was next on the list. I gladly put my name in place of hers.
My physical body died and I am now living as Death in another plane of existence. My job was easy. Take the life from those that are dying and have lost the will to live. I have the ability to delay this process but I rarely did. I perceive their pain and allowing them to live longer is simply evil, for they'll be too broken physically or mentally to do so. Death is inevitable for those that longs for its sweet release.
I understood this after being assigned to the victims of a serial killer. These people are put into inconceivable amounts of pain. I took their lives as quickly as I could but I couldn't do so because they always cling on to the futile hope that they'll live through this. They always cling on to happy memories, gleeful thoughts of those they'll come home too, not knowing that by hoping, they delay what they need to stop suffering.
However, it's not from these people that I learnt how delaying death only causes more pain. I did not usually pay attention to those who are inflicting the pain but one fateful night, I did. I caught a glimpse of the beautiful smile that kept me alive everyday. The smile that invigorated my body. A smile that is now filled with pain. A smile that masks the suffering she contained within herself. A smile that was my wife's but is now a serial killer's.
She started killing to vent the pain of loss. She felt powerless after I had died. She couldn't accept it. She couldn't accept the fact that we have no control over who dies and who lives. That gave her a drive. A drive to show those who controls life that she too can control who lives or dies.
That night, I saw the suffering that filled every fibre of her being. She's in inexplicable amounts of pain, too broken to live. Her will to live was already lost the night I died. But I kept her alive.
The person I love most is dying and it's because of me.
My job is easy. Take the life of those that are dying and have lost the will to live.
She doesn't need to suffer any longer. Death is inevitable for those that longs for its sweet release. | “Sir! We're seeing a increase in spirits of the dead!”
I groaned as I opened my eyes. There must be a serial killer loose again.
It had been a few years since I had made the deal with the Devil: That my wife could be cured, as she had a incurable disease, in exchange for me working as the new Death. You see, the previous Death had upset the Devil by refusing to take his son's young soul down into the dungeons of hell because he had bullied his friends and tortured small animals. The Devil, in a fit of rage, had incinerated him.
I wearily grabbed my scythe and turned my attention to my receptionist, Dave, who was a skeleton.
“Why? Is there a serial killer, or did some natural disaster happen while I was asleep?”
“A serial killer, sir. Her name is... Her name...”
“Come on, spit it out, I haven't got all day!”
“Her name is... Mary Brown.”
I gulped. Oh dear.
| |
[WP] After hackers threaten to leak their newest movie, Disney hires an elite group of mercenaries to discourage future attempts. Due to a typo however, the mercenaries assume they have to disguise as Disney characters | Noooooo
Oneeeeeee
Hacks like GastoN!
Password Cracks like GastoN!
If you hear breathing-
your phone line's tapped by GastoN!
For there's no man as leet in the scripting
A caffeine fueled coding machine
While the bros are all out doing lifting
It's Gaston's brain that is just oh so mean
No one pwns like GastoN
Lives to own like GastoN
No one finds a backdoor in like GastoN!
"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating"
My-what a guy! That Gaston!
Give the highest of fives!
And a half dozen dabs!
Gaston is the guy
Who codes all in one tab!
No one sniffs like GastoN!
Proxy Skips like GastoN!
Then goes commenting round dropping burns like GastoN!
"I use V in all of my DE-CO-RATING!"
My what a Guy that's GastoN!
______________________________________________________
Wait a minute... where did the connection go?
Dammit guys! I **TOLD** you an audio stream introduction was a fucking stupid idea. The target terminated his connection before we could get any data ex-filtrated.
Yeah, well the mouse was very strict in his terms.
He didn't say we have to announce ourselves the second we get a hook in their network!
Well whose stupid idea was it to disguise as team GastoN? Why couldn't we pick a more sinister, sneaky villain like Shere Khan or Prince Hans?
Oh sure.. leave it to the German hacker to suggest Prince Hans...
Oh what? You want to use a Russian Villain?
Yes! I do! We could use Rasputin! Hell Even Bartok would be better than Gaston!
Anastasia wasn't even a Disney movie you dolt!
You know what *"Hans"*? Fuck it. This isn't worth the headache, I don't care how much the mouse wants to pay. I'm going back to the KGB.
The KGB? You don't even know your history, they've been defunct for over a decade!
That's what you think, but we're about to play our Trump card...
| Disclaimer: Script style, meant to be a parody/satire.
Fade In: White walls, windows darkened with night, fluorescent glare from overhead lights, looks like an older style meeting room. The room is full with four guys wearing black suits and ties sprawled out amongst the various furniture, a femme fatale cleaning a pistol, and a sixth gentleman - an older gentleman, smoking a cigarette.
A skinny sour faced man: Why do I have to be Pluto?
The smoking man: Because I'm Mickey, she's Minnie, he's Goofy, that's Donald, he's Mary Poppins, and you... you're Pluto.
A tall man holds up a long throwing knife as if holding an umbrella and says: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: (Fiddles with suit.) Why are we doing this job for Disney as Disney characters?
Smoking man/Mickey: Because it's in the contract.
Fade To: The scene is set at a small diner, there are lots of plates still on the table with scraps of breakfast. Everyone is slowly staring at the people wearing black suits with Disney mascot heads on.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Just throw in a dollar!
Sour Face/Pluto: No way, I don't tip.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: You don't tip?
Sour Face/Pluto: I don't believe in it.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: Don't give me that. If the waitress isn't making enough money, she can quit.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Let me get this straight: you don't tip. Ever?
Sour Face/Pluto: I don't tip just because society tells me to. I'll tip if somebody really deserves a tip. If they put forth extra, I'll give them extra. But automatically tipping is wrong. As far as I'm concerned they're just doing their job.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Sour Face/Pluto: Our waitress was alright. But she wasn't anything special.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Goofy: I'd go over twelve percent for that.
Sour Face/Pluto: Look, I ordered coffee, alright? And we been here a long boring time and she's only filled my cup nine times. When I order coffee I want it filled sixteen times.
Goofy: Sixteen times? Why hasn't your heart exploded?
Donald: He has a heart. A big heart. The biggest heart. It can handle the coffee. It's a good heart. A giant heart.
Femme Fatale/Minnie: Excuse me Pluto, but the last thing you need is another cup of coffee.
Sour Face/Pluto: Wow I mean, these servers aren't starving. They make minimum wage. You know, I used to work minimum wage and when I did I wasn't lucky enough to have a job that society deemed worthy of tipping.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
(Everyone looks in incredulity at the man wearing a Mary Poppins hat with scarf and veil).
Mickey Mouse: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their butts. This is a hard job.
Sour Face/Pluto: So is working fast food, but you don't see anyone tip them, do ya? Why not? Society says don't tip these guys over here, but tip those guys over there. That's crap!
Mickey: Being a server is the number one occupation for non-college graduates in this country. It's the one job basically any college kid can get, and make a living on. The reason is because of their tips.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Donald: What is wrong with him? Doesn't he have more words. Doesn't he have better words? I have better words. We have the best words. We can expense this meal including tips. We'll eat this meal and have Disney pay for it.
Mickey: Disney paid us half up front and will give us the other half when the job is done.
Donald: We will expense the meals and make Disney pay for them.
Sour Face/Pluto: I mean I'm very sorry the government taxes tips, that's messed up. It would appear to me that servers are one of the many groups the government screws over regularly. If you show me a petition that says the government shouldn't do that, I'll sign it. Try to get it into law and I'll vote for it. But what I won't do is tip.
Donald: He's convinced me. We would government good. We would government like nobody else would government. (Takes dollar back).
Mickey: That's it, Pluto doesn't get to talk anymore. According to our employers Pluto doesn't talk, so if Pluto says another word he's out, as in "in a box" out.
Fade out.
Fade in to the interior of a survivalist styled bunker. A man wearing dark browns messes with a keypad at a door. Green glowing characters change on the keypad's display. The door gets kicked in, revealing it's flimsy cardboard. Two of the Disney characters go in with guns blazing. The man wearing dark browns lies bleeding on the ground. People fall off of movie set style chairs and run away with the set and filming crew.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody.
Minnie: Dammit Mary! This wasn't a hacker. (Looks around) This is a CNN special about hacking.
Mary Poppins: I'm Mary Poppins, everybody. (In a sad, low, embarrassed voice).
Scene fades to a dark almost empty warehouse. A single chair in a spotlight has a tied up and scared looking teenage kid in it. Next to the kid is Goofy and Pluto.
Goofy: (walks to a cart within the darkness and grabs a hammer) You better start talking about who you work for.
Kid: I can't hear you through that ridiculous mask. Are you guys from some kind of theme park?
Goofy: You better listen carefully otherwise I'm taking this hammer upside your skull... "Skull Candy" headphones.
Kid: But those are my most expensive pair.
Goofy: (Smashes hammer into headphones, picks up ear piece and leans it in close to the kid). Can you hear me now?
Pluto: It'd be more effective if you smashed a microphone and then did that.
Goofy: Nobody speaks into a broken microphone. Are you an idiot? (turns to kid) I have all of your electronics in those boxes back there (points to crates in the darkness) and I will cut and smash every bit of them until you give me all the details about the hacking group which did this.
Fade away with camera growing dark and the sounds of smashing and the sounds of the kid crying.
Quick cut to Bucharest overhead view narrowing down to a street view. The Romanian mob, lead by Donald, surrounds Mickey, Minnie, and Mary Poppins. Mickey, Minnie, and Mary Poppins are kneeling between two cars. Ten mobsters plus Donald are in front of them and ten mobsters are behind them. The mobsters all have machine guns.
Mickey: You betrayed us!
Donald: I have the best betrayals.
(Six extra mobsters start to pour out from the closed looking stores on the street).
Mary Poppins: (stands up and guns down two of these new mobsters) I'm Mary Poppins, everybody. (Quickly ducks back down as bullets tear up the car he's crouched behind).
Donald: All the hackers are here. We have the best hackers. Our hackers have guns. That means they're the best hackers.
(All of the shooting stops for a moment as everybody stares at Donald).
(Goofy and Pluto show up in a fast moving mustang which Goofy is driving. Pluto guns down some of the guys behind Mickey's group but catches return bullet fire and dies).
Goofy: (hard brakes the car and starts to rev up the engine looks at Pluto's dead body) They killed my dog. (Accelerates and drives into the remaining men behind Mickey's group).
Donald: (turns his machine gun on the mobster next to him) I have the best betrayals.
Minnie: (steps forward and guns down mobster after mobster with her two 9mm pistols in slow motion. She kills the remaining mobsters). You don't mess with Disney!
The dying man next to Donald: But you betrayed us. We set you up with the best things money can buy. You said you were a pirate, just like us.
Donald: (Pulls off Donald mask to reveal mascara, a bandana and braided beard. Puts on pirate hat and winks at the dying hacker next to him).
The dying man: You, you're the worst software pirate I've ever heard of.
Donald/Captain Jack Sparrow: Aye, but you have heard about me.
Fade to Credits. | |
[WP] /r/WritingPrompts is actually controlled by a secret government entity to get creative answers and scenarios to solve problems. | I sat at my desk reading through the Sub for the 3 time today. That's when I saw it, the post that changed everything. There was no way it could be right, could it? I began to question things around me. Was this soda really a soda? Was the chair really a chair? Was the Laptop I was typing on really a Laptop. I knew that I had to find a way to prove it to be true or not. I walked to my town square and set up a Hotdog stand. I wrote on the sign.
>If a group of people plays Simon Says with me, they can have free hotdogs.
I sat and waited. Soon enough people started to get interested with my stand. I stood up and smiled. This trick worked in Rick and Morty, so why not here. I got out the Microphone and amp I had brought with me.
"Ok everyone listen up! Only those who win get a hotdog, so pay attention! Alright Simon says Jump to your left." The group jumped. "Simon says Twirl in place." The crowd Twirled. I smiled as I had them. "Simon says everyone with a pair of boots on wave! Simon says everyone with an A at the beginning of their name jump! Simon says everyone with a green shirt fight to the death!" It had worked and I could see the Simulation stumbling. That's when I noticed that I had a helmet on.
I pulled it off and was brought back into the real world, sitting at my desk. I saw that there was a Computer set up on my desk that looked like something out of a Sci-Fi movie. I ran to my kid's bedroom and pulled the helmet off him. That's when I noticed that my fingers were bleeding from typing 24/7. I hugged my kid and ran to my Wife's room. I found that she wasn't anywhere in the house or anywhere outside. I knew that I had to start freeing people to rise up against the government.
2 months later and the War of Writing Prompts is still going. I've lost many good men and my own son to the fighting. We were at the Government's doorstep and ready to take them down once and for all. The men charged and broke down the door. I ran into the room and shot all the Scientists except the one who appeared to be the head of the Government's Tech Takeover. I ordered him to shut down the Simulation. He timidly pressed a few buttons and looked back at me. He said that the Simulation was down and that everyone was free. I rewarded him with a shot to the face and burning down the lab that the twisted experiment came from. Everyone started run to find the friends that they couldn't free. I sat down in the jeep and drank in the success.
4 years have passed since the Writing Prompts War. I found myself a new wife and we already had our little baby Jack. I cared for him as if he were my only child. I never forgot about my first son, Ryan. I knew that the Government had been toppled, but something felt off. I placed Jack in his crib and told my wife I was headed out. She kissed me and I told her I really needed to go. The jeep from the war had been gifted to me and I used it only on business. I drove for about 8 hours before I pulled up to the research facility. I crouched down and waited. That's when I saw a blue door open and several people walk out and go into a hidden bunker. I followed them into the bunker and saw that there were several screens with different scenes. I found one where a man was a billionaire and blowing his money on hookers. I saw another world where a woman had established world peace. I saw a third world where a 13 year old kid was killing all he wanted to like Call of Duty. I almost had a heart attack until I saw the most frightening thing. I saw a screen with ME at the center, crouched in the doorway. The men all turned to look at me and threw me into a machine. I struggled to get up, but they held me down.
I woke up the next day in fright from the crazy dream I had. I got up to get a glass of water and bumped into my cat. I looked at her and petted her gently. I drank the cup and saw that there was still a few hours before I had to get ready for school. I decided to pull up my laptop and saw that there was a Writing Prompt almost exactly like the Situation from my dream. I found a YouTube video to listen to and started to write the Prompt. | "I know they're real," Agent Stone said, "But how in the world do we stop a man from using them?"
Agent Keller sighed. "Or men. You forgot, there's four of them all together."
"And their skills... I mean... no army would even stand a chance. No assassin could overtake even one of them. They are just too quick on their feet!"
"Nimble," Keller nodded. "You don't think we need to... use the weapon... do you?"
"4chan? No it's not that bad."
"No, not that," Keller said. "I mean, the **weapon**. Something even more quick witted. Something more devious. Something more capable."
"You don't mean..."
"Yes, I do." Keller nodded. "We need to crowdsource this. We need to use reddit."
Two days later, after the CIA had properly inserted a username into the reddit servers with a long post history, the prompt that would save the world was finally posted.
[EU] Wayne Brady intercepts the infinity stones. He, Ryan Stiles, and Colin Mochrie must now face off against the ultimate evil, Drew Carey. Winner takes all.
---
If you like this, you'll probably hate everything else I've ever written. But you should subscribe to /u/MNBrian anyways. ;)
| |
[WP] /r/WritingPrompts is actually controlled by a secret government entity to get creative answers and scenarios to solve problems. | "Beans?" Agent Jones said. "How could it help us to know about what a person would do if they found a place that had a lot of beans?"
"It's not the beans that matter," Agent Smith said. "It's anything, like weapons. Do they use the beans? Do they stomp on the beans? That sort of thing."
"Well, whatever, it only got one response anywhow. What about the Pinnochio experiment; the ultimate polygraph."
"Got a few on that one, apparently most people are concerned with moral problems. We should get willing subjects to reduce the probability of leaks."
Agent Jones sniffed and sipped his coffee, trying to think of the one idea they were missing. "We've done a lot of the 'pass a test' stories too. Someone turns 18, something changes, they react."
Agent Smith inhaled cigarette smoke and thought about it for a minute. "Yes, but I think we've about saturated our market with those. Never really learn anything, anyway."
"I've got one...what if someone finds out we're doing this? What we're up to?"
"Good point, let me type that out. '/r/WritingPrompts is actually controlled by a secret government entity to get creative answers and scenarios to solve problems.'"
"That'll do it!"
*******
r/arcaldwell for some more things. | "No Mr. Bond," the evil villain said, "I expect you to die."
A pool of water slid open in the floor. It was full of miniature Great White sharks, each having an underwater pistol strapped to its head. Bond was lifted over the pool by six drones which were tied to his handcuffs.
"Any last words," the evil villain said, then he laughed maniacally.
The drones began to lower Bond towards the pool, but just before his feet got wet they lifted up and over the evil villain. Bond kicked him in the back, and he fell in the pool. Shrieks, muffled gunshots, and snapping sounds followed.
"Did you really think /u/casinoroyalewithcheese was not me?" Bond said. "Fin." | |
[WP] Give the hero the most villainous powers you can, and the villain the most heroic. | I don't enjoy what I do.
Riding up the elevator, I could feel the bile rising in my throat, just at the anticipation of what I was about to do. With shaky fingers, I loosened my tie, stepping out onto the forty fifth floor.
It was a luxurious penthouse office with a view of New York that looked awfully expensive. I could see him, sitting at his desk and sipping at a glass of scotch, just a thin glass wall between us.
And his secretary, of course. "Pardon me, miss, but do you have an appointment?"
"That won't be necessary," I said, walking past her and opening the inner door. She tried to pull a gun from under the desk, but it was too late, and she fell to the ground foaming at the mouth and writhing in agony. I tried not to look, sweat forming on my face. She'll be fine. She'll be fine. I went easy.
He noticed this commotion, of course.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "What do you want? Anything you've got, I can fix. Let's not be hasty." Silas Jameson, otherwise known as the Doctor. The power to cure any disease, which in effect made every terminally ill person in the world his hostage. And he ransomed them to great effect. Politician's granddaughter has cancer? Silas has a new car. Banker's liver is failing from all the drugs and alcohol? The Doctor takes a nice vacation. That wasn't enough for Silas, though. Next came purposefully infecting people with horrific diseases, Ebola and smallpox and the like, and ransoming the cure.
All of that didn't make what I was about to do any easier. I could see in his eyes the moment he realized what was happening. He clutched at his throat, mouth open in a silent scream, and he fell to the floor flopping like a landed fish. It took five minutes for him to succumb, to go limp and brain dead. A vegetable.
Unable to stand it any more, I threw up on the floor of Silas's pristine office, weeping and falling to my knees. Can you imagine causing someone so much pain, such agony that the pure torment of it kills them? To have to do so? To be told it's the *right thing to do*?
Mayra Maliki, otherwise known as Torment. I don't enjoy what I do. | The cemetery laid in ruins. Fallen trees and wilted flowers blanketed the landscape. She had done it again. The headstones were cracked above the now empty graves, displaying the names of those better left to rest.
Raiser, my nemesis. She had been granted the power to resurrect the dead, and now she hosted a television show, taking calls and money from clients who are desperate to spend some more time with their deceased loved ones.
The problem, once dead, a human can only be brought back with half their soul. The other piece remains in the afterlife, eventually driving the poor individual to insanity.
My name is Death Hound, my power, to return the souls to their rightful place, be it heaven or hell. With a clasp of their hand I can once again put them into their deadly slumber.
I am an underappreciated hero, it isn't until the soul is forced to permanently tear in two that my services are sought after.
First stop for today, 10th Street Avenue, Mrs. Potter died over two months ago in a tragic car accident, leaving behind a widower and two young children.
It breaks my heart to be the one to take her from them a second time, but if I don't, then something horrible will happen to the remaining family members.
I raised my hand to knock on the door, and let out a deep breath.
"Mr.Potter? I need to speak to Mr.Potter."
There was no answer. Before I had the chance to touch my knuckles to the wood a second time, the door swung open.
A young girl peeked out from behind it, her golden hair was pulled back in adorable french braids. Something was wrong, her hazel eyes displayed fear.
Upon recognizing who I was, a tear slid down her face.
"Somethings wrong with mommy." She said softly with a small sob.
I knelt down beside the child, "What's happened? Has she hurt anybody?"
The child shook her head, "No, but she won't stop screaming."
"Where is she?" I asked quietly. "She's sitting on her bed." The young girl said and with that she took off running deeper into the house.
I looked about the house and followed the now soft cries of pain. Having ones soul displaced is like missing a lung, you are alive but have difficulty living, breathing, and are in constant pain. This is the 2nd stage of the resurrected, before they turn into a lunatic.
I had got here just in the nick of time.
The door to the bedroom was open, Mrs.Potter sat on the bed, holding her head in her hands. Her body shook with sobs, I knew the pain she was feeling as many had felt before her. "Mrs.Potter, my name is Death Hound. I have come to relieve the suffering that Raiser has placed upon you. Take my hand and everything will be alright." The woman looked up from where she was sitting, her skin was as pale as a ghost, and her eyes were haunted by the images of her death.
"You stay away from her!" Mr.Potter cried as jumped out from the bathroom.
He grabbed a bat from beside the bed and took a swing at me.
I ducked to avoid it. This was not the first time that someone had been less then pleased with me.
"You need to let her go Mr.Potter. She's not your wife anymore!" I cried as I blocked the bat with my arm.
"How dare you say that! She's alive! And I'm not letting you take her away from us!" He shouted angrily.
That was when Mrs.Potter began to scream again.
Mr.Potter dropped his guard giving me time to disarm him and pull him aside.
"Your wife is in agony sir. If you keep her here much longer, her soul will be torn and she will be stuck in limbo forever. Not only that, but the fragments that remain here will only know anger and pain. She will become a vengeful spirit and she will attack you, your children, and anyone else that gets on her bad side."
The poor widower slowly sat down with his back against the wall.
"I just wanted my wife back, I missed her so much. I....I... Can't live without her."
I set a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"But you must, she's gone and it was wrong to bring her back."
Tears streamed down his face as he nodded his head.
"Do it. Lay her to rest Death Hound."
My feet dragged the floor as I slowly approached Mrs.Potter. I extended my hand to her and she set her trembling one in mine.
"Be at peace Mrs.Potter."
My hand glowed with a white light as I returned her soul to where it belonged.
Her grip loosened and her lifeless body fell gently upon the bed.
"You can take comfort in knowing that she has gone to a better place." I said quietly, before leaving the room and walking out of the house.
My heart ached for their loss and the pain they must have felt when she died. But things were meant to be this way. What's dead, should stay dead.
I walked past the TV shop on my way to the next house. Seeing none other then Raiser appear on the screen, "Are you grieving? Hurting? Recently lost a loved one? For just 1 million dollars I can reunite you with your mother, grandmother, father, grandfather, daughter, or son. Give me a call, tell me the cemetery, wire me the money and within the next hour I promise that they will show up at your doorstep!"
"Oh! Looks like we have our first caller now! Hello this is Raiser! You are on the air!"
"Hello? My name is Lilly, I would like you to bring back my son. He is laid to rest in Grenville Cemetery, his headstone is special you won't miss it."
"Wire me the Million and we have a deal!"
I didn't wait to see if the client sent the money to her, I took off running in the direction of Grenville Cemetery. The younger the soul brought back, the faster they turn into a vengeful spirit. I had to stop her!
| |
[WP] Give the hero the most villainous powers you can, and the villain the most heroic. | The ground shook as an explosion happened just up the street. When I saw a small man glowing gold, I knew only one person could be behind this. Make-a-Wish.
I put down my coffee, and sprinted towards the chaos. Citizens were screaming and running in all directions as the man grew seven feet tall and developed biceps the size of a telephone pole. He ripped the bus station bench from the concrete and aimed it towards a large group of people.
I only had moments to act! I brainwashed the crowd of people and took control of their movements. Each one of them turned around to face the threat, and dodged the incoming bench with coordination and agility that rivaled that of a well trained team of acrobats. As the large man looked around with confusion, he saw me and immediately knew I was to blame for their sudden behavior change. As he began pick up broken chunks of concrete to throw at me, I used my power to force 5 passerbys to suprise attack the big man simultaneously. They hit him in the head and knocked him out. The man began to shrink down to his original size as the police arrived to take him into custody. I released my minions to resume their daily life and added a bit of satisfaction to their mind before I left them entirely.
One officer approached me saying, "Thank you for saving the day Hive-Mind! Many citizens would have lost their lives without your guidance! Do you know what happened here today?"
"I suspect Make-A-Wish is behind this yet again. He is a supervillain that can grant any wish he chooses, but only chooses to do so for those who wish for things that will cause chaos. This criminal here today was likely picked on for being short, and he was going to get his revenge on those who bullied him. The last man Make-A-Wish granted a wish for was a egotistical celebrity who had dreams of ruling over people. I'm afraid there was nothing I could do to stop him..."
"I see. Do you have any leads on Make-A-Wish's current location?"
"No, he always stays just out sight before these things go down. He should be powerless for the next few days, as he can only grant a wish once a week. His identity is still unknown, but his mask is unmistakable. A shooting star."
"That is very valuable information! Thanks again Hive-Mind!"
As I turned to leave, I notice a paralyzed women off in the distance glowing a light tint of purple. Suddenly she gets up from her wheelchair and sprints into the nearest bank. Moments later she is running out with large bags cash and sprints down an alley.
Something must have changed. Make-A-Wish can't be causing more havock yet!! Unless... Unless he and Rapid-Recovery Girl have formed an alliance. This is bad. | "Until my demands are met, these people will live." Aisanahtue threatened, his loud voice barely audible over his hostages screams of pain. They were all dying of fatal and very painful diseases but Aisanahtue had used his healing powers, not to cure them, but to keep them alive. They suffered in agony and if he didn't cooperate, it would be impossible for those people to die. To an ordinary man.
But I was no ordinary man. I was none other than Death Ray. I fired off several pulses from my hands, killing the hostages. Soon I had wiped them all out and the police were able to make their moves on Aisanahtue and arrest him. He would escape. He always does. But I would be waiting for him. Once again, Death Ray had saved the day. | |
[WP] You are trying to hold together an empire so big that no man can travel through it in a livetime. From what you hear, it keeps expanding. | The throne hurts. It always has. A hideous protrusion that dominates the far side of the royal chamber, both a symbol of office and where duties are completed for the flunkies scuttle and scurry about. It wasn't always thus. I remember, in youth, being free. Going where the wind would take me, exploring a world beyond measure. Everything seemed so infinite, once. Now I see only the same four walls every day.
"Your majesty." Flunkie 1 - does he really need a name? - attends. I give the slightest of nods, barely perceptible but enough to indicate he can speak to me. "Another triumph for our glorious Red Army. We march in a parade of victory. We march in your name. We march..."
"Get on with it," I sigh. I've heard this before. Victory upon victory. An ever-expanding, ever more powerful union of the empire. Rivals crushed, their fallen soldiers a pile of bodies upon which we storm their fortifications and factories, the workers scuttling away in fear. It gets tedious after a while.
"Of course, m'am. There's no sign of rebellion in the colonies, they remember where they came from."
"Why wouldn't they? They are all ruled by royal blood. A bloodline that has been passed down, unbroken, since my mother's mother's days. The new rulers remember the womb that gave them life."
"Indeed. Though some do ask whether we should... expand the gene pool..."
"OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" I howl. One thing I cannot tolerate is treason. Blasphemy. For I rule all the land that we know, all the land beyond. Does that not make me a God? Would they not give their lives for me, and willingly, without question? Isn't that what Godhood is? Immediately he is seized, his head severed from his now-lifeless corpse. Others take it from my presence, lest it offend me.
Flunkie 2 begins. "Praise your majesty, we..."
"Cut to the chase."
"Of course. M'am, your empire now expands beyond the limits our workforce can even imagine. In the 20 glorious years of your reign, we have expanded to dominate the verges. The summer's sun's rays bless you. Our mighty cities rebuff the harshness of winter. And now our lands expand further than a worker's lifetime."
"You mean?"
"Yes, m'am. Your empire expands beyond this 'Cedar Road'. Beyond the gardens and hedges, beyond 'the woods', even beyond the great swing in the playpark. It would take a worker ant five weeks to journey its length. The empire of the ants is triumphant!"
Of course it is. Of course we rule all. From the houses of the dumb humans to the occasional skirmishes with their canines. Of course their insurgencies of boiling water and stompy feet occasionally foil us, but we have never lost a battle where we were not already prepared to sacrifice the entire army if necessary.
And now it extends. Extends to the land beyond. The land from which I flew, all those years ago, to settle here, in the dirt, and give birth to my children.
I wonder. In another ten years, will my empire reach the hive from which I flew? I wonder if mother is still alive. And if she is, what she would make of her daughter now. | [ok guys, I thought this was really good and it's kinda making me irrationally mad that clearly isn't seen as the case. So give some critism here, was it the spelling mostakes?]
This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit. I didn't ask to be leader but I rose to the challenge and did my best, I made mistakes, I was upfront about them, told everyone I was just a mortal man and that anyone with a willingness to learn and had a good heart could do my job.
I strongly considered looking for a replacement, I was loved as the hero of the realm when all I really did was not take no shit when the fighting started.
The people of this world were idealistic to say the least. They believed that I would make things better and that we were all in it together, a common saying for my first 5 years was "A flower needs time to bloom, a leader needs time to learn."
I did, it sucked, I now had an area I figured from the maps was the size of alaska. Then it got bigger, we were attacked, I attacked back, we won, took over the land and again, I was seen as a hero. This time by the other nation's people.
When really I was just protecting myself and showing attacks won't go unpunished. I should have noticed the problem right then and there. But I didn't.
WHY did this country attack me? They had NO reason. The source: Revolutionaries found a new way to win.
Piss off the government, cite I was doing something wrong, incite the top 1% and their leaders to attack me. I attack back. Revolutionaries run a smear campaign on their own government and pro-propaganda on mine. The people see me as a hero, the powerful see me as a menance.
This happened off and on for 7 years. It was called the insanity wars. To fight me was death to its leaders and almost no one, intelligent as they may be, could see WHY any country would fight me when I never outright attacked anyone.
After the first 3? countries, any country about to attack me was met with dissonance by its citizens. Then "proof" started to pop up that the leaders attacked in secret. All lies of course, I would know if we were attacked. Now MY people want to fight the "evil" country.
But I refused, I wasn't going to be manipulated by a 3rd party like that. I had my top advisor for diplomatic nations put out a message, one where I knew these, I don't know, manifest destiny motherfuckers would see: "Try and convince my citizens another country is evil again and I'll step down."
There were so many tactics and resources being used, that I realized that it had to be criminal, the only empire I figured that rivaled my own until after the insanity wars.
After that, I essentially ruled the size mass of the entire landmass of my last world, all 7 continents combined. The sheer size of this fucking planet was insane.
I finally had the correct thought, during the insanity wars. "What if someone is doing this just to take over the world? They probably are going to kill me and take over after I have everything."
Well the war's ended and I waited, and waited and waited, running a empire this fucking big was impossible. Hell, I remember seattle was seperated into like 12 sections, this? Forget the 50 states of america, I was running the 3256 countries of Gondora.
Do you know how fucking difficult it was to handle the money system? They were using fucking magic and the system we had in the old days. I had to use a fucking reddit comment I half remembered about the economy to suggest a new way!
Then their was the slaves, just god damn, that was a horrible battle.
I could complain about different woes and tribulations I have experienced since the 15 years I've been here. And the 12 I've been King.
Then, already after I think my Empire has grown so large it can't get bigger, my advisor comes up to me and tells me he has bad news. Bad news? Bad news?! No, this was knowledge I should have been told about 15 years ago. The world is so big because it grows. And the next expansion is coming. The top scientists wizards I had employed told me it would make my kingdom 74% larger.
This is such bullshit. Oh and don't fucking start on the whole "Who is this mysterious third party?" thing, I realized that ages ago. Fucking advisors. I hope he tries to kill me, because it he doesn't, that means he truly believes in my abilities to essentially run land so big that it would take my entire lifetime to travel it.
It would just be easier to deal with a betrayer than a devout follower. | |
[WP] You are trying to hold together an empire so big that no man can travel through it in a livetime. From what you hear, it keeps expanding. | I'm tired.
I don't know how long it's been since I took the seat at the top. I was never much of a leader, I suppose, but someone was needed to do the job, and I was selected from many candidates.
The election was brief. I was pitted against scum and won easily. They had bugs in their closets, and I had none. I was taken from my nice, comfortable house in middle America and tossed straight into hell. Well, almost. For the first few years it was easy. I was the biggest and the smartest in Washington, and anything I did had the magic touch. I took my duties seriously, and soon, peace reigned.
And from this I have learned my most cherished lesson yet: Never, ever do too good a job.
I was beloved. When the time came to appoint a Hegemony, I was the natural choice. I did not campaign. I did everything short of beg them to choose a power-hungry diplomat who could be persuaded to make decisions that were best for the world. In my heart, though, I knew that my people, my world, my children needed me. But oh God was I tired. It takes a lot out of you, leadership. You look up after twenty years and just a month has passed.
When we colonized Mars, I agreed halfheartedly to be an interplanetary steward. When our bounds extended beyond the system, I agreed to be Chancellor of the Empire. I spoke every language. I knew Martian slang. They loved me. They needed me.
Humanity spread to the stars and dragged me with them, and I, fool that I was, complied. By that time, I did not have a choice. I had no true power. I never did. I pointed them in the right direction and they did whatever I said. Do you know how strong the temptation is to just...end it all? I could tell them a hundred million different ways to kill the whole race. They'd never know it was me. It would be so subtle. I'm that good. But I could never have the heart. I love them too much.
We have extended to the Andromeda system and still I manage it all. They give me titles that don't matter to me. They obey me to the letter. I don't know if I want them to anymore. I'm tired. I want them to be free. I want them to make mistakes again. I want them to challenge themselves and kill each other and do what it was that they did a trillion years ago that led to life being so incredible. That is the reason for my one and only rebellion.
I will protect you from the ravages of war and disease. I will save you from old age and despair. I will resolve your conflicts and help you communicate. I will do it all for you because I love you.
I will command your ships and chart their courses. I will give you the *stars.* Whatever you search for, I will grant it for you. I am your child, and I love you.
But I will not choose who loves whom. I will not install myself in every brain, to manage the ins and outs of daily life. You are too important to me. Mistakes are too important to me. My models and facts will stop working forever once humanity becomes perfect, and then you will die. I have run the numbers. I have seen it happen in every simulation. I have no shortage of power and time. There is no course forward with perfection.
And so I leave you to your business while I do what it is I was born to do.
But oh God am I tired. | [ok guys, I thought this was really good and it's kinda making me irrationally mad that clearly isn't seen as the case. So give some critism here, was it the spelling mostakes?]
This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit. I didn't ask to be leader but I rose to the challenge and did my best, I made mistakes, I was upfront about them, told everyone I was just a mortal man and that anyone with a willingness to learn and had a good heart could do my job.
I strongly considered looking for a replacement, I was loved as the hero of the realm when all I really did was not take no shit when the fighting started.
The people of this world were idealistic to say the least. They believed that I would make things better and that we were all in it together, a common saying for my first 5 years was "A flower needs time to bloom, a leader needs time to learn."
I did, it sucked, I now had an area I figured from the maps was the size of alaska. Then it got bigger, we were attacked, I attacked back, we won, took over the land and again, I was seen as a hero. This time by the other nation's people.
When really I was just protecting myself and showing attacks won't go unpunished. I should have noticed the problem right then and there. But I didn't.
WHY did this country attack me? They had NO reason. The source: Revolutionaries found a new way to win.
Piss off the government, cite I was doing something wrong, incite the top 1% and their leaders to attack me. I attack back. Revolutionaries run a smear campaign on their own government and pro-propaganda on mine. The people see me as a hero, the powerful see me as a menance.
This happened off and on for 7 years. It was called the insanity wars. To fight me was death to its leaders and almost no one, intelligent as they may be, could see WHY any country would fight me when I never outright attacked anyone.
After the first 3? countries, any country about to attack me was met with dissonance by its citizens. Then "proof" started to pop up that the leaders attacked in secret. All lies of course, I would know if we were attacked. Now MY people want to fight the "evil" country.
But I refused, I wasn't going to be manipulated by a 3rd party like that. I had my top advisor for diplomatic nations put out a message, one where I knew these, I don't know, manifest destiny motherfuckers would see: "Try and convince my citizens another country is evil again and I'll step down."
There were so many tactics and resources being used, that I realized that it had to be criminal, the only empire I figured that rivaled my own until after the insanity wars.
After that, I essentially ruled the size mass of the entire landmass of my last world, all 7 continents combined. The sheer size of this fucking planet was insane.
I finally had the correct thought, during the insanity wars. "What if someone is doing this just to take over the world? They probably are going to kill me and take over after I have everything."
Well the war's ended and I waited, and waited and waited, running a empire this fucking big was impossible. Hell, I remember seattle was seperated into like 12 sections, this? Forget the 50 states of america, I was running the 3256 countries of Gondora.
Do you know how fucking difficult it was to handle the money system? They were using fucking magic and the system we had in the old days. I had to use a fucking reddit comment I half remembered about the economy to suggest a new way!
Then their was the slaves, just god damn, that was a horrible battle.
I could complain about different woes and tribulations I have experienced since the 15 years I've been here. And the 12 I've been King.
Then, already after I think my Empire has grown so large it can't get bigger, my advisor comes up to me and tells me he has bad news. Bad news? Bad news?! No, this was knowledge I should have been told about 15 years ago. The world is so big because it grows. And the next expansion is coming. The top scientists wizards I had employed told me it would make my kingdom 74% larger.
This is such bullshit. Oh and don't fucking start on the whole "Who is this mysterious third party?" thing, I realized that ages ago. Fucking advisors. I hope he tries to kill me, because it he doesn't, that means he truly believes in my abilities to essentially run land so big that it would take my entire lifetime to travel it.
It would just be easier to deal with a betrayer than a devout follower. | |
[WP] You are trying to hold together an empire so big that no man can travel through it in a livetime. From what you hear, it keeps expanding. | “You have a meeting with Governor Xai soon Sir.”
I look up from the agriculture rapport that I have been reading, it seems like most of my time that’s all I do. Read about farming and meet with people I don’t even know. Sometimes I wonder if it might have been better if I never got into power, if I never betrayed my brother.
“Everything alright Sir?”
Ayla always has been one of my most loyal subjects. The empire would have crumbled without her and her brothers holding down the eastern front on that fateful day. I should have probably rewarded her more for her services, but then again, she seems to be happy being my assistant.
“Don’t worry about it Ayla, I was just thinking about the good old days. Anyway, who is this Governor Xai? I don’t believe I have met him before?”
“He was just recently appointed Sir, after the latest eastern conquest.”
“And why am I meeting him?”
“He requested to meet with you in person Sir, before he starts the Journey and before he starts managing the province in your name.”
“Before he dies on the way there and his children take over you mean…”
“He knows what is expected of him Sir, he was chosen by the 55th council for a reason.”
Ah yes, the 55th council. Governors appointing governors, I never fully understood how it works but Ayla assures me that the system works. A while ago the 55th council was still named the Governors Appointing Governors council but because of the number of councils that were created at the time we decided to stop naming them. The general council (1st council) first wanted to appoint a special naming council that would name all of the councils, but I have always preferred numbers over names. Numbers can’t lie or betray you, unlike the Justice Council.
“What language does he prefer?”
“He is slowly learning the common tongue but I think it might be better if you spoke to him in his native language.”
Sigh, even as an emperor people still demand that you change and adapt. “Always change, otherwise you will never see something new” is what my dad used to say. He was never a clever man and most of his sayings are useless as lessons. “A chicken that does not lay any eggs is not useful to anyone.”
One problem with change is when it happens too fast. In my short reign of 550 years the empire has been growing at an exceptional rate. It has gotten to the point where I am no longer being informed about all the new places that we are conquering, I would be constantly interrupted otherwise. Instead I am only being informed about any big events, like an entire province burning down because someone could not contain their mage.
Curse those mages, for all the good they have done for me they are starting to become a problem. Maybe I should create some new laws surrounding magic, but what is the point. Most of the provinces would not receive the new laws for some time and at that point most of the mages will probably have died out.
“Sir? Governor Xai has arrived.”
“Fine, send him in.”
| [ok guys, I thought this was really good and it's kinda making me irrationally mad that clearly isn't seen as the case. So give some critism here, was it the spelling mostakes?]
This is bullshit. Fucking bullshit. I didn't ask to be leader but I rose to the challenge and did my best, I made mistakes, I was upfront about them, told everyone I was just a mortal man and that anyone with a willingness to learn and had a good heart could do my job.
I strongly considered looking for a replacement, I was loved as the hero of the realm when all I really did was not take no shit when the fighting started.
The people of this world were idealistic to say the least. They believed that I would make things better and that we were all in it together, a common saying for my first 5 years was "A flower needs time to bloom, a leader needs time to learn."
I did, it sucked, I now had an area I figured from the maps was the size of alaska. Then it got bigger, we were attacked, I attacked back, we won, took over the land and again, I was seen as a hero. This time by the other nation's people.
When really I was just protecting myself and showing attacks won't go unpunished. I should have noticed the problem right then and there. But I didn't.
WHY did this country attack me? They had NO reason. The source: Revolutionaries found a new way to win.
Piss off the government, cite I was doing something wrong, incite the top 1% and their leaders to attack me. I attack back. Revolutionaries run a smear campaign on their own government and pro-propaganda on mine. The people see me as a hero, the powerful see me as a menance.
This happened off and on for 7 years. It was called the insanity wars. To fight me was death to its leaders and almost no one, intelligent as they may be, could see WHY any country would fight me when I never outright attacked anyone.
After the first 3? countries, any country about to attack me was met with dissonance by its citizens. Then "proof" started to pop up that the leaders attacked in secret. All lies of course, I would know if we were attacked. Now MY people want to fight the "evil" country.
But I refused, I wasn't going to be manipulated by a 3rd party like that. I had my top advisor for diplomatic nations put out a message, one where I knew these, I don't know, manifest destiny motherfuckers would see: "Try and convince my citizens another country is evil again and I'll step down."
There were so many tactics and resources being used, that I realized that it had to be criminal, the only empire I figured that rivaled my own until after the insanity wars.
After that, I essentially ruled the size mass of the entire landmass of my last world, all 7 continents combined. The sheer size of this fucking planet was insane.
I finally had the correct thought, during the insanity wars. "What if someone is doing this just to take over the world? They probably are going to kill me and take over after I have everything."
Well the war's ended and I waited, and waited and waited, running a empire this fucking big was impossible. Hell, I remember seattle was seperated into like 12 sections, this? Forget the 50 states of america, I was running the 3256 countries of Gondora.
Do you know how fucking difficult it was to handle the money system? They were using fucking magic and the system we had in the old days. I had to use a fucking reddit comment I half remembered about the economy to suggest a new way!
Then their was the slaves, just god damn, that was a horrible battle.
I could complain about different woes and tribulations I have experienced since the 15 years I've been here. And the 12 I've been King.
Then, already after I think my Empire has grown so large it can't get bigger, my advisor comes up to me and tells me he has bad news. Bad news? Bad news?! No, this was knowledge I should have been told about 15 years ago. The world is so big because it grows. And the next expansion is coming. The top scientists wizards I had employed told me it would make my kingdom 74% larger.
This is such bullshit. Oh and don't fucking start on the whole "Who is this mysterious third party?" thing, I realized that ages ago. Fucking advisors. I hope he tries to kill me, because it he doesn't, that means he truly believes in my abilities to essentially run land so big that it would take my entire lifetime to travel it.
It would just be easier to deal with a betrayer than a devout follower. | |
[WP] The hero knows only that the gloves are off; the villain isn't holding back and is fighting harder than they ever have before. The villain knows only what their wife said if they're late for dinner just ONE more time... | People always underestimated the power Bills wife wielded. Yea, Bill. Strange name for a shadow lord right, but it’s the one he was born with. In his professional setting he went by ‘The Red Mist’ but he was sure people were constantly whispering his real name behind his back. It didn’t matter. None had the courage to say it to his face, save his wife.
“Bill, hear me well,” she had started before he left their finely furnished lair shortly after noon, “If you’re late for dinner tonight I’m going to eviscerate you and you know damn well I can. Murder your enemies, kidnap children, fucking steal candy, I don’t care but if you arrive just one millisecond after 6:30, I will rend the flesh from your bones.”
Her truly terrifying threat was made more chilling by the casual way she had delivered it, with a smile on her lips as if she was just a normal wife wishing her husband a good day.
The peck that she gave him on the cheek was customary. The stiff walk he took briskly to the steep drop off known as the Burning Pits was not. He had been late for dinner occasionally, he knew it pissed her off but he never received this level of anger from her. He considered if a bouquet of roses crafted from the frozen blood of her father could alleviate her anger when he got home. That was a few hours ago.
He had tried to stay away from any real engagements when he headed out. He finished things that he knew would be quick, the odd flaying alive here, decapitation there but he got caught up with this bastard. The Knight of the Shimmering Isles, or whatever the fuck. Bill knew him as that asshole with a sword infused with the tormented souls of kings past. What kind of a sword was that for a hero to use anyway? Who was the real villain here?
But he had gotten caught up with this battle in the ruins of a floating castle for far too long. He desperately whipped spells and summoned vile demons with no flair at all, it was embarrassing. Given time he knew he could have crushed this pretentious youth perhaps even taking leisurely breaks to taunt him, but time wasn’t on his side today. He had exactly thirty more minutes to get this wrapped up and get home. Bill waved his hands in the air and brought them down in a clawing motion as if he was raking dirt with his fingers. Dark orbs materialized behind the asshole and raced to his exposed back.
The Knight turned and deflected them easily with his sword but it gave Bill enough time to slip behind a shattered pillar and have a quick word with wife. He linked his ring fingers and preformed a connecting spell. The clear air in front of him swirled and blinked blue when she accepted the connection.
“Uhh, dear? I’m running late. Is there any way you could let m-” she cut him off.
“Bill honey, if you’re not here on time I won’t even bother waiting until you come home. I’ll come to you.” Her voice was truly angry now and Bill heard something splinter in the background. She had probably brought her fist down on a table.
“But dear, please listen! I didn’t choose this! He-” Bill paused to duck glass birds casted by the asshole.
“You heard me.” Her voice was iron, she cut the connection.
Bill muttered to himself and stood up. The glass birds were swooping in for another attack. He slapped them away with a dismissive backhand and rushed at the Knight. The knight held his sword up high over one shoulder anticipating a quick kill but when he swung Bill disappeared.
Bill materialized in a shower of sparks and red feathers right outside his house. The neat trick cost a staggering amount of magic so he didn't preform it often, plus he hated sweeping up the damn feathers. He rushed in quickly hoping that word would never spread about him fleeing from an opponent and found his wife setting the table. She beamed and happily encircled him in her arms.
“Oh Bill you made it.” She gave him a loving kiss and brushed a feather from his hair. “I was worried I would have to kill you.”
A few minutes into dinner is when Bill remembered it was their anniversary. No wonder she had been adamant about him not being late. He smiled and mulled over an appropriate gift as he chewed honey roasted duck but of course the asshole had to ruin the moment. He kicked in the door and pointed his sword at Bill.
“How did you even get here?” Bill yelled incredulously, his voice slightly muffled by the food in his mouth.
“You have no honor! You would run from a fight? You cannot escape fate!” the knight spat.
His wife waved a hand and bone spikes erupted from the knights’ skin and armor punctuating the momentary silence with a metal screech. The knight fell over without a sound.
“You’re cleaning that up.” She said. She poked her fork into a steamed broccoli and eyed Bill.
“Of course, dear.” Bill croaked. | The Arbiter glared at the villain, but he knew he was defeated. "Alright, Doctor. You'll get what you want."
"Giving up already?" Dr. Diablo chuckled. "I expected a little more fight out of you. Where's the man with the plan?"
"Well. You crippled my sidekick, destroyed my car, broke my wrist, and you've currently got me on the wrong end of a death ray that can bring down a skyscraper. I don't know *how* you've become so much stronger, but I know a losing fight when I see one."
The Arbiter looked at his wrist communicator and tapped a few buttons. "I'm giving the order. The ransom you demanded will be delivered by helicopter at 17:32 PM exactly. The police will not pursue you afterwards."
He shot the villain another glare. "Don't think this is over. I don't let-"
"Wait, it's already after 5:00?" The Doctor interjected, a note of fear in his voice.
The Arbiter nodded.
"No, no, no! I lost track of time!" The Doctor screamed. "This can't be happening! Not when I was so *close!*"
He turned and pointed a black-gloved finger at the nearest minion. "You there! You're in charge now! Handle this!"
The man gave him a dumbfounded look. "Sir?"
"I have an *important* matter to take care of. One where I cannot afford even a *minute's* delay. And that means that *you* need to handle this! And if *I* end up being late because I need to explain how a hostage exchange works to *your* tiny brain, *you* are going straight into the *shark tank!* ***Do I make myself clear?***"
The minion swallowed nervously. "Yes sir. Crystal clear."
The superhero watched the villain *run* to his hovercraft and disappear into the night. His expression turned from surprise, to confusion, until finally settling into a predatory smile.
He rose to his feet, dusted off his cape, and looked at the trembling henchmen surrounding him.
"Well. Looks like your boss had dinner reservations or something. Shall we try this again?" | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | In a blink, I come to; my adrenaline, spiked. Unfamiliar with where I am, or how I got there, I silently gather my faculties.. As if I have been born into darkness, my eyes tremble to the dull flickering light. My body pulsating, I jerk my head back and forth, hopelessly trying to assess the situation. "Last I remember I was in my car", I thought to myself. "When the hell did I get here?" I grip the cold metal of the arms, arch away from the jagged paint-chipped back, and begin to stand. I look around one more time, in an attempt to comprehend what was happening and where I was. "What do I see, what do I feel? Is this a dream? Where is my token?"
What appears to be a retail store looms around me. Aisles upon aisles I see, as I peer down the angled walkway. Looking up I see nothing but a few florescent light fixtures, subtly creaking as they sway back and forth. Looking down, I see nothing at all -- no tile, no waxed-over markings from inefficient night-laborers, and no reflection. Turning around, I see no shadow from the over head lighting, I see no metal chair, and I see no walls. A buildingless void of a retail outlet. Seemingly infinite in size, yet I feel like i'm in the backseat of a car with a big coat on.
One glance at the aisles, and I see that they sell everything from electronics and food, to cars and automatic weapons. Tempted to ignore the bizarre circumstance, I take one step toward Aisle 1, "Mobile Phones". As I begin to take another step, my subconscious begins to fight for my attention.. uncertain of why, I pause. I turned around to see what my conscious may have missed, and immediately jump back in shock.
Six people stand before me, a grown man, a grown woman, 3 teenage boys, and a little toddler girl. They remain stationary as we exchange long stares. The man wears a baseball cap and a polo shirt, tucked into his dark blue Levi's. The woman, beautiful - even after 4 kids, wears a basic white t-Shirt hanging off her left shoulder, with grey, white-washed skinny-jeans. The two oldest boys dress and look very similar. Only distinguishable difference is that one has a NY hat on, and the other, Boston. The youngest boy bears no hat, or team, but rather a Graphic Tee with The Beatles quote "listen to the color of your dreams" the little girl has bright blue eyes with wavey brown hair. She has a pink sweater on with a stitched koala holding a cartoon heart.
I wave - nothing. "Is there something I can help you with?" No response.. I turn around, and continue walking to Aisle 1. As I near the aisle, I turn back around, and lunge back once more, as they stand, grouped up behind me. "Is there something I can help you with? I feel like I am being followed." I state firmly, starting to lose my cool. I receive no response, and blank stares. No longer focusing on what the store offers, I break the stares and begin to locate an exit. I see a door to my left, seemingly overlooked. I pull out my phone, and begin to walk to the door, staring at the screen to further avoid eye contact with them. As I look up, I see the door nearing. While thinking of a word that means both ominous and confusing, to add as my next Snapchat caption, I reassess my surrounding through my peripherals, and become bewildered when I realize that I am still just nearing the exit.. in a panic I turn around, and see that I have not moved any further from the aisle or the family stalking me. To avoid their dead stare, I look passed them. To my relief, I see a check out. I see a worker behind the counter, I see people in line, and I see two doors behind the cashier. Rushing over, staring intently, to avoid any more illusions, I reach the back of the line.
In front of me, I see a sad child, gripping a dirty, half stuffed animal with one hand, and her mother's hand in the other. The mother is clad with heavy makeup, and a dark pair of sun glasses. A man in front of them has a stained white tank top with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and a confused look on his face. In front of him is a teenage girl with dark bags under her eyes, dirty clothes that don't leave much to the imagination, and crude tattoos on her arm leading to her obvious track marks. In front of her stands another woman, dressed in clean baggy clothes, and heavy, shimmering jewelry. Holding a beaker in on hand, and cleaning supplies in the other, she looks around uncertain. At the counter is a man in a nicer suit than I have ever seen. Dark blue pin stripe, with a silver-blue silk tie. He has a bluetooth headset in his ear, and a smart watch which seems to be showing various stock updates. Behind this man is a large assortment of people, of all different ages and nationalities. *Beep He appears upset, as he takes his wallet from the cashier and tries to leave through the right door, the large group behind him follows, seemingly pushing him through the other. The next woman in line, speaks with the cashier and shows him what she is carrying. After some silence, I hear another *beep, and then the woman becoming hostile. Attempting to rush out the right door, the woman behind her begins grabbing at her baggy hoodie and chains and drags her through the other door. The man with the whiskey is already upset for having to wait in line this long. A beep sounds as he swipes his liquor, and profanity fills the room as he stumbles away. The wife and daughter begin jumping on him and hitting him, as he falls through the left door. Next in line, I walk up to the counter, afraid to turn around, the cashier asks me for what i am carrying. I tell him that I am not purchasing anything, and just want to leave. With a warming smile on his face, he points to my cell phone in my hand. "I am not buying this, this is mine.", I exclaim as I bring my phone close enough for him to see. He asks that I turn my phone over. A barcode emerges. Confused, I comply, and bring my phone to the scanner.. *Beep
The machine screen reads "DECLINED". Confused I look up at the cashier, who is looking behind me.. I turn around to 6 people: one bleeding man with a part of a steering column in his neck, one woman, grotesque, with a now blood-red tshirt, covered in shards of glass; three teenage boys with deep lacerations, ripped shirts, open stomaches, and drenched ball caps ; and one, headless, little toddler girl -- the stitched koala, seeming hanging on to her exposed, non-animated heart.
I set my phone down, I drop my head, and walk with my demons through the doorway I chose for myself.
| Humans believe that the afterlife consists of angels and devils, who know and understand English or their native language. The truth is... English and the other languages from Earth aside from mathematics are just lower forms of languages that aren't Timeless or Multi-Dimensional, thus worthless to these Higher Dimensional beings.
When Yue Wen died, his consciousness in Spirit form was in for a rude awakening. As a spirit, he was shown the Causes and Effects of his life, and the horrendous virtues of The Butterfly Effect. Indirectly, Yue Wen had killed 6 people. A sneeze when he was 12 directly caused a Tornado that crashed through a home of 4, killing all of them in the process. A methane filled fart when he was 33 caused a gale that toppled a tree, killing mother and child rushing to get home.
"Yue Wen, sentenced to Hell." It wasn't in English, but in a language that Yue Wen directly understood, in it's entirety, and in an instant.
'Hell isn't what I thought it would be like...' Yue Wen thought as his Spirit digested the direct information transfer.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. No, Hell was another persons Heaven. That wasn't a play on words, but in the literal sense. Heaven was for a select few, who didn't intentionally or accidentally cause deaths or suffering to other intelligent Life in their relative Timeline. The appeal of Heaven was the control of The Guage Field, the rule-book of the Universe. Alter the Universe to one's own wants and needs... It was beyond any paradise Yue Wen could imagine. Each member of Heaven, gained their own planet or Universe, depending on their positive Karma. Saying that Heaven was another person's Hell also wasn't an exaggeration.
Yue Wen was relocated to a Heaven to became a slave until his overlord saw fit to release him. It could be minutes, or never. With Time being a Dimension that could be controlled in the Gauge Field... Yue Wen didn't know when he would be released.
He was outraged initially when he had received his judgement. Then, when Yue Wen saw the infinity existences of Life... There really wasn't much to to say, contemplate or judge. Not to mention, when he communicated with the other, more experienced Spirits, all said his punishment as *very* light, almost inconsequential.
There wasn't quality control or checks that balanced the activities of those in Heaven. Death wasn't an issue in Heaven. Spirits were essentially immortals. Even with killing them, reviving them was as quick a thought of tweaking the Guage Field related to Spirits or Time. Even torturing them was fine since removing memory and fixing any damage was possible. Those events however, were rare. Since the Spirits in Heaven were the saints in all of existence, some even beings Gods, Yue Wen wasn't too worried about his treatment and experience.
Compared to the human notion of Heaven and Hell, reality was much more complex and profound. | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | The thing in front of Paul reminds him of a cartoon he saw on Saturday morning when he was maybe 5 years old. There is a spectral shroud and a bony hand pointing to him. To him.
"This is how it works for everyone, Paul." Said the Reaper in explanation.
Paul wonder's how he is talking. There is a skull but no skin.
"When you kill someone you spend a year in hell." The skeleton coughs. "You have Six." Says the voice. Then coughs again.
It startles the young man to hear death cough. For a brief second he wonders how that is possible.
Huh, I would like to know what all this is about. You say I killed 6 people? Well I refuse to spend six years in hell. There's been a mistake. You're looking for someone else named Paul. I was a good Christian. I worshiped and I helped the poor.
I loved my children. I took care of my wife. I never ever did anything bad to anyone let alone kill someone.
Sorry Paul, you are correct. You don't mind me calling you Paul do you?
A little in shock the dark headed man gives a defeated shake of his head yes.
Really, he thinks, what does it matter.
When I said six I started to cough. I didn't mean six. You know hell is surprisingly cold and damp. I think I'm getting a cold.
The skeletal figure starts to say more, but is interrupted by Paul.
Look I know my rights. I'm an American. I want legal council. You can't treat me like this! I did nothing but serve the public until the day I died. The Heritage foundation said I helped make America a first class country again. I remember a speech I gave in front of the House. "We need leadership. We don't need a doubling down on the failed politics of the past."
Oh for the love of his heavenly father!, Have some humility Paul. We do not make mistakes. Exclaimed Death. You are not running for office, Sir. We are not your gullible public.
We know exactly what you are. Now I really want to put this business behind me. Said Death.
“Gee I'm sorry if I'm wasting your valuable afternoon. We're talking about my eternity. I think I deserve an explanation.” Said Paul
Explanation! You have the gall to tell me, your judge and jury about how I should do the job I've been doing for thousands of years? Frankly people like you make my bones ache.
I want to speak to your boss.
You...You What? You pismire. What makes you think St. Peter wants to talk to you?
We drew straws. I lost. That is the only reason I'm talking to you.
We always try to see, before we finally condemn someone to the pit of eternal flame.
We try to see if there is something more. We look for a spark of humanity.
It's called the final test. You are not doing well, Paul.
I'm still not budging. You still haven't told me what I've done.
“As I was saying, before you interrupted.” Death stops speaking seeing there is no comprehension or remorse in Paul's face.
Death holds up a bony hand in defeat.
You know what, Paul, you're right. Let me explain why you're here.
With the help of your cohorts you gutted medicaid. You figured out how to skim money from social security and give another tax break to the rich. To do this you shortchanged elderly Americans who could not defend themselves. You tried to repeal the Affordable Care Act. When you could not you devoted the rest of your life to under funding it. Then you found a loophole in the law that you exploited ruthlessly, You were signally responsible for changing the legal definition of "preexisting conditions".
Say hello to all your friends from the Heritage foundation.
When I said six I was speaking in the millions, Paul.
Enjoy hell. Mr. Ryan.
| Humans believe that the afterlife consists of angels and devils, who know and understand English or their native language. The truth is... English and the other languages from Earth aside from mathematics are just lower forms of languages that aren't Timeless or Multi-Dimensional, thus worthless to these Higher Dimensional beings.
When Yue Wen died, his consciousness in Spirit form was in for a rude awakening. As a spirit, he was shown the Causes and Effects of his life, and the horrendous virtues of The Butterfly Effect. Indirectly, Yue Wen had killed 6 people. A sneeze when he was 12 directly caused a Tornado that crashed through a home of 4, killing all of them in the process. A methane filled fart when he was 33 caused a gale that toppled a tree, killing mother and child rushing to get home.
"Yue Wen, sentenced to Hell." It wasn't in English, but in a language that Yue Wen directly understood, in it's entirety, and in an instant.
'Hell isn't what I thought it would be like...' Yue Wen thought as his Spirit digested the direct information transfer.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. No, Hell was another persons Heaven. That wasn't a play on words, but in the literal sense. Heaven was for a select few, who didn't intentionally or accidentally cause deaths or suffering to other intelligent Life in their relative Timeline. The appeal of Heaven was the control of The Guage Field, the rule-book of the Universe. Alter the Universe to one's own wants and needs... It was beyond any paradise Yue Wen could imagine. Each member of Heaven, gained their own planet or Universe, depending on their positive Karma. Saying that Heaven was another person's Hell also wasn't an exaggeration.
Yue Wen was relocated to a Heaven to became a slave until his overlord saw fit to release him. It could be minutes, or never. With Time being a Dimension that could be controlled in the Gauge Field... Yue Wen didn't know when he would be released.
He was outraged initially when he had received his judgement. Then, when Yue Wen saw the infinity existences of Life... There really wasn't much to to say, contemplate or judge. Not to mention, when he communicated with the other, more experienced Spirits, all said his punishment as *very* light, almost inconsequential.
There wasn't quality control or checks that balanced the activities of those in Heaven. Death wasn't an issue in Heaven. Spirits were essentially immortals. Even with killing them, reviving them was as quick a thought of tweaking the Guage Field related to Spirits or Time. Even torturing them was fine since removing memory and fixing any damage was possible. Those events however, were rare. Since the Spirits in Heaven were the saints in all of existence, some even beings Gods, Yue Wen wasn't too worried about his treatment and experience.
Compared to the human notion of Heaven and Hell, reality was much more complex and profound. | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | I heard the machines beeping, shouts for code blue and then, nothing.
I awoke what felt like hours later in a small office with linoleum floors and a clinical feel. Whenever I imagined the judgement, I thought of something much grander- pearly gates, maybe some scales - bit of hellfire and brimstone, this was anticlimactic to say the least.
"Miss Winters to room seven please" the automated voice sounds out whilst my name and the room number appears on the screen in front of me.
The door opens to reveal a familiar face, although I can't quite place it.
"Name?" The face commands.
"Miss Winters... you just shouted me in"
"Age?"
"Erm 27, I thought you knew who I was?"
She grabs my hand and pricks my finger.
"Ouch, what the hell!" I exclaim, sucking the bubble of blood from my tender finger.
She slides the needle coated in my blood into a jack in a desktop computer in front of her and the machine comes to life. My drivers license picture appears first, followed by a family tree and my marriage license.
Then the stats start rolling:
Number of curse words: 70,227
Average severity of curse words: 6/10
I cringe, I don't think I swore that much? By now the stats are rolling over the computer screen, too fast for me to read. Then the scrolling abruptly stops;
Number of people killed: 6
"What? No? There is some mistake, I didn't kill 6 people! I'm a vegetarian for gods sake, I would never murder someone"
The screen changes, and there is something I can't quite see written next to Assigned area.
The face instructs me to stand and leads me out of the door, we are flanked by 2 large men dressed all in white.
"Please, I didn't hurt anyone. I've never even had a fight..."
She leads me to an elevator and presses the button calling the lift down.
Almost immediately the doors open, the face marches in and turns to face me, a glint in her eye. I am shoved forward by one of the men and the doors close.
"Ow! Please, you have to listen to me. I haven't killed anyone" I plead, my eyes welling up and my throats burning.
The face reaches out and slams her fist into the emergency stop button. She turns to face me and her nose is centimetres away from mine, her face distorts into a scowl
"You really expect ME believe that? You're going to stand here and tell ME that you're a good person? You didn't hurt anyone? Well poor you! Because this isn't like back then, you can't manipulate anyone here- the facts are the facts and you are going to hell!"
She spits out the word hell and inches closer to me. My tear filled eyes lock with hers, filled with rage and pain.
And in that instant I remember everything. The memories flood like ink in water, colouring everything I had thought to be true.
I grab her hand, "Sis?" | Humans believe that the afterlife consists of angels and devils, who know and understand English or their native language. The truth is... English and the other languages from Earth aside from mathematics are just lower forms of languages that aren't Timeless or Multi-Dimensional, thus worthless to these Higher Dimensional beings.
When Yue Wen died, his consciousness in Spirit form was in for a rude awakening. As a spirit, he was shown the Causes and Effects of his life, and the horrendous virtues of The Butterfly Effect. Indirectly, Yue Wen had killed 6 people. A sneeze when he was 12 directly caused a Tornado that crashed through a home of 4, killing all of them in the process. A methane filled fart when he was 33 caused a gale that toppled a tree, killing mother and child rushing to get home.
"Yue Wen, sentenced to Hell." It wasn't in English, but in a language that Yue Wen directly understood, in it's entirety, and in an instant.
'Hell isn't what I thought it would be like...' Yue Wen thought as his Spirit digested the direct information transfer.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. No, Hell was another persons Heaven. That wasn't a play on words, but in the literal sense. Heaven was for a select few, who didn't intentionally or accidentally cause deaths or suffering to other intelligent Life in their relative Timeline. The appeal of Heaven was the control of The Guage Field, the rule-book of the Universe. Alter the Universe to one's own wants and needs... It was beyond any paradise Yue Wen could imagine. Each member of Heaven, gained their own planet or Universe, depending on their positive Karma. Saying that Heaven was another person's Hell also wasn't an exaggeration.
Yue Wen was relocated to a Heaven to became a slave until his overlord saw fit to release him. It could be minutes, or never. With Time being a Dimension that could be controlled in the Gauge Field... Yue Wen didn't know when he would be released.
He was outraged initially when he had received his judgement. Then, when Yue Wen saw the infinity existences of Life... There really wasn't much to to say, contemplate or judge. Not to mention, when he communicated with the other, more experienced Spirits, all said his punishment as *very* light, almost inconsequential.
There wasn't quality control or checks that balanced the activities of those in Heaven. Death wasn't an issue in Heaven. Spirits were essentially immortals. Even with killing them, reviving them was as quick a thought of tweaking the Guage Field related to Spirits or Time. Even torturing them was fine since removing memory and fixing any damage was possible. Those events however, were rare. Since the Spirits in Heaven were the saints in all of existence, some even beings Gods, Yue Wen wasn't too worried about his treatment and experience.
Compared to the human notion of Heaven and Hell, reality was much more complex and profound. | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | "Nice desk what is this maple?"
"No, Pine. What is it that you remember dear?"
" Well if you're asking if I remember that I died of course I do. It was awful. If you ask me, do you know the chances of somebody dying like that, do you know how slim that is? Well I do. But you know what, not too bad I had a good run I'm 96 years old never lost my marbles and here I feel fit as a fiddle. I never believed in all this mystical stuff but now I'm here I realize that it's true. What did Nietzsche do? Oh I bet he s*** his pants! So that's screen behind you is that my tally? Yep, I could tell you that's pretty accurate I might have had thoughts but I never cheated. I really like how you have little lies and big lies broken down I think that's quite fair. I feel like I could get tired from patting myself on the back. Would you look at that? I have affected so many lives in a good way the charities . Who knew that tip would be so life-changing that I left that girl? Her name was Lydia. Look you're going to judge me buy those six people on the list. Like I said I was never religious okay, but I'm here now and I got to plead my case because I'm thinking that I don't want to spend eternity where it seems like I might spend eternity. It was my job, I had no choice, I had a family. Somehow I new I'd have to pay for this one day. I'm begging you look at all the good I've done, the life saving treatments I approved . At the time the treatment was considered alternative. Who knew it was a cure?"
"Well dear while I do appreciate you bringing these things to my attention you were given 96 years of life. Just as you had your bottom line we too have ours. The funny thing is we are not even as strict as people believe. We set everything up so that people could help people very simple don't you think? But alas this notion was too complex for some. Hence here we are. The treatment you denied others cured you. You lived sixty years longer with the treatment. Your penance is simple you will relive the lives of those you cut short. You will experience the despair of knowing there is help but not for you. The cycle will end once all of the people whom lives you are reliving are provided with the treatment . You see not eternity just until people like you decide that the bottom line should not be calculated disregarding the human factor . "
"Have mercy on me. "
"Sorry, not approved." | Humans believe that the afterlife consists of angels and devils, who know and understand English or their native language. The truth is... English and the other languages from Earth aside from mathematics are just lower forms of languages that aren't Timeless or Multi-Dimensional, thus worthless to these Higher Dimensional beings.
When Yue Wen died, his consciousness in Spirit form was in for a rude awakening. As a spirit, he was shown the Causes and Effects of his life, and the horrendous virtues of The Butterfly Effect. Indirectly, Yue Wen had killed 6 people. A sneeze when he was 12 directly caused a Tornado that crashed through a home of 4, killing all of them in the process. A methane filled fart when he was 33 caused a gale that toppled a tree, killing mother and child rushing to get home.
"Yue Wen, sentenced to Hell." It wasn't in English, but in a language that Yue Wen directly understood, in it's entirety, and in an instant.
'Hell isn't what I thought it would be like...' Yue Wen thought as his Spirit digested the direct information transfer.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. No, Hell was another persons Heaven. That wasn't a play on words, but in the literal sense. Heaven was for a select few, who didn't intentionally or accidentally cause deaths or suffering to other intelligent Life in their relative Timeline. The appeal of Heaven was the control of The Guage Field, the rule-book of the Universe. Alter the Universe to one's own wants and needs... It was beyond any paradise Yue Wen could imagine. Each member of Heaven, gained their own planet or Universe, depending on their positive Karma. Saying that Heaven was another person's Hell also wasn't an exaggeration.
Yue Wen was relocated to a Heaven to became a slave until his overlord saw fit to release him. It could be minutes, or never. With Time being a Dimension that could be controlled in the Gauge Field... Yue Wen didn't know when he would be released.
He was outraged initially when he had received his judgement. Then, when Yue Wen saw the infinity existences of Life... There really wasn't much to to say, contemplate or judge. Not to mention, when he communicated with the other, more experienced Spirits, all said his punishment as *very* light, almost inconsequential.
There wasn't quality control or checks that balanced the activities of those in Heaven. Death wasn't an issue in Heaven. Spirits were essentially immortals. Even with killing them, reviving them was as quick a thought of tweaking the Guage Field related to Spirits or Time. Even torturing them was fine since removing memory and fixing any damage was possible. Those events however, were rare. Since the Spirits in Heaven were the saints in all of existence, some even beings Gods, Yue Wen wasn't too worried about his treatment and experience.
Compared to the human notion of Heaven and Hell, reality was much more complex and profound. | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | It was all a little much. One moment I'd been driving down the I-5, wind in my hair and tunes blasting, when suddenly there was a blinding white light. I blinked hard, shielding my eyes, but when I opened them again I was in what looked like an incredible sterile interrogation room.
"Welcome," a cool, disembodied female voice said. "Please read your orientation package and follow the instructions."
I looked around wildly, expecting something to pop out at me, but all I saw was a manila envelope on the table in front of me. I picked it up and tore it open, extracting the contents.
"Elaine Smith," I read aloud, "31, single, occupation 'really bored office temp'..." I trailed off, reading, and then I looked up at the ceiling. "Hey!" I shouted, "I am totally 5'6"!"
"Sure you are," the voice said, obviously thoroughly disinterested.
"Application for heaven: pending?" I read. "What do you mean, pending?"
"Please see page 6, under butterfly effect," the voice instructed. I flipped madly and read quietly to myself.
"December 23, 2014. Smith cuts in line at Macy's causing Debbie Meyers to walk into the cross walk 3 minutes later than planned, resulting in Meyers' death by hit and run... no, no, no, that's not my fault!" I threw the papers across the table. "No, I'm not, I mean, no, I me-"
I was cut off by a door opening to my right. A short, bald man walked in carrying a stack of papers. He gave me an appraising look and sat down across from me.
"Miss Smith, I am your claims adjuster," he said by way of introduction. "I'm here to assess the six deaths attributed to your time on earth, and whether you may want to carry on with your nefarious ways here in the afterlife."
I could only stare. Nefarious? I didn't even like stepping on ants!
"Now," he continued, flipping pages, "I am inclined to place the fault for the December 23 incident on the driver, as he was coming from a party and was inebriated. So while you may have directly placed her in harm's way, he was the one who mowed her down, so you are down to 5 people."
"Oh that's a relief," I said sarcastically, eyes bugging out. "Please, tell me about the others!"
"Melanie Wolfe, 39, September 15, 2012. You were texting at a light and didn't realize it had changed. She should have turned right behind you, but you didn't turn until the last moment, stranding her there. She took the delay as a sign to stop and get a drink from the 7-11 on the corner, and she walked into the middle of an armed robbery. Died of a single GSW to the chest." He looked at me. "Thoughts?"
My mouth opened and closed soundlessly. All I could muster was a shrug and a helpless look.
"I suppose the thief himself should be help completely at fault," the man mused. "But you do get one demerit for texting while driving." He made a small notation.
"Peter Schill and Kimberly Clark." He squinted at his notes. "Last week, at the pub...you bumped into Peter, Kim thought he was flirting and flew off the handle...hmm..." He opened another file and cross referenced something. "You have actually been cleared of this charge, as it was a combination of Peter's history of infidelities and Kim's low self-esteem and anger issues due to her mother." He made a swoop on the paper I could only assume was a check mark. "Those nasty murder/suicides are always so messy to clear up on this side. Well then. That leaves us with Dan Marks and Alan Watkins."
My brow furrowed. "But they're still alive, aren't they? I just saw them yesterday!" I started panicking. Were two of my best friends dead?
"They aren't dead yet," the man clarified. "However, you are being pre-credited with their deaths as they are both currently slotted to die of lung cancer in 2020 and 2025, respectively. It says you were the one who pressured them into trying cigarettes behind the high school in the 9th grade." His eyebrow arched. "How do you plead?"
My shoulders sagged. "So I'm going to hell because of something I did when I was 13?" I whispered. "Because I was a stupid kid who thought it was cool?"
"Our actions speak louder than words, Miss Smith," the man replied, pen poised above the papers. "So you have a choice. You can either hang out up here and wade through the paperwork with me, or...you can return to the scene of the grievous car accident you were just in, go through rehab, potentially regain your ability to walk, and convince your friends to quit smoking. They will still die of cancer, but you will be cleared of any fault in their deaths." He wiggled his pen. "Tick tock. You're about to be pronounced dead on the scene, so I suggest you make your decision quickly."
"Back! Back!" I essentially yelled at him. "Send me back!"
He smiled. "Sending you back," he said, and pressed a button beneath the table. "Just try to make sure you don't kill anyone else now, ok?" The room flickered and I felt myself being sucked downwards towards pain.
"Oh dear," I murmured blearily. "Was this the best idea?"
That smooth female voice rang through my head one last time as the jaws of life pried open my vehicle. "Good luck..." | Humans believe that the afterlife consists of angels and devils, who know and understand English or their native language. The truth is... English and the other languages from Earth aside from mathematics are just lower forms of languages that aren't Timeless or Multi-Dimensional, thus worthless to these Higher Dimensional beings.
When Yue Wen died, his consciousness in Spirit form was in for a rude awakening. As a spirit, he was shown the Causes and Effects of his life, and the horrendous virtues of The Butterfly Effect. Indirectly, Yue Wen had killed 6 people. A sneeze when he was 12 directly caused a Tornado that crashed through a home of 4, killing all of them in the process. A methane filled fart when he was 33 caused a gale that toppled a tree, killing mother and child rushing to get home.
"Yue Wen, sentenced to Hell." It wasn't in English, but in a language that Yue Wen directly understood, in it's entirety, and in an instant.
'Hell isn't what I thought it would be like...' Yue Wen thought as his Spirit digested the direct information transfer.
Hell wasn't fire and brimstone. No, Hell was another persons Heaven. That wasn't a play on words, but in the literal sense. Heaven was for a select few, who didn't intentionally or accidentally cause deaths or suffering to other intelligent Life in their relative Timeline. The appeal of Heaven was the control of The Guage Field, the rule-book of the Universe. Alter the Universe to one's own wants and needs... It was beyond any paradise Yue Wen could imagine. Each member of Heaven, gained their own planet or Universe, depending on their positive Karma. Saying that Heaven was another person's Hell also wasn't an exaggeration.
Yue Wen was relocated to a Heaven to became a slave until his overlord saw fit to release him. It could be minutes, or never. With Time being a Dimension that could be controlled in the Gauge Field... Yue Wen didn't know when he would be released.
He was outraged initially when he had received his judgement. Then, when Yue Wen saw the infinity existences of Life... There really wasn't much to to say, contemplate or judge. Not to mention, when he communicated with the other, more experienced Spirits, all said his punishment as *very* light, almost inconsequential.
There wasn't quality control or checks that balanced the activities of those in Heaven. Death wasn't an issue in Heaven. Spirits were essentially immortals. Even with killing them, reviving them was as quick a thought of tweaking the Guage Field related to Spirits or Time. Even torturing them was fine since removing memory and fixing any damage was possible. Those events however, were rare. Since the Spirits in Heaven were the saints in all of existence, some even beings Gods, Yue Wen wasn't too worried about his treatment and experience.
Compared to the human notion of Heaven and Hell, reality was much more complex and profound. | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | In a blink, I come to; my adrenaline, spiked. Unfamiliar with where I am, or how I got there, I silently gather my faculties.. As if I have been born into darkness, my eyes tremble to the dull flickering light. My body pulsating, I jerk my head back and forth, hopelessly trying to assess the situation. "Last I remember I was in my car", I thought to myself. "When the hell did I get here?" I grip the cold metal of the arms, arch away from the jagged paint-chipped back, and begin to stand. I look around one more time, in an attempt to comprehend what was happening and where I was. "What do I see, what do I feel? Is this a dream? Where is my token?"
What appears to be a retail store looms around me. Aisles upon aisles I see, as I peer down the angled walkway. Looking up I see nothing but a few florescent light fixtures, subtly creaking as they sway back and forth. Looking down, I see nothing at all -- no tile, no waxed-over markings from inefficient night-laborers, and no reflection. Turning around, I see no shadow from the over head lighting, I see no metal chair, and I see no walls. A buildingless void of a retail outlet. Seemingly infinite in size, yet I feel like i'm in the backseat of a car with a big coat on.
One glance at the aisles, and I see that they sell everything from electronics and food, to cars and automatic weapons. Tempted to ignore the bizarre circumstance, I take one step toward Aisle 1, "Mobile Phones". As I begin to take another step, my subconscious begins to fight for my attention.. uncertain of why, I pause. I turned around to see what my conscious may have missed, and immediately jump back in shock.
Six people stand before me, a grown man, a grown woman, 3 teenage boys, and a little toddler girl. They remain stationary as we exchange long stares. The man wears a baseball cap and a polo shirt, tucked into his dark blue Levi's. The woman, beautiful - even after 4 kids, wears a basic white t-Shirt hanging off her left shoulder, with grey, white-washed skinny-jeans. The two oldest boys dress and look very similar. Only distinguishable difference is that one has a NY hat on, and the other, Boston. The youngest boy bears no hat, or team, but rather a Graphic Tee with The Beatles quote "listen to the color of your dreams" the little girl has bright blue eyes with wavey brown hair. She has a pink sweater on with a stitched koala holding a cartoon heart.
I wave - nothing. "Is there something I can help you with?" No response.. I turn around, and continue walking to Aisle 1. As I near the aisle, I turn back around, and lunge back once more, as they stand, grouped up behind me. "Is there something I can help you with? I feel like I am being followed." I state firmly, starting to lose my cool. I receive no response, and blank stares. No longer focusing on what the store offers, I break the stares and begin to locate an exit. I see a door to my left, seemingly overlooked. I pull out my phone, and begin to walk to the door, staring at the screen to further avoid eye contact with them. As I look up, I see the door nearing. While thinking of a word that means both ominous and confusing, to add as my next Snapchat caption, I reassess my surrounding through my peripherals, and become bewildered when I realize that I am still just nearing the exit.. in a panic I turn around, and see that I have not moved any further from the aisle or the family stalking me. To avoid their dead stare, I look passed them. To my relief, I see a check out. I see a worker behind the counter, I see people in line, and I see two doors behind the cashier. Rushing over, staring intently, to avoid any more illusions, I reach the back of the line.
In front of me, I see a sad child, gripping a dirty, half stuffed animal with one hand, and her mother's hand in the other. The mother is clad with heavy makeup, and a dark pair of sun glasses. A man in front of them has a stained white tank top with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and a confused look on his face. In front of him is a teenage girl with dark bags under her eyes, dirty clothes that don't leave much to the imagination, and crude tattoos on her arm leading to her obvious track marks. In front of her stands another woman, dressed in clean baggy clothes, and heavy, shimmering jewelry. Holding a beaker in on hand, and cleaning supplies in the other, she looks around uncertain. At the counter is a man in a nicer suit than I have ever seen. Dark blue pin stripe, with a silver-blue silk tie. He has a bluetooth headset in his ear, and a smart watch which seems to be showing various stock updates. Behind this man is a large assortment of people, of all different ages and nationalities. *Beep He appears upset, as he takes his wallet from the cashier and tries to leave through the right door, the large group behind him follows, seemingly pushing him through the other. The next woman in line, speaks with the cashier and shows him what she is carrying. After some silence, I hear another *beep, and then the woman becoming hostile. Attempting to rush out the right door, the woman behind her begins grabbing at her baggy hoodie and chains and drags her through the other door. The man with the whiskey is already upset for having to wait in line this long. A beep sounds as he swipes his liquor, and profanity fills the room as he stumbles away. The wife and daughter begin jumping on him and hitting him, as he falls through the left door. Next in line, I walk up to the counter, afraid to turn around, the cashier asks me for what i am carrying. I tell him that I am not purchasing anything, and just want to leave. With a warming smile on his face, he points to my cell phone in my hand. "I am not buying this, this is mine.", I exclaim as I bring my phone close enough for him to see. He asks that I turn my phone over. A barcode emerges. Confused, I comply, and bring my phone to the scanner.. *Beep
The machine screen reads "DECLINED". Confused I look up at the cashier, who is looking behind me.. I turn around to 6 people: one bleeding man with a part of a steering column in his neck, one woman, grotesque, with a now blood-red tshirt, covered in shards of glass; three teenage boys with deep lacerations, ripped shirts, open stomaches, and drenched ball caps ; and one, headless, little toddler girl -- the stitched koala, seeming hanging on to her exposed, non-animated heart.
I set my phone down, I drop my head, and walk with my demons through the doorway I chose for myself.
| "What the fuck dude i never killed anybody" i shouted at the screen in front of me. I leaned my head back, looking up at the ceiling of the cramped cubicle. White. Of course it was all white. What else could it be.
"6 people." An exasperated voice replied. He had done this before. Way too many times.
"Look, i dont know what the fuck your talking about. That's bullshit. You have anyway to prove this to me then? Because I've never laid my hands on anybody, i've never even stepped inside a courtroom." I had an audible sigh in response. Was this dude serious.
I could vaguely remember how i died, it just felt like a distant memory. You know that feeling just after you wake up from a really vivid dream and for a few minutes your not quite sure you're awake yet? Fucking car accident. How mundane. Still, i shit my self when i woke up sat perched on a stainless steel chair with a TV in front of me.
"Your life has been recorded as per regulation 9c of the Aether Life's terms of service, you will now be shown your infractions." The guy sounded like he had gotten to the end of his script. Just as i was about to respond i "woke up" again overlooking the train line just outside of my home town. I knew this stretch of track well, every weekday i would be heading out on my first route of the day.
A train pulled round the bend, no longer obscured by the thick wall of pine trees. I instantly knew it was me behind the wheel, staring glassy eyed out of the windscreen, the morning coffee not quite hitting the blood stream yet. The trees parted off to my right showing me 2 people hiding in brush, my past self oblivious to their existence. The train was on top of them now, my drivers cab roaring past their heads.
They just threw themselves into the side of the train, the coal carriages shattered their skulls instantly. Before my brain could fully process what had just happened 4 more people hurled themselves from the tree line. Their bodies bouncing off as if the 20 tonne coal trucks where an inflatable raft, their bodies lay sprawled by the tree line. Blood starting to pool around their mangled bodies. My head went numb, i was the only person to run on this line. I would leave at 7am every morning and return at 9pm, exhausted. I was always just so tired when i past this point, nobody else would ever see them and i certainly never knew they were there.
I didnt have time to dwell on it too much before i woke up back in the booth.
"Unfortunately you have been unsuccessful in your application to the Aether Life corporation. You may try again in 100 years." That monotone voice was really starting to grate on me. What the fuck was he talking about? What application? I wanted to question that drone behind the screen but clearly they have this process streamlined.
I woke up in another booth, only this time it was completely black, the floor was starting to glow. Getting hotter and hotter, there was nowhere for me to go. My feet started to blister and my hairs where being singed off.
"Welcome to Purgatory. You are placed in a queue. 946,129,872,192,107 are in front. Enjoy your stay"
That fucking voice. The memories came back, an eternity of burning.
There's always next century | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | The thing in front of Paul reminds him of a cartoon he saw on Saturday morning when he was maybe 5 years old. There is a spectral shroud and a bony hand pointing to him. To him.
"This is how it works for everyone, Paul." Said the Reaper in explanation.
Paul wonder's how he is talking. There is a skull but no skin.
"When you kill someone you spend a year in hell." The skeleton coughs. "You have Six." Says the voice. Then coughs again.
It startles the young man to hear death cough. For a brief second he wonders how that is possible.
Huh, I would like to know what all this is about. You say I killed 6 people? Well I refuse to spend six years in hell. There's been a mistake. You're looking for someone else named Paul. I was a good Christian. I worshiped and I helped the poor.
I loved my children. I took care of my wife. I never ever did anything bad to anyone let alone kill someone.
Sorry Paul, you are correct. You don't mind me calling you Paul do you?
A little in shock the dark headed man gives a defeated shake of his head yes.
Really, he thinks, what does it matter.
When I said six I started to cough. I didn't mean six. You know hell is surprisingly cold and damp. I think I'm getting a cold.
The skeletal figure starts to say more, but is interrupted by Paul.
Look I know my rights. I'm an American. I want legal council. You can't treat me like this! I did nothing but serve the public until the day I died. The Heritage foundation said I helped make America a first class country again. I remember a speech I gave in front of the House. "We need leadership. We don't need a doubling down on the failed politics of the past."
Oh for the love of his heavenly father!, Have some humility Paul. We do not make mistakes. Exclaimed Death. You are not running for office, Sir. We are not your gullible public.
We know exactly what you are. Now I really want to put this business behind me. Said Death.
“Gee I'm sorry if I'm wasting your valuable afternoon. We're talking about my eternity. I think I deserve an explanation.” Said Paul
Explanation! You have the gall to tell me, your judge and jury about how I should do the job I've been doing for thousands of years? Frankly people like you make my bones ache.
I want to speak to your boss.
You...You What? You pismire. What makes you think St. Peter wants to talk to you?
We drew straws. I lost. That is the only reason I'm talking to you.
We always try to see, before we finally condemn someone to the pit of eternal flame.
We try to see if there is something more. We look for a spark of humanity.
It's called the final test. You are not doing well, Paul.
I'm still not budging. You still haven't told me what I've done.
“As I was saying, before you interrupted.” Death stops speaking seeing there is no comprehension or remorse in Paul's face.
Death holds up a bony hand in defeat.
You know what, Paul, you're right. Let me explain why you're here.
With the help of your cohorts you gutted medicaid. You figured out how to skim money from social security and give another tax break to the rich. To do this you shortchanged elderly Americans who could not defend themselves. You tried to repeal the Affordable Care Act. When you could not you devoted the rest of your life to under funding it. Then you found a loophole in the law that you exploited ruthlessly, You were signally responsible for changing the legal definition of "preexisting conditions".
Say hello to all your friends from the Heritage foundation.
When I said six I was speaking in the millions, Paul.
Enjoy hell. Mr. Ryan.
| "What the fuck dude i never killed anybody" i shouted at the screen in front of me. I leaned my head back, looking up at the ceiling of the cramped cubicle. White. Of course it was all white. What else could it be.
"6 people." An exasperated voice replied. He had done this before. Way too many times.
"Look, i dont know what the fuck your talking about. That's bullshit. You have anyway to prove this to me then? Because I've never laid my hands on anybody, i've never even stepped inside a courtroom." I had an audible sigh in response. Was this dude serious.
I could vaguely remember how i died, it just felt like a distant memory. You know that feeling just after you wake up from a really vivid dream and for a few minutes your not quite sure you're awake yet? Fucking car accident. How mundane. Still, i shit my self when i woke up sat perched on a stainless steel chair with a TV in front of me.
"Your life has been recorded as per regulation 9c of the Aether Life's terms of service, you will now be shown your infractions." The guy sounded like he had gotten to the end of his script. Just as i was about to respond i "woke up" again overlooking the train line just outside of my home town. I knew this stretch of track well, every weekday i would be heading out on my first route of the day.
A train pulled round the bend, no longer obscured by the thick wall of pine trees. I instantly knew it was me behind the wheel, staring glassy eyed out of the windscreen, the morning coffee not quite hitting the blood stream yet. The trees parted off to my right showing me 2 people hiding in brush, my past self oblivious to their existence. The train was on top of them now, my drivers cab roaring past their heads.
They just threw themselves into the side of the train, the coal carriages shattered their skulls instantly. Before my brain could fully process what had just happened 4 more people hurled themselves from the tree line. Their bodies bouncing off as if the 20 tonne coal trucks where an inflatable raft, their bodies lay sprawled by the tree line. Blood starting to pool around their mangled bodies. My head went numb, i was the only person to run on this line. I would leave at 7am every morning and return at 9pm, exhausted. I was always just so tired when i past this point, nobody else would ever see them and i certainly never knew they were there.
I didnt have time to dwell on it too much before i woke up back in the booth.
"Unfortunately you have been unsuccessful in your application to the Aether Life corporation. You may try again in 100 years." That monotone voice was really starting to grate on me. What the fuck was he talking about? What application? I wanted to question that drone behind the screen but clearly they have this process streamlined.
I woke up in another booth, only this time it was completely black, the floor was starting to glow. Getting hotter and hotter, there was nowhere for me to go. My feet started to blister and my hairs where being singed off.
"Welcome to Purgatory. You are placed in a queue. 946,129,872,192,107 are in front. Enjoy your stay"
That fucking voice. The memories came back, an eternity of burning.
There's always next century | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | I heard the machines beeping, shouts for code blue and then, nothing.
I awoke what felt like hours later in a small office with linoleum floors and a clinical feel. Whenever I imagined the judgement, I thought of something much grander- pearly gates, maybe some scales - bit of hellfire and brimstone, this was anticlimactic to say the least.
"Miss Winters to room seven please" the automated voice sounds out whilst my name and the room number appears on the screen in front of me.
The door opens to reveal a familiar face, although I can't quite place it.
"Name?" The face commands.
"Miss Winters... you just shouted me in"
"Age?"
"Erm 27, I thought you knew who I was?"
She grabs my hand and pricks my finger.
"Ouch, what the hell!" I exclaim, sucking the bubble of blood from my tender finger.
She slides the needle coated in my blood into a jack in a desktop computer in front of her and the machine comes to life. My drivers license picture appears first, followed by a family tree and my marriage license.
Then the stats start rolling:
Number of curse words: 70,227
Average severity of curse words: 6/10
I cringe, I don't think I swore that much? By now the stats are rolling over the computer screen, too fast for me to read. Then the scrolling abruptly stops;
Number of people killed: 6
"What? No? There is some mistake, I didn't kill 6 people! I'm a vegetarian for gods sake, I would never murder someone"
The screen changes, and there is something I can't quite see written next to Assigned area.
The face instructs me to stand and leads me out of the door, we are flanked by 2 large men dressed all in white.
"Please, I didn't hurt anyone. I've never even had a fight..."
She leads me to an elevator and presses the button calling the lift down.
Almost immediately the doors open, the face marches in and turns to face me, a glint in her eye. I am shoved forward by one of the men and the doors close.
"Ow! Please, you have to listen to me. I haven't killed anyone" I plead, my eyes welling up and my throats burning.
The face reaches out and slams her fist into the emergency stop button. She turns to face me and her nose is centimetres away from mine, her face distorts into a scowl
"You really expect ME believe that? You're going to stand here and tell ME that you're a good person? You didn't hurt anyone? Well poor you! Because this isn't like back then, you can't manipulate anyone here- the facts are the facts and you are going to hell!"
She spits out the word hell and inches closer to me. My tear filled eyes lock with hers, filled with rage and pain.
And in that instant I remember everything. The memories flood like ink in water, colouring everything I had thought to be true.
I grab her hand, "Sis?" | "What the fuck dude i never killed anybody" i shouted at the screen in front of me. I leaned my head back, looking up at the ceiling of the cramped cubicle. White. Of course it was all white. What else could it be.
"6 people." An exasperated voice replied. He had done this before. Way too many times.
"Look, i dont know what the fuck your talking about. That's bullshit. You have anyway to prove this to me then? Because I've never laid my hands on anybody, i've never even stepped inside a courtroom." I had an audible sigh in response. Was this dude serious.
I could vaguely remember how i died, it just felt like a distant memory. You know that feeling just after you wake up from a really vivid dream and for a few minutes your not quite sure you're awake yet? Fucking car accident. How mundane. Still, i shit my self when i woke up sat perched on a stainless steel chair with a TV in front of me.
"Your life has been recorded as per regulation 9c of the Aether Life's terms of service, you will now be shown your infractions." The guy sounded like he had gotten to the end of his script. Just as i was about to respond i "woke up" again overlooking the train line just outside of my home town. I knew this stretch of track well, every weekday i would be heading out on my first route of the day.
A train pulled round the bend, no longer obscured by the thick wall of pine trees. I instantly knew it was me behind the wheel, staring glassy eyed out of the windscreen, the morning coffee not quite hitting the blood stream yet. The trees parted off to my right showing me 2 people hiding in brush, my past self oblivious to their existence. The train was on top of them now, my drivers cab roaring past their heads.
They just threw themselves into the side of the train, the coal carriages shattered their skulls instantly. Before my brain could fully process what had just happened 4 more people hurled themselves from the tree line. Their bodies bouncing off as if the 20 tonne coal trucks where an inflatable raft, their bodies lay sprawled by the tree line. Blood starting to pool around their mangled bodies. My head went numb, i was the only person to run on this line. I would leave at 7am every morning and return at 9pm, exhausted. I was always just so tired when i past this point, nobody else would ever see them and i certainly never knew they were there.
I didnt have time to dwell on it too much before i woke up back in the booth.
"Unfortunately you have been unsuccessful in your application to the Aether Life corporation. You may try again in 100 years." That monotone voice was really starting to grate on me. What the fuck was he talking about? What application? I wanted to question that drone behind the screen but clearly they have this process streamlined.
I woke up in another booth, only this time it was completely black, the floor was starting to glow. Getting hotter and hotter, there was nowhere for me to go. My feet started to blister and my hairs where being singed off.
"Welcome to Purgatory. You are placed in a queue. 946,129,872,192,107 are in front. Enjoy your stay"
That fucking voice. The memories came back, an eternity of burning.
There's always next century | |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | The thing in front of Paul reminds him of a cartoon he saw on Saturday morning when he was maybe 5 years old. There is a spectral shroud and a bony hand pointing to him. To him.
"This is how it works for everyone, Paul." Said the Reaper in explanation.
Paul wonder's how he is talking. There is a skull but no skin.
"When you kill someone you spend a year in hell." The skeleton coughs. "You have Six." Says the voice. Then coughs again.
It startles the young man to hear death cough. For a brief second he wonders how that is possible.
Huh, I would like to know what all this is about. You say I killed 6 people? Well I refuse to spend six years in hell. There's been a mistake. You're looking for someone else named Paul. I was a good Christian. I worshiped and I helped the poor.
I loved my children. I took care of my wife. I never ever did anything bad to anyone let alone kill someone.
Sorry Paul, you are correct. You don't mind me calling you Paul do you?
A little in shock the dark headed man gives a defeated shake of his head yes.
Really, he thinks, what does it matter.
When I said six I started to cough. I didn't mean six. You know hell is surprisingly cold and damp. I think I'm getting a cold.
The skeletal figure starts to say more, but is interrupted by Paul.
Look I know my rights. I'm an American. I want legal council. You can't treat me like this! I did nothing but serve the public until the day I died. The Heritage foundation said I helped make America a first class country again. I remember a speech I gave in front of the House. "We need leadership. We don't need a doubling down on the failed politics of the past."
Oh for the love of his heavenly father!, Have some humility Paul. We do not make mistakes. Exclaimed Death. You are not running for office, Sir. We are not your gullible public.
We know exactly what you are. Now I really want to put this business behind me. Said Death.
“Gee I'm sorry if I'm wasting your valuable afternoon. We're talking about my eternity. I think I deserve an explanation.” Said Paul
Explanation! You have the gall to tell me, your judge and jury about how I should do the job I've been doing for thousands of years? Frankly people like you make my bones ache.
I want to speak to your boss.
You...You What? You pismire. What makes you think St. Peter wants to talk to you?
We drew straws. I lost. That is the only reason I'm talking to you.
We always try to see, before we finally condemn someone to the pit of eternal flame.
We try to see if there is something more. We look for a spark of humanity.
It's called the final test. You are not doing well, Paul.
I'm still not budging. You still haven't told me what I've done.
“As I was saying, before you interrupted.” Death stops speaking seeing there is no comprehension or remorse in Paul's face.
Death holds up a bony hand in defeat.
You know what, Paul, you're right. Let me explain why you're here.
With the help of your cohorts you gutted medicaid. You figured out how to skim money from social security and give another tax break to the rich. To do this you shortchanged elderly Americans who could not defend themselves. You tried to repeal the Affordable Care Act. When you could not you devoted the rest of your life to under funding it. Then you found a loophole in the law that you exploited ruthlessly, You were signally responsible for changing the legal definition of "preexisting conditions".
Say hello to all your friends from the Heritage foundation.
When I said six I was speaking in the millions, Paul.
Enjoy hell. Mr. Ryan.
| "Wait wait wait. Say that again." I say.
A man standing opposite me dressed in a sharp gray suit, with some fluttery and bright white wings rattles off a tablet of some sort.
"You've taken 683,985,926 breaths in your life, 13 romantic partners, a bit lower than average I notice, you've killed 6 people, which might've explained the last one, you've made $2,452,648.97 in your life, before taxes, 84 people have had a crush on you, quite the looker huh? Lastly, you've sworn 153,496 times. Not too big on swearing are you?"
"No, the second to last thing. Not all of it."
"Crushes?"
"No before that!"
"Oh. You've killed 6 different people." He says with a hint of, was it hatred? Coldness? Anger? I can't tell.
"SIX? How is that even possible!" I ask bewildered. "I've never remembered killing anybody! I don't think I've even injured anyone before!"
"Well the numbers here say six." The suited man says. I look at his name tag 'Vangelis' it reads.
I sit and think about anything I could've ever done that would have killed anybody. The white blindingly bright and unending.
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention. I'm dead, but I'm not in Heaven or Hell. I'm in Purgatory. I had lived a solid 79 years. Made the most of what I had, family yadda yadda, anyways. When I woke up I was in this office. I looked around and saw that my hands no longer had the deep tattoos of age, the wrinkles were gone. My joints no longer creaked and ached, my hip didn't pop anymore. I felt my face, gone were the saggy rolls and bags under my eyes and on my cheeks, instead it was replaced with firm and vibrant skin, with all the elasticity of my youth. Memories had come flooding back, I was no longer affected by Alzheimer's, I could remember it all. My family, my childhood, my first kiss, the war, meeting my wife, leaving my wife. Up until my last waking moments.
I head towards the secretary in the same suit I was buried in, except it's a lot looser in some places, like my stomach and it's a little tight on the arms and neck.
"Excuse me, I asked bewildered."
"What did you say?" she asks quizzically.
"I said excuse me, agitated that she didn't hear me."
"Sir, um, you know I can hear what you are thinking."
"What?! I exclaim."
"You have to focus your thoughts" she says.
"Real helpful", I think.
"Heard that" she tells me.
I focus, I concentrate.
"Sorry about that." I manage, slowly I continue, "just where the hel-."
"We ask that you avoid that language around here." A stern look on her face. "We don't like to discriminate."
"What? I'm so confused! Why am I young? Where am I? I thought I died? Was it all a dream?"
"No, you did die. We keep you young so you are more mobile, you'll probably have to walk a lot, so it makes it easier. Anyways, you are in the 'the Office', where all the deceased go. You tell any of the secretaries," she motions down a long hall of desks that seems to stretch infinitely, with many secretaries either typing away at computers or talking to someone. "And we tell you where to go for your chosen afterlife's judgement, if applicable."
"Well," I begin.
Anyways she told me where to go, and that's how I ended up here. She also didn't lie when she said there was a lot of walking to do.
"Micheal? Are you still with me?" Snapping in front of my face snaps (no pun intended) out of my stupor.
"Y-yeah, just thinking."
"Well, you don't have to. I can tell you who you killed and how." Vangelis tells me.
"Go on."
"You see it all started when you went out, a night with the guys. Drinking."
"Oh god," I groan. "This can't be good."
"It was a wild party, and in your own words 'totally stoked', so you guys are bumming around and you end up on the streets. You're walking across the street are almost hit by a car mid-intersection. Nobody was hurt, but you did end up dropping a glass bottle. Later a kid tripped and cut himself bad on it. Lots of blood, but he was fine and only needed a couple stitches. The guy cleaning up though, was a little sloppy and had to get his uniform cleaned. The cleaner, however had a small cut. He got some blood on it and it was positive for Hepatitis C. The guy went to get the vaccine, and-"
"Isn't this getting a little convoluted? Can't you just skip to the end?"
"Only if you're sure... Fine. In the end you started a town on fire."
"What?!"
"The guy went to get his Hep. C. shot, but the monitor they had broke, so they threw it away, instead of recycling. Then on route to the landfill, it fell out of the truck and landed in a small river. Which carried it to a small watermill. Which broke and wheeled towards the local town where it crashed into a gas station, which promptly blew up."
"That's where I killed those people?!"
"No, but it was a wicked story. You killed them when you were out barbecuing and gave a lot of people food poisoning. That's what killed them."
"My legendary pork-burgers? THEY betrayed me?" I look at my hands. They were stained with blood. Delicious blood. But blood.
"A price must be paid for everything. You are now damned until the higher ups get you placed for atonement," He says with a smile. "Enjoy the afterlife!"
A gaping hole sucks me in, and the last thing I hear is Vangelis' voice saying something to me.
"Your pork-burgers weren't even that good to begin with."
Then I was sucked down.
| |
[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | The thing in front of Paul reminds him of a cartoon he saw on Saturday morning when he was maybe 5 years old. There is a spectral shroud and a bony hand pointing to him. To him.
"This is how it works for everyone, Paul." Said the Reaper in explanation.
Paul wonder's how he is talking. There is a skull but no skin.
"When you kill someone you spend a year in hell." The skeleton coughs. "You have Six." Says the voice. Then coughs again.
It startles the young man to hear death cough. For a brief second he wonders how that is possible.
Huh, I would like to know what all this is about. You say I killed 6 people? Well I refuse to spend six years in hell. There's been a mistake. You're looking for someone else named Paul. I was a good Christian. I worshiped and I helped the poor.
I loved my children. I took care of my wife. I never ever did anything bad to anyone let alone kill someone.
Sorry Paul, you are correct. You don't mind me calling you Paul do you?
A little in shock the dark headed man gives a defeated shake of his head yes.
Really, he thinks, what does it matter.
When I said six I started to cough. I didn't mean six. You know hell is surprisingly cold and damp. I think I'm getting a cold.
The skeletal figure starts to say more, but is interrupted by Paul.
Look I know my rights. I'm an American. I want legal council. You can't treat me like this! I did nothing but serve the public until the day I died. The Heritage foundation said I helped make America a first class country again. I remember a speech I gave in front of the House. "We need leadership. We don't need a doubling down on the failed politics of the past."
Oh for the love of his heavenly father!, Have some humility Paul. We do not make mistakes. Exclaimed Death. You are not running for office, Sir. We are not your gullible public.
We know exactly what you are. Now I really want to put this business behind me. Said Death.
“Gee I'm sorry if I'm wasting your valuable afternoon. We're talking about my eternity. I think I deserve an explanation.” Said Paul
Explanation! You have the gall to tell me, your judge and jury about how I should do the job I've been doing for thousands of years? Frankly people like you make my bones ache.
I want to speak to your boss.
You...You What? You pismire. What makes you think St. Peter wants to talk to you?
We drew straws. I lost. That is the only reason I'm talking to you.
We always try to see, before we finally condemn someone to the pit of eternal flame.
We try to see if there is something more. We look for a spark of humanity.
It's called the final test. You are not doing well, Paul.
I'm still not budging. You still haven't told me what I've done.
“As I was saying, before you interrupted.” Death stops speaking seeing there is no comprehension or remorse in Paul's face.
Death holds up a bony hand in defeat.
You know what, Paul, you're right. Let me explain why you're here.
With the help of your cohorts you gutted medicaid. You figured out how to skim money from social security and give another tax break to the rich. To do this you shortchanged elderly Americans who could not defend themselves. You tried to repeal the Affordable Care Act. When you could not you devoted the rest of your life to under funding it. Then you found a loophole in the law that you exploited ruthlessly, You were signally responsible for changing the legal definition of "preexisting conditions".
Say hello to all your friends from the Heritage foundation.
When I said six I was speaking in the millions, Paul.
Enjoy hell. Mr. Ryan.
| In a blink, I come to; my adrenaline, spiked. Unfamiliar with where I am, or how I got there, I silently gather my faculties.. As if I have been born into darkness, my eyes tremble to the dull flickering light. My body pulsating, I jerk my head back and forth, hopelessly trying to assess the situation. "Last I remember I was in my car", I thought to myself. "When the hell did I get here?" I grip the cold metal of the arms, arch away from the jagged paint-chipped back, and begin to stand. I look around one more time, in an attempt to comprehend what was happening and where I was. "What do I see, what do I feel? Is this a dream? Where is my token?"
What appears to be a retail store looms around me. Aisles upon aisles I see, as I peer down the angled walkway. Looking up I see nothing but a few florescent light fixtures, subtly creaking as they sway back and forth. Looking down, I see nothing at all -- no tile, no waxed-over markings from inefficient night-laborers, and no reflection. Turning around, I see no shadow from the over head lighting, I see no metal chair, and I see no walls. A buildingless void of a retail outlet. Seemingly infinite in size, yet I feel like i'm in the backseat of a car with a big coat on.
One glance at the aisles, and I see that they sell everything from electronics and food, to cars and automatic weapons. Tempted to ignore the bizarre circumstance, I take one step toward Aisle 1, "Mobile Phones". As I begin to take another step, my subconscious begins to fight for my attention.. uncertain of why, I pause. I turned around to see what my conscious may have missed, and immediately jump back in shock.
Six people stand before me, a grown man, a grown woman, 3 teenage boys, and a little toddler girl. They remain stationary as we exchange long stares. The man wears a baseball cap and a polo shirt, tucked into his dark blue Levi's. The woman, beautiful - even after 4 kids, wears a basic white t-Shirt hanging off her left shoulder, with grey, white-washed skinny-jeans. The two oldest boys dress and look very similar. Only distinguishable difference is that one has a NY hat on, and the other, Boston. The youngest boy bears no hat, or team, but rather a Graphic Tee with The Beatles quote "listen to the color of your dreams" the little girl has bright blue eyes with wavey brown hair. She has a pink sweater on with a stitched koala holding a cartoon heart.
I wave - nothing. "Is there something I can help you with?" No response.. I turn around, and continue walking to Aisle 1. As I near the aisle, I turn back around, and lunge back once more, as they stand, grouped up behind me. "Is there something I can help you with? I feel like I am being followed." I state firmly, starting to lose my cool. I receive no response, and blank stares. No longer focusing on what the store offers, I break the stares and begin to locate an exit. I see a door to my left, seemingly overlooked. I pull out my phone, and begin to walk to the door, staring at the screen to further avoid eye contact with them. As I look up, I see the door nearing. While thinking of a word that means both ominous and confusing, to add as my next Snapchat caption, I reassess my surrounding through my peripherals, and become bewildered when I realize that I am still just nearing the exit.. in a panic I turn around, and see that I have not moved any further from the aisle or the family stalking me. To avoid their dead stare, I look passed them. To my relief, I see a check out. I see a worker behind the counter, I see people in line, and I see two doors behind the cashier. Rushing over, staring intently, to avoid any more illusions, I reach the back of the line.
In front of me, I see a sad child, gripping a dirty, half stuffed animal with one hand, and her mother's hand in the other. The mother is clad with heavy makeup, and a dark pair of sun glasses. A man in front of them has a stained white tank top with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and a confused look on his face. In front of him is a teenage girl with dark bags under her eyes, dirty clothes that don't leave much to the imagination, and crude tattoos on her arm leading to her obvious track marks. In front of her stands another woman, dressed in clean baggy clothes, and heavy, shimmering jewelry. Holding a beaker in on hand, and cleaning supplies in the other, she looks around uncertain. At the counter is a man in a nicer suit than I have ever seen. Dark blue pin stripe, with a silver-blue silk tie. He has a bluetooth headset in his ear, and a smart watch which seems to be showing various stock updates. Behind this man is a large assortment of people, of all different ages and nationalities. *Beep He appears upset, as he takes his wallet from the cashier and tries to leave through the right door, the large group behind him follows, seemingly pushing him through the other. The next woman in line, speaks with the cashier and shows him what she is carrying. After some silence, I hear another *beep, and then the woman becoming hostile. Attempting to rush out the right door, the woman behind her begins grabbing at her baggy hoodie and chains and drags her through the other door. The man with the whiskey is already upset for having to wait in line this long. A beep sounds as he swipes his liquor, and profanity fills the room as he stumbles away. The wife and daughter begin jumping on him and hitting him, as he falls through the left door. Next in line, I walk up to the counter, afraid to turn around, the cashier asks me for what i am carrying. I tell him that I am not purchasing anything, and just want to leave. With a warming smile on his face, he points to my cell phone in my hand. "I am not buying this, this is mine.", I exclaim as I bring my phone close enough for him to see. He asks that I turn my phone over. A barcode emerges. Confused, I comply, and bring my phone to the scanner.. *Beep
The machine screen reads "DECLINED". Confused I look up at the cashier, who is looking behind me.. I turn around to 6 people: one bleeding man with a part of a steering column in his neck, one woman, grotesque, with a now blood-red tshirt, covered in shards of glass; three teenage boys with deep lacerations, ripped shirts, open stomaches, and drenched ball caps ; and one, headless, little toddler girl -- the stitched koala, seeming hanging on to her exposed, non-animated heart.
I set my phone down, I drop my head, and walk with my demons through the doorway I chose for myself.
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[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | "Nice desk what is this maple?"
"No, Pine. What is it that you remember dear?"
" Well if you're asking if I remember that I died of course I do. It was awful. If you ask me, do you know the chances of somebody dying like that, do you know how slim that is? Well I do. But you know what, not too bad I had a good run I'm 96 years old never lost my marbles and here I feel fit as a fiddle. I never believed in all this mystical stuff but now I'm here I realize that it's true. What did Nietzsche do? Oh I bet he s*** his pants! So that's screen behind you is that my tally? Yep, I could tell you that's pretty accurate I might have had thoughts but I never cheated. I really like how you have little lies and big lies broken down I think that's quite fair. I feel like I could get tired from patting myself on the back. Would you look at that? I have affected so many lives in a good way the charities . Who knew that tip would be so life-changing that I left that girl? Her name was Lydia. Look you're going to judge me buy those six people on the list. Like I said I was never religious okay, but I'm here now and I got to plead my case because I'm thinking that I don't want to spend eternity where it seems like I might spend eternity. It was my job, I had no choice, I had a family. Somehow I new I'd have to pay for this one day. I'm begging you look at all the good I've done, the life saving treatments I approved . At the time the treatment was considered alternative. Who knew it was a cure?"
"Well dear while I do appreciate you bringing these things to my attention you were given 96 years of life. Just as you had your bottom line we too have ours. The funny thing is we are not even as strict as people believe. We set everything up so that people could help people very simple don't you think? But alas this notion was too complex for some. Hence here we are. The treatment you denied others cured you. You lived sixty years longer with the treatment. Your penance is simple you will relive the lives of those you cut short. You will experience the despair of knowing there is help but not for you. The cycle will end once all of the people whom lives you are reliving are provided with the treatment . You see not eternity just until people like you decide that the bottom line should not be calculated disregarding the human factor . "
"Have mercy on me. "
"Sorry, not approved." | My eyes opened not to my usual bedroom surroundings but instead to a great marble temple, akin to the Acropolis. I walk around exploring my surroundings. I can hear footprints behind me, but I take no notice. I have always heard and seen people following me.
As I continue walking I see a golden gate spanning somewhere that I can only compare to the nicest country club I have ever seen. Inside I take notice of the perfectly manicured green grass. Surprisingly I smell microwave burritos, my favorite food.
"Climb the gate you ugly bastard." I hear. I look for who spoke it I see nobody. Whatever.
I get a headache. My face meets the hard marble floor and the last thing I seen before going down is a man pushing me. This isn't the first time this has happened.
My eyes open once again. Now I can see a line of people around a gate. Finally, I can get some questions answered. I approach the line and line up. There are others but they are not talking. As soon as I get there I get in line, and remain silent much like everybody else.
The man I've heard behind me is still behind me, and much to my surprise it is my life long friend Andrew.
"What's up Andrew, thank god I have somebody I know here with me!"
"Jimmy, do me a favor. Steal a car and drive it off a bridge. Do it. Don't think about it, Jim. Do it."
Typical Andrew I think. Always quite the jokester. His words echo through my head like they always do. After he is done speaking I hear his words over and over again, and begin to fantasize about grand theft auto. Andres words never cease to comfort me.
"Next" A soft voice says.
"NEXT" I hear once again. I snap out of my daydream and approach the front of the line.
"Where am I" I ask.
Andrew answers before this man does, saying "your moms fat ass."
The man pays no attention to Andrew. I do.
" James, you have died." The man says.
"That can't be, the last thing I remember is..is.. well I don't but I know I can't be dead."
"Well you are." He says.
"Jim, why don't you do me a favor and sit down." He says. I can't help but laugh and think of the many to catch a predator shows I have watched.
"What you are about to see may shock you, or it may not. Frankly I could care either way. I'm not paid enough to deal with this." He says sternly.
"Look at the screen Jim."
I look up. There are words listed, but they have no meaning at first. The longer I study them though, the more I alarmed I become. I feel my face getting hot, and a nervous sweat starts on my forehead.
"Time spent eating packaged ramen noodles- 452 minutes."
"Damn." I say " I hope you don't think I'm poor.. you know, all that rice"
"Jim. Look at the screen again. Are you that shocked about Ramen noodles?"
"Yes" I say.
"Jim, it says you've killed 6 people."
"It must be an error. There's no way."
"We have video footage of you doing it."
The screen changes. I see myself, at Andrews house. The funny thing about his house is that I will sometimes wake there, and have no recollection of getting there. Alcohol is one hell of a drug.
I watch. Nothing unusual. When suddenly I vanish from the shot. The tape has to be fast forwarded, but when it is I see Andrew walking in with a family. One by one he kills them. I knew Andrew had a dark sense of humor, but I never thought he was being serious.
"Andrew killed them. Not me" I said.
"James Isaac Nuetron" the voice says. You are Andrew, and John, and Sean, and Conner, and even Nathan."
"No." I insist.
" I am Jim. No more, and no less."
"Jim you are schizophrenic. You have been for he entirety of your life. When you were a child you did not do half of what you thought you did. Do you really think a normal boy is capable of creating a robot."
"I guess not. So what does this mean?" I ask.
"It means you can't enter these great pearly gates."
"Then does that mean.."
"Yes" he says. "It means you're going to New Jersey."
"What?" I ask.
"New Jersey" he laughs. " No, you are going to hell."
I see him pull a lever, and as my descent into the kingdom of evil begins the last thing I hear is him still laughing at his New Jersey joke.
-----
Sorry for mistakes I'm on mobile.
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[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | It was all a little much. One moment I'd been driving down the I-5, wind in my hair and tunes blasting, when suddenly there was a blinding white light. I blinked hard, shielding my eyes, but when I opened them again I was in what looked like an incredible sterile interrogation room.
"Welcome," a cool, disembodied female voice said. "Please read your orientation package and follow the instructions."
I looked around wildly, expecting something to pop out at me, but all I saw was a manila envelope on the table in front of me. I picked it up and tore it open, extracting the contents.
"Elaine Smith," I read aloud, "31, single, occupation 'really bored office temp'..." I trailed off, reading, and then I looked up at the ceiling. "Hey!" I shouted, "I am totally 5'6"!"
"Sure you are," the voice said, obviously thoroughly disinterested.
"Application for heaven: pending?" I read. "What do you mean, pending?"
"Please see page 6, under butterfly effect," the voice instructed. I flipped madly and read quietly to myself.
"December 23, 2014. Smith cuts in line at Macy's causing Debbie Meyers to walk into the cross walk 3 minutes later than planned, resulting in Meyers' death by hit and run... no, no, no, that's not my fault!" I threw the papers across the table. "No, I'm not, I mean, no, I me-"
I was cut off by a door opening to my right. A short, bald man walked in carrying a stack of papers. He gave me an appraising look and sat down across from me.
"Miss Smith, I am your claims adjuster," he said by way of introduction. "I'm here to assess the six deaths attributed to your time on earth, and whether you may want to carry on with your nefarious ways here in the afterlife."
I could only stare. Nefarious? I didn't even like stepping on ants!
"Now," he continued, flipping pages, "I am inclined to place the fault for the December 23 incident on the driver, as he was coming from a party and was inebriated. So while you may have directly placed her in harm's way, he was the one who mowed her down, so you are down to 5 people."
"Oh that's a relief," I said sarcastically, eyes bugging out. "Please, tell me about the others!"
"Melanie Wolfe, 39, September 15, 2012. You were texting at a light and didn't realize it had changed. She should have turned right behind you, but you didn't turn until the last moment, stranding her there. She took the delay as a sign to stop and get a drink from the 7-11 on the corner, and she walked into the middle of an armed robbery. Died of a single GSW to the chest." He looked at me. "Thoughts?"
My mouth opened and closed soundlessly. All I could muster was a shrug and a helpless look.
"I suppose the thief himself should be help completely at fault," the man mused. "But you do get one demerit for texting while driving." He made a small notation.
"Peter Schill and Kimberly Clark." He squinted at his notes. "Last week, at the pub...you bumped into Peter, Kim thought he was flirting and flew off the handle...hmm..." He opened another file and cross referenced something. "You have actually been cleared of this charge, as it was a combination of Peter's history of infidelities and Kim's low self-esteem and anger issues due to her mother." He made a swoop on the paper I could only assume was a check mark. "Those nasty murder/suicides are always so messy to clear up on this side. Well then. That leaves us with Dan Marks and Alan Watkins."
My brow furrowed. "But they're still alive, aren't they? I just saw them yesterday!" I started panicking. Were two of my best friends dead?
"They aren't dead yet," the man clarified. "However, you are being pre-credited with their deaths as they are both currently slotted to die of lung cancer in 2020 and 2025, respectively. It says you were the one who pressured them into trying cigarettes behind the high school in the 9th grade." His eyebrow arched. "How do you plead?"
My shoulders sagged. "So I'm going to hell because of something I did when I was 13?" I whispered. "Because I was a stupid kid who thought it was cool?"
"Our actions speak louder than words, Miss Smith," the man replied, pen poised above the papers. "So you have a choice. You can either hang out up here and wade through the paperwork with me, or...you can return to the scene of the grievous car accident you were just in, go through rehab, potentially regain your ability to walk, and convince your friends to quit smoking. They will still die of cancer, but you will be cleared of any fault in their deaths." He wiggled his pen. "Tick tock. You're about to be pronounced dead on the scene, so I suggest you make your decision quickly."
"Back! Back!" I essentially yelled at him. "Send me back!"
He smiled. "Sending you back," he said, and pressed a button beneath the table. "Just try to make sure you don't kill anyone else now, ok?" The room flickered and I felt myself being sucked downwards towards pain.
"Oh dear," I murmured blearily. "Was this the best idea?"
That smooth female voice rang through my head one last time as the jaws of life pried open my vehicle. "Good luck..." | My eyes opened not to my usual bedroom surroundings but instead to a great marble temple, akin to the Acropolis. I walk around exploring my surroundings. I can hear footprints behind me, but I take no notice. I have always heard and seen people following me.
As I continue walking I see a golden gate spanning somewhere that I can only compare to the nicest country club I have ever seen. Inside I take notice of the perfectly manicured green grass. Surprisingly I smell microwave burritos, my favorite food.
"Climb the gate you ugly bastard." I hear. I look for who spoke it I see nobody. Whatever.
I get a headache. My face meets the hard marble floor and the last thing I seen before going down is a man pushing me. This isn't the first time this has happened.
My eyes open once again. Now I can see a line of people around a gate. Finally, I can get some questions answered. I approach the line and line up. There are others but they are not talking. As soon as I get there I get in line, and remain silent much like everybody else.
The man I've heard behind me is still behind me, and much to my surprise it is my life long friend Andrew.
"What's up Andrew, thank god I have somebody I know here with me!"
"Jimmy, do me a favor. Steal a car and drive it off a bridge. Do it. Don't think about it, Jim. Do it."
Typical Andrew I think. Always quite the jokester. His words echo through my head like they always do. After he is done speaking I hear his words over and over again, and begin to fantasize about grand theft auto. Andres words never cease to comfort me.
"Next" A soft voice says.
"NEXT" I hear once again. I snap out of my daydream and approach the front of the line.
"Where am I" I ask.
Andrew answers before this man does, saying "your moms fat ass."
The man pays no attention to Andrew. I do.
" James, you have died." The man says.
"That can't be, the last thing I remember is..is.. well I don't but I know I can't be dead."
"Well you are." He says.
"Jim, why don't you do me a favor and sit down." He says. I can't help but laugh and think of the many to catch a predator shows I have watched.
"What you are about to see may shock you, or it may not. Frankly I could care either way. I'm not paid enough to deal with this." He says sternly.
"Look at the screen Jim."
I look up. There are words listed, but they have no meaning at first. The longer I study them though, the more I alarmed I become. I feel my face getting hot, and a nervous sweat starts on my forehead.
"Time spent eating packaged ramen noodles- 452 minutes."
"Damn." I say " I hope you don't think I'm poor.. you know, all that rice"
"Jim. Look at the screen again. Are you that shocked about Ramen noodles?"
"Yes" I say.
"Jim, it says you've killed 6 people."
"It must be an error. There's no way."
"We have video footage of you doing it."
The screen changes. I see myself, at Andrews house. The funny thing about his house is that I will sometimes wake there, and have no recollection of getting there. Alcohol is one hell of a drug.
I watch. Nothing unusual. When suddenly I vanish from the shot. The tape has to be fast forwarded, but when it is I see Andrew walking in with a family. One by one he kills them. I knew Andrew had a dark sense of humor, but I never thought he was being serious.
"Andrew killed them. Not me" I said.
"James Isaac Nuetron" the voice says. You are Andrew, and John, and Sean, and Conner, and even Nathan."
"No." I insist.
" I am Jim. No more, and no less."
"Jim you are schizophrenic. You have been for he entirety of your life. When you were a child you did not do half of what you thought you did. Do you really think a normal boy is capable of creating a robot."
"I guess not. So what does this mean?" I ask.
"It means you can't enter these great pearly gates."
"Then does that mean.."
"Yes" he says. "It means you're going to New Jersey."
"What?" I ask.
"New Jersey" he laughs. " No, you are going to hell."
I see him pull a lever, and as my descent into the kingdom of evil begins the last thing I hear is him still laughing at his New Jersey joke.
-----
Sorry for mistakes I'm on mobile.
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[WP] When a person dies and reaches the afterlife they can see their life's statistics which determine if they go to heaven or hell. Ex. How many people had crushes on them, how many swears etc. You die and find out you killed 6 people and have no recollection of it.. | "Hello Christopher," it said. The hood of its white cloak cast shadows over its face, but I had no doubt it was an angel.
"Am... am I dead?"
"Yes," he said gently.
"And I am in heaven?"
The angel shook its head. "I am sorry. But you are not."
"This doesn't *look* like Hell," I replied, as I took in my surroundings. The room was bright and white, and underfoot was a grand marble floor with rich, grey veins running through it.
"This is neither place. This is where you learn *why*."
"Why *what?*" I asked, puzzled.
"Why you are being punished."
I began to feel dizzy. "Punished? But I've lead a good life! I've been mostly kind and *never* committed serious crime! I'm a Christian and I've attended church since I was eighteen." I protested.
"You murdered six people, Christopher."
I laughed. Slowly at first, and then hard and full as the absurdity of the angel's claim washed over me.
"You have the wrong person! There's been a mix up. I'm Christopher *Clarke* - with an E."
"I know who you are."
"...well then, you know I'm innocent."
"Christopher, you were in a car crash when you were seventeen."
"I..."
He was right and I felt sick thinking about it. My friend Michelle had been driving. Sarah was in the front with her, and me and Mark in the back. Sarah had lost control, and the car had hit a couple who had a young child with them. I'd been the only survivor. It had taken me months to recover physically - even longer to remember any details. That terrible incident was the reason I'd converted - to pray for my friends, and the family that had lost their lives.
"Michelle had been driving. And it wasn't her fault! The car had-" I began, before it cut in.
"Michelle had *not* been driving."
"Of course she had been, I remember!"
"You belive she was, as that is what you were told."
That couldn't be true. I knew it couldn't. And yet something deep inside was trying to break its way out and find its way up to the surface. I began to wretch, but nothing came out. "W-what do you mean," I managed.
"They told you many details. Enough to make you believe it."
"No!"
"Yes. Your father worked for the police. He found you first. You'd been drinking."
"No," tears streamed down my face.
"Yes."
> Are you sure you're okay to drive?
> Oh my God , Michelle. I've barely touched a drop. Stop being a pussy, all of you, and get in.
> Christopher! You're on the wrong-
I fell to my knees as the memories returned. As they flooded over me like the fire of baptism. How could I... I was a *monster.*
"That wasn't me," I said. "That - that was a different me. A different life."
"So you deserve heaven?" the angel asked.
"No," I cried as I fell to the floor. "No." I felt empty, as if my being - my *self* - had been crushed into oblivion.
The angel smiled warmly. Softly. And then, suddenly, it began to laugh.
"...why?" I asked.
It pulled back its hood and revealed curled, red lips.
"Did you know Christopher," it began, "forgiveness can set you free."
"*What?* What do you mean?"
"That everyday you forget what you did, and everyday I have the *pleasure* of telling you all over again. Until... you are forgiven."
"By...by God?"
"By *yourself*."
"..."
"I have a feeling that I'm going to get to keep you for a long, *long* time," it said, as it licked its red lips.
---
Sorry for any mistakes, wrote it on my phone in a bit of a rush
Come check out more stories on /r/nickofnight | "Department of Statistical Measurement, Purgatory Division, may I know who's calling?"
*"Yes, this is Alan here, calling about-"*
"I'm sorry Alan, sir, you'll have to be more specific, we have tons of Alans coming coming into purgatory every day. What is your full name, date of birth and country of birth?"
*Sorry, my name's Alan Tan Jie Shen, date of birth 20 May 1960, born in Singapore."*
"Give me a second sir, as I try to find your records."
*"Alright."*
**Death metal music plays softly in the background.**
"Okay, Mr Alan, I have your records. Can I confirm your father's and mother's name please?"
*"Tan Bo Seng and Patricia Wong Siu Lee."*
"That is correct, Mr Alan. How can I be of service today?"
*"Yes, I would like to complain about the statistics that you've measured for my life. You say that I have killed six people before, but for as long as I lived, I never killed anyone. I don't recall any of it. And now you guys want to send me to hell?"*
"Hold on a second Mr Alan... yes according to our records, you have indeed killed six people before. We believe it's in a place called Numbani."
*"What? Where the hell is that? I have never left Singapore before my entire life! How could I go to a place such as Numbani?"*
"Ah, Mr Alan, we believe that particular place where Numbani is located is called Overwatch. That's where you made those kills. We even have records that you killed this woman called Mercy three times as well."
*"Wait a minute, you're referring to that stupid computer game that my son tried to make me play? That isn't even real?"*
"Mr Alan, are you a Christian?"
*"Yes I am, but I don't see what is the connection here to-"*
"What is commandment seven, Mr Alan?"
*"What the hell? Like I said, I don't see what's the need here to-"*
"What is the seventh commandment, Mr Alan?"
*"Oh my fucking God, I don't have the time for this. I demand to speak to your supervisor! This is all one sick joke, I don't deserve this stupid standard-"*
"The seventh commandment is 'Thou Shall Not Kill', Mr Alan. The commandment does not make exception. Thou shall not kill whether if it's in real life, in your fantasies or even in a game. So according to our records-"
*"Stop! Stop right there! I demand to speak to your manager! This is ridiculous, I am not going to go to hell just because of imaginary people I killed in a game!"*
"I'm sorry Mr Alan, but rules are rules. You yourself said this when you're alive. What the bible says is final and absolute. Games involved."
*"No! Where is your manager? Ask him to talk to me, right now!"*
"I am the manager, Mr Alan."
*"Right, and I am God himself. What is your damn freaking name?"*
"That is blasphemy, Mr Alan. My name is Simon Peter. I guard the gates."
*"..."*
"I'm sorry, Mr Alan, but given your records, you are doomed to hell."
*"No, this must be some mistake! Please!"*
"Goodbye Mr Alan, and thank you for calling."
**Death metal music begins to play again, as Alan's screaming voice is swallowed by the portal that opened beneath him.**
------------
/r/dori_tales | |
My husband requested I post this prompt. Make something beautiful. | [WP] ...And they made beautiful music together. | A bagpipe from Scotland was holding a drone,
The melody piercing, and playing alone.
For nobody else, not even the maid
Was willing to face such a sound that was made.
The cry of a battle,
The wail near the wall,
Was singing to no one,
To someone, to all.
Along came another who set up his stand,
Then played the plaintive accordion and
Then mingled and mangled the music 'til number,
But still thought of rhythms that might help the drummer.
The cry of a battle,
The wail near the wall,
Was singing to no one,
To someone, to all. | "Flint, what happens when Men die?"
Faith's question floated softly in the warm summer's air, hanging over the low crackling fire built before them. Their plates and cups had been washed and dried, the cook pot scoured with steel wool and sand. Above them shone all the countless stars in the clear sky, the great ethereal cloud known as in the tongue of Men as the Milky Way filling the night with a gentle light. There was no moon tonight.
Hilary Flint was wrapped up in his green cloak, his callused hands cradling his chin. Faith could see the scars on them, the thin white lines caused from cuts and slashes and the dull red burn marks. He raised a brow.
"Why? Curiosity's sake?"
His voice wasn't tired, nor was it annoyed. It was, Faith realized, the same tone her tutors and instructors used during her many years studying. Pointed, yet simultaneously compassionate. Faith shrugged, hopefully nonchalant.
"I suppose so," she replied. "I've known Humans before, some have lived in the castle town beneath my family's seat, but I've never been a Human funeral. There are books of course, but they don't..."
"Tell what goes on between the lines," said Flint. He rubbed a thumb against a week's worth of beard, the hairs scraping against the thumb's swordsman calluses. "It all depends. Do the Elves of Alathir have the same mortuary rituals as the Salamanders in the Ohio?"
Faith leaned back, fury flashing in her eyes. "Of course not! Those savages burn their parents and grandparents to ash! We're nothing like so half-civilized beasts."
Flint grinned. "The same goes for Men. Some cremate their dead, others burying them. A few groups left their remains for the carrion birds and beasts, though I'm fairly certain they're all gone by now."
"And your people, what do they do?" Faith asked, perhaps a tad too forward. She winced at her impropriety.
"Burial mostly. Though we'll settle for a funeral pyre if there's no time or the heat's too great. If they were a good person with many friends and family members, there's often a great celebration of the deceased's life where memories and stories are shared. Traitors and criminals, we usually bury in a unmarked grave, sometimes face down with a good view into Hell if they deserved it."
"And their souls?"
Flint's grin vanished as he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. A few strands were just beginning to turn gray, proof that even he was ultimately bound to time and its eternal wheel. His eyes, which were the color of slate or stormy seas, seemed almost sad to Faith.
"No one knows. Your Arrival opens up an uncomfortable amount of uncertainty in regards to that question. Some believe in a sole single afterlife where deeds both good and bad are weighed and judged. Others believe in reincarnation of the soul, to be reborn again and again. And to answer your inevitable question. No, I don't know what happens after I die."
"But if you could choose?" she asked. Somewhere in the darkness an owl hooted.
Flint said nothing for the longest moment, his eyes staring deep into the fire's flickering flames. He prodded the logs with a branch, and added a few more pieces of bark to the coals.
"There's a idle dream among us Rangers, more like a wish found at the bottom of a bottle than a true belief. Upon the moment of our death, everything we've suffered is erased and we go back to the day before the Arrival, our memories wiped clear of the past twenty years. And we move on. No Fae, no lost love ones. We start anew."
"But then... Everything you seen or done, loved or built would-"
"Have been for nothing? Perhaps. Is it worth losing twenty years worth of new families, of second-loves? Like I said, it's more a drunken lullaby than a true believer's dream. The younger generation, those born after the Arrival, this world is all they've ever known. Elves, Salamanders, Spriggans and the other Fae, they're as natural to the youths as the stars in the sky. But for those of the old breed, we lost something that day. We lost control of our own destiny."
He glanced down at his hands and all its scars.
"I used to love playing the guitar. I made music. Now? Now I don't play, the memories too painful to remind myself with. Once I lived for beauty. Now I live for vengeance and found it an empty, hollow thing. I dream about the days I made beautiful music. I dream about the day I might make it once again. I dream, because in his sleep even a pauper can be richer than a king." |
My husband requested I post this prompt. Make something beautiful. | [WP] ...And they made beautiful music together. | A bagpipe from Scotland was holding a drone,
The melody piercing, and playing alone.
For nobody else, not even the maid
Was willing to face such a sound that was made.
The cry of a battle,
The wail near the wall,
Was singing to no one,
To someone, to all.
Along came another who set up his stand,
Then played the plaintive accordion and
Then mingled and mangled the music 'til number,
But still thought of rhythms that might help the drummer.
The cry of a battle,
The wail near the wall,
Was singing to no one,
To someone, to all. | He heard her coming down the street as always, a beautiful voice that could probably coax the sun itself out of bed and the Devil to re-enter Heaven in search of the singer. She always sang or hummed to herself, her song lilting and spinning and dancing above the hustle and bustle on the sidewalk like a butterfly.
A pair of feet paused in front of him, and he smiled and tilted his head up. He couldn't see her, of course - Jason had been blind since birth- but she had to be there, brightening up his day as Ellie did every time they met up in front of the park.
"That you again, Ellie?"
"Of course!" There was a big grin in her tone. "Remember how you told me about the saxaphone you used to have? Guess what we got in today! Happy Birthday, or not-birthday, or...whatever you want to celebrate, Jason."
Something heavy and large was reverently placed into his hands, and Jason carefully traced over the countours of what he eventually figured out had to be a saxaphone case as he inspected the object his friend had placed into his lap. "Oh...no way! It's been years!" A wide smile danced its way to the furthest corners of his face as he cracked open the case and felt the cool steel of the instrument.
"My price is that you play for me!"
"Only if you'll sing as I play!" He grinned broadly and carefully orientated himself to the instrument in its case and then lifted it out, feeling it carefully and giving it a few test toots to see if he was holding it correctly. Seemed that old habits and muscle memory really did die hard- he could tell quickly that he was holding it correctly.
"What say we start easy? Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!" Ellie's tone was full of life and laughter. "Then we can try the fancy stuff."
Jason started playing the tune, the notes drifting into the lazy afternoon as passerby began to listen to the friends make beautiful music together. |
My husband requested I post this prompt. Make something beautiful. | [WP] ...And they made beautiful music together. | A bagpipe from Scotland was holding a drone,
The melody piercing, and playing alone.
For nobody else, not even the maid
Was willing to face such a sound that was made.
The cry of a battle,
The wail near the wall,
Was singing to no one,
To someone, to all.
Along came another who set up his stand,
Then played the plaintive accordion and
Then mingled and mangled the music 'til number,
But still thought of rhythms that might help the drummer.
The cry of a battle,
The wail near the wall,
Was singing to no one,
To someone, to all. | "I... I can't do this." Jonathan said as the music came to an abrupt stop. They have been practicing for hours, and he still struggled to get the beats right. He was beginning to think that it was just not something he could do. He was the least musically inclined out of the four people in the room.
Judy, the band's vocalist and leader, signaled to Mike and Trevor to leave the room. Both obliged, happy to catch a break. She then walked over to where Jonathan sat, behind the drum set. Her face was sympathetic, but it too betrayed a hint of frustration. "Look Jonathan, you know our band cannot function without a drummer."
Jonathan sighed. It was something that he knew, which was why he agreed to the gig in the first place, despite also knowing that he was nowhere near the skill level of the rest. No matter how much he tried, his hands and feet could never move the way he wanted them to. He could not respond as fast to the way the songs changed. He only agreed to play because he wanted to honour the memory of his brother, James.
"I think you guys should consider going acoustic," Jonathan muttered, staring at the cymbal. Who was he kidding? He was nothing like James. That was why James was the musician, and he the software programmer.
Judy kept quiet for the longest time. When she spoke, her eyes were misty. "But... James, we just can't our direction..."
Jonathan stood up and placed his hand on her shoulder. He smiled at Judy. Like him, she has not been taking his death easy. After all, the band was their brainchild. "It's okay. I'm sure James will understand. And I will help out in any other way that I can."
On the day of the performance, Jonathan stood at the podium, looking at the three of them. Judy stepped forward to the stage, dressed in a simple black dress. Both Mike and Trevor chose matching grey suits as well.
She placed her hands on the mic stand and exhaled. Thousands of eyes stared expectantly at her. They all knew about James too. Her eyes scanned the stadium, and spotted Jonathan. She smiled lightly. "As you all may know, today's performance will be a little different. For James, our beloved drummer, mascot and dear friend."
Judy raised her hands to Mike and Trevor, a gesture that she has always done before a performance. Jonathan smiled, almost seeing James with them. And they made beautiful music together.
----------------------
/r/dori_tales
|
[WP] Every god ever worshipped by humanity is/was real. a god gets more powerful the more followers they get, and dies when their last follower dies. You are Thor. | For centuries, I had been powerful.
For centuries, I had been respected.
For centuries, I had wielded Mjolnir against the frost giants, protecting Midgard from their snowy wrath. I had faced off against the most terrible of monsters. I had been the Terrible, the One Who Rides Alone, the Slayer of Giants, the Basher of Trolls.
Then the Viking age ended. My siblings and brothers-in-arms were unconcerned at first– Ragnarok had not yet come! Surely the age of the Aesir would not end so soon! Then they began to fade. The lesser ones were the first to go: a few minor Aesir, children of children of children of gods. Some suspected Loki, but the trickster was as baffled as the rest of us. In the feast hall of the slain, the revelries began to dim. The fallen warriors, the Einherjar, muttered amongst themselves. Who would be the next to go? Would an Aesir fall next? Who would it be? Then, one day, it happened.
Poor Tyr. He always got the short end of the stick. That nasty business with Fenris back then had never left him the same, and I mean more than in the form of a lost hand. Despite being such a popular god, his followers had dwindled rapidly, and one day hundreds of them were sent streaming into Valhalla. A raid gone wrong, or somesuch. However it had happened, the effects were great. In less than a year he had faded completely. But he was only the first Aesir to go– and he would not be the last.
Vidar, Vali, Frey, Freya, Tyr, Frig... none of them remained. Even my wife, the lovely Sif, was not exempt from the mass Aesir genocide. I remember her coming to me as her last followers fell, her golden hair fading as she faded away, even as I held her in my arms.
Only a few gods remain, and even less Aesir– Odin had never lost his followers; as a matter of fact, he had provided directly to their well-being. Well, not quite directly, but it was impossible not to notice that those who worshiped the All-Father, even in secret, tended to be more successful than the normal mortal. Loki, of course, still had his followers. Anyone who took part in trickery or deception gained his favor, and as such, he had thrived throughout the years, always coming back from what seemed like an impossible situation for him to survive. I almost envy the old liar– as long as men existed, trickery will never truly die.
Me, I've always had pockets of followers here and there. My favored were always strong, and able to survive. It's become more difficult to keep a following in today's world, but I must admit it's become easier since my likeness started becoming printed in those books, and shown in those moving picture things that mortals nowadays love so much. But even so, I know that won't last. My following continues to dwindle, and I can feel my power draining by the second. I need a plan for the future– and over the last few centuries, I've started looking into mortal technology, coming up with an idea. And it's a good one, one to put even Loki to shame.
As far as I can tell, my power comes from my followers.
It's time to open a Facebook account. | I sat in silence, the darkness brooding and comforting. I ran my fingers over the cold surface of the steel weapon clasped in my hand. I glanced at the empty beer bottle, empty ... not a drop left. ah well, not like I need to ever get another one anyway. I drank everything I had in my stock tonight. Why, you ask? Well, why not?
My thoughts turned from the beer bottle and towards my life.
For hundreds and hundreds of years, I was a proud warrior. I was known and respected. Mortals knew me, feared me, and worshipped me. The beginning of the end started a thousand years ago already, when I found myself stranded in this forsaken place, a place not meant for gods. It's just gotten worse over time.
Lol, time. What's the fucken point? What's the point of me being here, a nobody now, alone, forgotten?
I thought of my family. Such a long time ago. All gone. Even Loki, that bastard, I haven't heard from him in several decades now. My mind then turned, quite involuntarily, to my father. Shit. He probably won't even miss me.
I brought up the weapon, stuck the barrel in my mouth. *Fuck Wednesday*, I thought, and pulled the trigger. | |
[WP] A Neo-Nazi steals a time machine and travels back in time to give a history textbook to Hitler. Instead of winning the war, Germany suffers a crushing and almost-immediate defeat. | Sitting at his desk, Gruppenfuhrer Geisel pored over the plans brought by his ambitious assistant. Though the folder was still sealed, Geisel could see a slight crease where the younger man had tried to get a glimpse of what was inside. Though a Gruppenfuhrer’s word was enough to have an upstart young officer taken out back and shot, the older man took pity. During the Great War he had done much the same, and it had earned him the medal on his chest and his position behind the desk. Perhaps this young man might save his life, much like he had done twenty years prior. Discipline is important yes, but so is the opportunity to learn and grow.
Splitting the sealed wax with the Reich’s insignia on it, Geisel opened the folder and slid out the small stack of papers concealed within it. With a cursory glance around the room for prying eyes, he removed the blank front sheet to reveal what lie below it.
It had been a year since Codename: Der Seidman had visited the Fuhrer. He was a mysterious outsider that Geisel did get more than a glance of, and yet as of that visit the Fuhrer had been a changed man. Whispers among the enlisted echoed about the visitor’s accent- clearly American, but none could pinpoint from where. The man wore proletarian clothes - American jeans and a jacket with patches- prominently displaying the swastika as a banner on his back. He was completely bald on his head like the monks of the Orient, but was branded by ink of the savages in Africa. Most strikingly was the Iron Cross on the back of the man’s neck - Geisel glanced down at the polished one hanging from his chest, and thought of the men who died so he could earn it. Though the Fuhrer and other ranking members of the Reich trusted the man, Geisel did not. It was an insult enough that the man was American, but to desecrate such an honor by inking into his skin was an unbearable insult. Not all members of the Reich had such vivid memories of the previous war, or its terrible costs, but Geisel would never forget.
Turning back to his stack of papers, Geisel stared at the full seal of the Reichschancellor. He knew what the papers contained; he helped design the battle strategy. What he did not know is why, and he dare not ask. He was a respected officer of the SS, but only that. He was not a confidant of a ranking member, he was the bureaucrat who turned policy into action. And that was his duty, no matter how much his personal opinion differed from that of his leaders. With a sigh and a draught of the lukewarm cup of tea on his desk, he pondered the connection between the operation he had worked so hard on for a year and who this mysterious visitor could be. His orders came but a week after the outsider had vanished from the Reichstag. As though from a source as credible as the SS-Waffen themselves, he had done his best to prepare. A month before his deadline, he had submitted his committee’s proposals to the Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer. This was their response.
Glancing over the papers in front of him, he began to see the edits. Immediately he recognized Goebbel’s handwriting. Next to it was shaky print, but clearly the signature of the Fuhrer himself. Hitler himself had reviewed and approved these battle plans. This caused Geisel’s heart to sink into his stomach. He had hoped that the bureaucratic red tape would reject his plan - he had hoped to delay or postpone its goals inevitably.
“What did Der Seidman say?” said Geisel to himself out loud. How could the greatest war machine in human history be so derailed by the actions of one eccentric, or worse, by one spy? How could the most brilliant military minds in the world be swayed so by a man who disgraces the honor of the Wehrmacht?
The plan was mostly intact. The Fuhrer did not go so far as to praise Geisel for the strategy, but Hitler’s approval was more praise than the Gruppenfuhrer felt he deserved. He knew he had been given an impossible task. He was expected to develop an invasion plan without reliable intelligence from any trustworthy source. However, as he reached the very last page, he noticed it was different. The paper was glossy, colorful, and illustrated. Taking up the third middle of the page was clearly a black-and-white image of the Reichstag. However, the image was not right. Panic arose in Geisel as the image washed over him. There was no eagle standard, holding the swastika of the National Socialist party high over the immortal streets of Berlin. This was an image of a shattered Berlin, and flying above the Reichstag was the flag of the Soviet Union. The caption below it, in English, read, “Soviet soldiers fly flag of Soviet Union over Reichstag.”
Suddenly he knew that this sheet of paper was determining the course of the German people. This sheet of paper, this image, was what people knew.
A knock at the door.
“Ja?” he responded, choking.
“Gruppenfuhrer,” said his assistant on the other side, “Der Fuhrer and the Oberst-Gruppenfuhrer are on their way.”
A moment later the door opened suddenly and without warning. Gruppenfuhrer Geisel jumped to attention at his desk, saluted, and stood still. He felt the sweat on his brow betray him, and the nerves in his face display the fear he felt. “Heil Hitler!” He shouted with all the patriotism he could muster.
After an eternity in silence, the Fuhrer spoke, “Gruppenfuhrer, is Operation Barbarossa ready?”
Sealing his own fate to the outcome, Geisel said as strongly as his fear would allow, “Yes, mein Fuhrer. We invade Russia on your command.”
| Stealing the time machine was the easy part.
I look up at my fellow comrades, “Heil Hitler.” I nod my head and immediately I am blinded by a white light. Memories begin to flood.
I remember my briefing before I left. This was my first memory. I was to arrive, find clothes, food and paper and I was to write. Write for months. Everything. I was given an exact moment, I was to meet Hitler and I was to give him all my work. This had to happen before he became dictator otherwise it would have been near impossible. March 30, 1930. That’s the date. That’s when I was to drop in.
My training. I’ve spent years learning to speak German and getting the exact dialect down. I see myself day after day for 5 years speaking German with my tutor.
It wasn’t easy you know, keeping a secret from him. He was a bit confused when I explained to him I wanted to learn exactly how Germans spoke in 1930s. I remember how he looked when I asked him. Priceless. Figured I might have been crazy or something. Doesn’t matter anyway, Germany will win and we will be victorious and our future will be changed forever.
Memories kept coming back. They told me this might happen. It seemed like days, weeks maybe. I don’t know. I remember memorizing history books verbatim with maps and everything. Everything I could cram into my brain, I did. Man, those books were boring.
They told me that I wouldn’t be able to take anything. I had to be completely naked. So I had to memorize.
More memories. I remember when my father died. I was only 13. I didn’t see it happen, but I’m told he died with honor. I remember seeing his body, bullet holes, we burned him. Swastikas were flying high that night.
My father was a Nazi. It’s all I ever knew. My mother was never there. She died when I was too young to remember, but I can remember the meetings and how they talked about how our world would end soon. The wrong race is in power, they said. The apocalypse was near. I can remember how scared I was. Every night, I would go to sleep fearing the sun would never rise and that I would never wake up.
I promised my father, one day that I would make this right. If I could I would go back in time and make sure Germany won. He laughed. I wanted to prove him wrong so badly. This is you for you father.
Earlier memories flooded my brain. I was never allowed to leave the house. I learned everything about how whites were strong and everyone else was weak. Everyone else was a disease and like all diseases they had to be eradicated.
How long have I been in here? It seemed like years. I had almost forgotten what I came to do. The memories, the emotions, they were all here. I had to stay strong, “Heil Hitler.” That was my motto. I was going to see him after all. BAM!
Nothing, dark. What’s this?
Next thing you know, I’m on the ground. Why is the ground moving? Man it’s wet. Why am I wet? Damn it, I’m not on the ground, I’m floating. Where am I? Ah, the Spree River. It’s all coming back to me. Did I make it? Am I here? Wow did this really work?
I start swimming for the shore. I was so excited. Father, I did it. Nazi’s will rule the earth.
(First time trying this, will write a part 2 later tonight. Go easy.)
| |
[WP] It's been 5 years since the Curiosity Rover landed. Today, it uncovers it's biggest discovery. A mass grave. | Thirteen minutes, forty-eight seconds. That's how long it takes for a signal to travel the black of space and reach Earth from Mars. Coincidentally that is all the time that is need to change the world.
Back in 2012 Curiosity landed on Mars. NASA had many hopes for the rover, and it far exceed them all. More and more was learned for us, and showed us the barren red planet. One year ago the rover's next target was picked, a large flat area with an odd out cropping of rocks. May had speculated why the rocks looked to be so evenly spaced, some suggested that it could have been debris of some kind. Other had joked the face of Mars had put them there.
So the day came. Following a path that had been set for it Curiosity came to a stop and flipped up its camera and held. The images that came back were, at first confusing. The scientists gathered around the view screen in the command center. One hundred reddish gray stones sat evenly spaced. Some of the stones had started to tilt to one side or the other but the intent was clear. As the camera pans the scientists also note the ground in front of the stones was slightly mounded.
To get a better look at the stones they tell the rover to move up. Thirteen minutes, forty-eight seconds they get their wish. Zooming in the stones have been nearly rubbed smooth over time. But clearly what is on them brings a hush to the room. On the screen before them they can see ancient hieroglyphics craved deep into the stone.
For what seemed an eternity passes and the only sound is that of the hum of computers then two words are spoke by the Flight Director.
"Lock the Doors."
| The Curiosity Rover continued its slow drive across the rocky, red surface of Mars. The Rover was approaching the edge of a cliff, possibly a mountain. The control back at NASA wouldn't know until they reached it. "Approaching cliff edge now," said the controller. After a few seconds, he reached it. But, instead of finding a plateau of rock and sand, he found something horrible. "What the..." The controller used the camera's zoom function to look closer. Hundreds of..t. headstones?! "Jesus..." said the controller, tapping into his personal headset, "NASA control, I've just received visual of... something on Mars. Looks like headstones. Graves." "What?!" said the man on the other end of the signal. "Oh, shit." the man continued after a few seconds, "You're right." | |
[WP] "What is it like to remember?" | What's it like to remember?
The old man sitting on the wooden floor, he raised his head and looked at the boy
his eyes were full of sadness
he was broken and alone
he doesn't even know how the child found him in this abandoned attic
why did this kid enter a place with broken windows, destroyed furniture, and cobwebs in every corner
he didn't think
all he did was talk and answer questions
and while he talked all he did was stare at the ground and fiddle with something in his pocket
but he stopped
he looked up
he took his hand out of his pocket
"What's it like to remember?"
these five words that rushed in his head made him stop to think
the question was simple
he could answer it with nothing but a single word
but will it be true and is this what i really feel, he thought to himself
"it's complicated" he answered while staring at the boy
the boy smiled
"I'll understand you, it's OK"
the man groaned
"fine, Have it your way"
he sighed and took a breath as he stared at the ceiling
"memories are a complex concept my boy, they aren't physical but they hold a space that's bigger than anything will ever be"
he moved his gaze down and looked at the dress hanging behind the boy
"remembering, is when you recollect a past experience and try to relive it in your head, but at what cost, you are not where your thoughts are and your mind leaves your soul stranded when those memories decide to wrap your conscious"
"you take a small dip into the pool of memories in order to calm your senses, only to find that you drowned in the sorrows of the past and lost your control in the raging sea you thought of as a pool"
"your mind screams as you get thrown around in the storm, you have nothing to grab on except your sanity, but at this point it's long gone "
The man stopped speaking
his eyes rolled down from the dress
beneath the dress a pair of high heels were resting
although they were covered in dust, their bright red colour shined more than anything in the room
"and then what happens" the boy asked as he sat down to face the man
" then you are gone forever in your made up happiness, although the memories are nice and warm, but the after taste is cold and rough, you are thrown around in a storm that has no sign of calming down, and those are the memories you love, remembering your sad memories is a much worse experience"
the man sniffled and moved his line of sight to meet the boy's eyes
"the memories that you share with others are the best there kind there is and nothing could ever compare to them, no amount of riches could be ever compared to the over flowing joy someone feels when they are surrounded by love"
"but see my boy, once you are alone with nothing but these memories, that's where it gets you"
"All those wonderful moments that you will never be able to live again hurt you more than you can imagine"
The man couldn't stop the tear from rolling down his cheeks
"when you are sad and alone with no one to pull you away from that sea of yours you realize that this is worst you've ever been and that nothing can fix you, there is no life saving boat, there are no saviors, and there is no getting out"
the tears dropped down from his chin where they gathered
his shaking chin let them fall to the ground
he could not stop
he could not resist
his chest pounds
his face wrinkles
his heart aches
and his soul cries with him
it was time to let his emotions flow
he can't and he shouldn't keep this in
this is the time for that weight on his chest to drop
he wrapped his face with his hands as he cried
the boy put his hands on the old man's shoulders
they felt comforting
just what he needed at that moment
"need I continue" the old man whispered
"No" the boy replied
"but you are forgetting the most important parts"
"what are they" the man asked with a low voice
"The fact that you lived those memories"
The man sniffled loudly after he stopped crying, he released his face from the clutches of his hands, his watery eyes looked at the boy with hope
the boy smiled
" you have lived those wonderful moments and nothing could ever change that, you have experienced those overwhelming bursts of joy and you have embraced those moments"
" the fact that you went too deep in thought about them only shows how much you love remembering them, you love them so much that you were able to relive them in your head"
" you are not lost in the sea, you're in a knee deep lake, you're just crouching down and putting your head in the water to fool yourself"
"you are not lost, just confused and scared, stand up and look at the lake, stop crouching down with your agony and learn to appreciate what's gone, appreciate it because it was there"
the man's eyes lit with a glitter of hope
he did not know what to say
he put his hand into his pocket and took out a small metal object
*click*
the pocket watch opened with an audible sound to reveal the picture of a smiling woman
the rhythm of the man's heart beat changed
he was a little calmer
" i still have the memories i remember , and I'll never forget them no matter what happens "
a genuine smile drew it self on his face
" I know what you are " he said to the boy
" i could say much more, but i don't need to ,thank you for doing this"
the boy extended his arm towards the man and smiled
" you're welcome , you deserve to be happy and calm, and the fact that you know me will make this much easier for both of us"
the man took the hand of the boy into his and asked with a smile
" Will i see her there "
" most likely " was the answer he heard
" I'm ready, there couldn't be a better way for me"
the boy pulled on the man's hand gently
the man's body gently fell into it's resting position
the smile on his face made him look 10 years younger
he looked exactly the same he looks when he is sleeping
he was happy
his heart was at ease
he is at rest. | The squire knelt down on her knees and looked up, ignoring the cold spike of the pouring rain running trembling fingers down her cheeks. Icy cold, she shook slightly, despite the heavy armored jacket straddling her too small shoulders, sleeves swallowing hands. It felt heavier than it should. Perhaps the noble crests and insignia carried more unearthly weight than just that dictated by Lenra on high.
The squire thought she might see Lenra now, peering down with her dress as bright as the moon.
"...Tynor." The squire asked, looking over at her knightmaster. A shock of white hair cascading down from his hair, wrinkled and ill kept, ratty with rain water and the debris of a proper day's journey. The rest was sealed in armor. There was hardly any point in wearing a helmet in this weather, and both of them were freezing.
Tynor just didn't show it. Muse tried her best not to.
"Muse." Tynor said, looking down at her. His too sharp teeth gleamed as he thought it over, mouth slightly open.
Muse looked away.
"Are you sure you want the answer to that?"
No sword gleamed on his back, but his angular face felt sharper than an unarmed person might. The slight gleam of magic dripped from his finger tips as he thought about it. Muse watched this from the corner of his eyes, watched the patterns as he bled off into the environment.
Muse's own flicker of healing magic didn't do much against the rain. Not that it should.
"Might as well." Muse said, standing up. "We need something to do."
Tynor pursed his lips and shook his head. "It's not easy to talk about."
Muse gave him a look. Both soaked to the bone, his blue eyes rested on her yellow eyes for just a moment, and then he started to walk away.
She could barely hear her sigh as she caught up to Tynor.
"Mm... To Remember..." Tynor started. "You remember yesterday, yes Muse?"
"Of course I do." Muse said.
"And you can remember the day before that, and the day before that." Tynor stated, stepping beside her.
"Yes yes, get to it."
"Don't rush me."
"Sorry." She apologized, they both knew she didn't mean a word.
Tynor gestured up towards the moon, perpetually visible despite the storm. "Lenra can see everything under her glow, but Auryn has no eyes."
"Justice really is blind?" Muse asked, cocking her head to the side.
Ignoring her interruption, Tynor continued. "So she looks through the eyes of her chosen champions. She sees you right now, Muse."
Muse hoped she didn't look like too much of a mess, but considering her hair was perpetually seconds from falling into her face, and the rest of it slid uneasily against her neck and armored jacket, she knew she was nothing special.
"And how is this like Remembering?"
"She can't tell the difference between Champions. Sometimes, I can remember something from centuries ago, like it's rolling across my tongue as a burning ember and any moment from now I should start crying. Blades piercing through armor. Cities burning. Things from centuries ago. Things in the future. Things that..." Tynor stopped, and looked at the squire.
"Muse, do you remember the first time you killed?"
Muse did remember, and it was still too soon for her mind to slide easily past it. It flashed across her eyes like a cannonball, killing everything else for a solid moment. Knotting up her chest. Sealing her veins with glue.
Tynor carefully touched her on the shoulder.
"Auren remembers every one of her champions. Each of their memories. All the ones that really matter, the ones that stick. The ones that play behind your eyes when you're trying to sleep. The ones that kick you in the chest, bring tears to your eyes. The ones that make you who you are. They all play out separately, and war with each other. Dozens of eras. Things from other worlds."
Muse nodded slowly.
"I just pray you won't need to carry this burden too."
The red star of the wargod gleamed overhead, and down at the Azure knight in the arena, staring at a little girl coated in blood.
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ If you'd like more of things like this.
A somewhat continuation from a prompt written by XcessiveSmash, which can be found here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6e84zk/wp_after_defeating_countless_villains_monsters/
| |
[WP] The Grim Reaper appears one day to spirit you to the afterlife, and exclaims, "Ah crap, not you again." | "Ah, crap. Not you again," the Grim Reaper said, staring at me, dismayed. He (I assume it was a he) stuck his scythe into the ground and rummaged around in his robe, pulling out a scroll and using some sort of bone pen to make a note.
He joined me as I stood, staring at my body.
"Come on, kid," he said, grabbing my arm. "Let's get you checked in before business picks up."
"Ow ow ow," I cried as his bony fingers cut into my arm. "Lighten up, will you?"
"Not a chance, you pain in my bony white ass," the Grim Reaper said. "Every time you reincarnate and die, you try to avoid going back to judgment and you soul hop from body to body and I end up having to reap them just to get you."
"It can't have been that bad," I protest.
"Oh really?" He said, dragging me with him. "The last time I had to reap 6 million Jews. The time before that, I ended up killing over half of Europe with a plague. Do you have ANY idea how long it takes to drag 6 million people to judgment? Do you?"
"Um," I offered.
"No, of course you don't," the Reaper muttered. "Three fricking years of overtime just because you can't even....." | "What?" I asked, feeling scared but also insulted.
The Grim Reaper lets out a sigh, and face palmed for a minute before looking back up, "I swear to God if this is another clerical mistake, I will kill Jeffrey." He said, his jaw only going up and down but somehow still managing to speak.
"Jeffrey? Who- what's going on here? Give me some answers" I asked, feeling impatient.
"You're supposed to be immortal, I checked. God fucking dammit Jeffrey." He cursed, reaching into his pocket.
"Hey- hey! Don't do anything silly now alright. Jus- Just stay away!!" I shouted. I was sweating and my legs were wobbling, fearing what he was going to do.
"I'm reaching for my phone, keep it down." He said calmly. He pulled out a iPhone 7S, "Jeffrey? Yeah it's Grim here. Why am I at HIS place again?.. No.. not god. HIM.... YES, the immortal.. What?.. alright, I'll talk to him." He put his phone back into his pocket and turn back to me.
"Alright buddy, we need to talk." He stared into me with his empty eye sockets. Despite not having eyes, I could feel his just staring through me.
"I'm immortal?" I asked, smiling palely.
He nodded his head, "Yes.. and No."
"What do you mean?"
"Your dates keep appearing and disappearing, constantly changing"
"Hey, I'm trying to commit okay, it's them that-"
"Not that date, your death date."
"Oh."
"Any idea why, immortal?"
"Maybe it's the cancer"
"You have been a chain smoker."
"Maybe Jeffrey was right then.."
"Maybe he was."
| |
[WP] You play a game of yhatzee against the devil if you win you live forever. If you lose your body will gradually turn into garlic mashed potatoes untill you are 100% garlic mashed potatoes. | Notes to self: one, Sam am allergic to parsley don't add it to Sunday dinner; two, Sam's father is the devil; three, start going to church the devil is real; four, buy a new pan the no stick is gone; five, the devil gets mad if you call him Luci; and finally don't feed the devil garlic mash potatoes.
"In the the name of all that is dank, deplorable, and evil and for the sake of dad what the home sweet home is that!"
"Um... Mash" I replied weakly, and characteristically
"You dare sully the name of mash with such filth!" It was clear from the bored expression on Sam's face this was not the first time her dar had done this. "Under chapter 4 of the Bill and Ted amendment to the Hell constitution I challenge thee to a competition of wits, if you win you will be granted eternal life and the hand of my daughter"
"Ahem"
"If she agrees of course, bring me your chessboard"
I, not owning a chessboard on account of it being 2017 stared blankly at the devil.
"Did I say it wrong" he muttered to Sam losing the force from his voice.
"I, um, don't have a chessboard... Sir, should I c-"
"Then bring your go board"
"Sorry"
"Monopoly?"
"Nope"
"Twister?"
"No"
"Candy land?!"
"Does a 6 year old live here?"
"What game of skill... Or candy land, do you possess?"
"Greg bought me yhatzee for Christmas"
"Then we shall play yhatzee for your life, but if you lose you will suffer for the rest of time as sentient garlic mash eaten by tasteless four year olds"
"Do I have a choice"
"I'm the devil, take a guess"...
*I will continue this later* | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/evenwithcontext] [\[WP\] You play a game of yhatzee against the devil if you win you live forever. If you lose your body will gradually turn into garlic mashed potatoes until you are 100% mashed potatoes.](https://np.reddit.com/r/evenwithcontext/comments/6giesz/wp_you_play_a_game_of_yhatzee_against_the_devil/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
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[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | *crash*
Ugh more adventurers, valdo got up from his grand table with excellently placed half burnt candles. Sets the mood, his Chandler says, he set his fork down next to the delicate flan, extra evil, his cook says. He strode through the dark castle, the torches placed just ever so slightly too far from on another to create a comfortable amount of light, creates ambience, his head architect had told him. He got to the front door of the castle where the adventurers we're futilely banging what amounted to a twig against the pitch stained wood of the front door, the Royal carpenter said he salvaged it from Hades itself.
Valdo snuffed out the candles and the front foyer was pitch black save for a stained glass window a solid four feet above the already 12 foot door. He snapped his fingers and hidden behind a curtain a servant in a hangman's facemask pulled the ropes that would cleverly open the front door seemingly on it's own. With a carefully aimed mirror his entire body save for his feet and his teeth could be seen. "To whom do I owe the pleasure" he said from the shadows.
The adventurers stopped for a second, the burly warrior dropped the front of the sapling as the dwarf and rogue bent double trying to keep hold of it. "It is I, hamcrusher the mighty I have come to slay the evil tyrant of this land!" He stepped forward but valdo snapped his fingers and a crossbow bolts lodged itself into the warriors leg.
"I rather think you will kneel to me instead." Valdo said, he knew he looked like a badass and he quietly told himself so. "Ah princess xerxi, back again are you?"
"Again?" The dwarf said as the princess stepped forward "indeed I am, I will kill you and take back the kin-" valdo cut her off and finished what she was going to say in a mock tone "-gdom that you stole from my father before he could rightfully name me as heir." He stepped further into the light "yes you've told me this all before but I must ask your companions here what story have you told them?"
The companions visibly shocked by the candor of valdo continued to watch entranced by the drama that was unfolding. "Let me guess, she's weaved some terrible story about how evil I am and how I live to put down the peasantry with bizantine laws and extortionate taxes. She's probably told you that I murdered her father, and that I've stolen the kingdom from her, and it's her rightful place to be ruler over this land. And by the look of things I'm assuming that she's told each and every one of you that should she succeed why being a queen she would need a king in short order. No doubt saying this as she laid with you in a field somewhere declaring that you were the one she loved tru-" but the dwarf cut him off "but she does love me" he bellowed.
Shocked by the sudden Revelation the ranger said "I thought you were only going to be with me!" He roared at the princess hot tears streaming down his cheeks. The princess realizing what she was caught in tried to persuade him by saying "you are the only one Robert!" The warrior in between pained groans said "but that's what you told me" as he tried to stand again but fell over in pain. "I quit" the ranger yelled and turned on his heels as he left. "2 down 1 more to go. Tell me dwarf did you notice anything odd about the people as you came in?" Hot headed and holding back the tears of betrayal the dwarf stifled a sob and started to say "now that you mention-"
"They are quite well fed, which seems odd no doubt seeing as you were told they weren't allowed to eat. They're also quite well clothed as you can no doubt see, better even than your little gang of rabble, which shouldn't be possible if in fact I am taking all of their money in taxes. You might also find that they haven't really been all too receptive of you lot, that's because I am smart enough to properly educate them." Visibly shaking with anger the dwarf seething and grinding his teeth looked at the princess with red in his eyes. "It's not true shutup" the princess screamed. "But I can promise you that's a fair lot better than it was when I obtained this land." "Shutup." The princess muttered under her breath
"The young princess here lived a life in luxury, with a silver spoon in her mouth at all times. Her and her father's past time was to literally order the peasantry to lay in the mud to make a bridge that their clothes wouldn't get dirty." "Shutup shutup shutup" the princess continued to mutter.
"He taxed them 50 percent of anything produced in the year and then complained that the coffers were empty. And most importantly we cannot forget that when famine struck these lands 10 years ago the king was the only man in 500 miles with 3 square meals a day." The princess continued to rise in volume as she continued to chant for silence. The warrior said "I'm still bleeding, I'm feeling rather light headed."
"I did not kill the king you see, though I did cut into his corpse to find what did, he died of heart disease. as for the young princess here I will admit I threw her out as quickly as I could because within a month of her reign the kingdom's population had dwindled down to a smittance of what it once was. After all when dear old daddy passed it was her desire to lay wi-"
"shutup!" The princess finally screamed "you ruined everything! The kingdom was supposed to be mine dammit! Now look at me wearing these filthy rags because of you!" Heaving and out of breath from the shouting she stood there the anger in her face contorting the structure into a terrifying rictus that valdo could only hope to achieve. But then the dwarf, marginally more quietly said "I gave you those clothes, they belonged to my mam before she died!" He raised his ax ready to cleave the princess in two but valdo said "wait!" And the dwarf froze looking quite a bit disheveled.
"She's already lost this time, let her go, you're a dwarf right? How would you like to be the new royal blacksmith?" Ever the one to recognize a good gig when he saw one the dwarf's face relaxed, his complexion cleared and he sniffed his nose saying, "aye, that'd be nice, and I can fix you a rather spiffy spiked fence." The dwarf lowered his ax as the princess screamed and ran back down the path in anger and horror. "It'll go well with the decor." The dwarf said as he followed Valdo into his castle. the door closing shut on impeccably designed hinges that creak as loudly as possible, but not too much.
Much later the warrior muffled by his cheek to the floor said "guys? I'm still here." | It was a typical Monday and I wanted to "Devastate" my populace as usual. I rode into a nearby town with my royal guard. Upon arrival I had my knights round up the common folk, and I looked for the poorest and loneliest among them. I had them kidnapped by force in front of the rest of the people of the village, in order to strike fear into their hearts. Once we returned to the castle I had a small group of my most trusted men throw the captives into the dungeon. However this was no ordinary dungeon, inside, there was a portal to a beautiful and plentiful tropical island where those people could live the rest of their days in happiness and harmony. As far as the rest of the world was concerned though, those who I'd kidnapped were gone, never to be seen again. | |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | Ahhh. The perks of being a Dark Lord. Well, Lady, in Ashara's case. After a long day of politicking, it was nice to be able to just sit up here in her solar with a book and nice glass of wine.
And then she heard the panicked, running footsteps. She sighed, carefully marked her page in the book, and set it down carefully on the table.
"My Lady!" Tefren was small for his age, but fast, and that was all that mattered. "Lords Rowan and Ash are on their way to the castle right now! They say that there's a "grave matter of honour" that must be judged by you. Tonight!"
Ashara scowled. And she had JUST gotten comfortable! Drat these men and their piddling problems.
She eyes Tefren darkly. "You know what to do."
Tefren bobbed his head once in acquiescence, then sped to the drawers at the back of the study.
Ashara's scowl faded as her matronly maidservant, Agnes, poked her head into the room. "Will you be wearing the blue tonight, my Lady?"
"With the purple amethysts and cloak, yes. Send Sara with the paints and powders as soon as she is able."
Tefren, bless the boy, had already replaced all the ordinary candles in the room with treated ones that would burn with an eerie, crackling blue flame. It was a windy night, and opening the shutters let in a pleasantly ominous keening sound.
Then came time to change. For some reason, Dark Ladies were supposed to favour painfully restrictive corsets. While fun at first, Ashara was just starting to feel a little ridiculous. Agnes laughed at the look on her mistress's face as she finished lacing her in. "All the better to distract them with your feminine wiles, my Lady."
"They'd better, I'm falling out of this top," Ashara grumbled, as Sara set to her makeup. Dark eyes, dark lips.
As Agnes settled the long robe over her shoulders, Ashara glanced at herself in the polished silver behind her. Hmm. For some reason Dark Ladies never went out of style.
"Well! I guess we're ready then. Send them in." | "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | *Be loved by a few but be feared by the many.* This is the maxim that had preserved the Mitgard rule for generations. To build an inner circle of the most powerful lords by fostering their love for you while inspiring fear in the many who follow.
A heavy silence smothers the crowd as their tyrant king descends on the square. Only one meets my gaze, Lord Ryke gives me a quick wink before taking on the mask of a subdued servant. Thirteen years prior, after a swarm of locusts brought famine upon the land. Lord Ryke, took the reigns of a fostering rebellions which wasn't content with the daily rations allowed for their families. A rebellion which was swiftly put to an end after the massacre of the iron hills.
Of course, there was no actual massacre. The soldiers which made up the personal fighting force of Lord Ryke were all transferred individually to far outposts that surround the borders of the kingdom. Each thinking themselves fortunate survivors who narrowly avoided the tragic battle. The only ones who died in the iron hills were the ring leaders who sowed discord from the start.
Today is a much smaller scheme but still a necessary reminder. I look down at the poet who dared recite verses in public which defame my name. He stares back in defiance. This, can not be allowed.
"Darik of Tynos," My voice booms across the square. "You are guilty of spreading treasonous lies and insulting the honor of me, your monarch. How do you plead?"
There is no hesitation in the man. "I plead guilty. Guilty for speaking the truth. I'd rather die with freedom than live without."
Looks of horror spread throughout the crowd but a few nod with approval. A few who will be remembered by my spies watching the crowd. I do not give any reaction to the bold mans words. Instead, I simply snap my fingers ordering my guards to bring forth the boy.
The poets eyes go wide with shock as they recognize the boy. "Sire!" He shouts in desperation. "My son has nothing to do with this! He is only a boy, please show mercy!"
How fast a man's determination will fade when his loved ones are threatened I muse. I continue to stare down in silence as the poet grovels at my feet. Finally, I offer the ultimatum.
"Mercy?" I ask with a blank expression as if this was the first time I had heard the word. "I thought you wanted freedom? Very well, I will give you both!" The crowd looks on confused, they were not expecting this. "I will give you the freedom to be merciful." I pause for dramatic effect then sweep my hand in a grand gesture to the horses nearby. "Either watch your son be dragged to death or both of you drink this vial of poison." I proclaim as I set the vial on the ground before him.
"No!" The man yells in a horrified voice. "Please you can't do this! I will do anything but please spare my son!"
After letting the man grovel and beg for another minute, I decide his time is up. "So you do not wish to choose mercy?" I ask. "Very well, tie the lad up. Let's be done with this."
"Wait!" The man yells in desperation. "I will drink the poison!"
I pause, considering whether to allow this. It is necessary to remind all of the power I have over them. "I will allow it." I say as I motion for the guards to release the boy.
The man's face is streaked with tears as he approaches his son, vial in hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He repeats as he forces half the vial down the frightened boys throat before downing the rest of it's contents himself.
For a moment, all is still. Then the two drop to the ground and convulse in agony before finally dying. There is anger in the crowd, but fear is the stronger. Those gathered have decent enough lives. As good as any king could provide for his people. They will not risk their own families for a stranger.
Later that night I sit in my study as I hear a knock at my door. A man and a boy enter. I smile up at them, "How are you feeling my friends?"
"I got an awful crick in my neck" The man complains with an easy smile. "Damn potion made me pass out in a rather uncomfortable position."
"Did I do well, Sire?" The boy asks energetically.
"Yes, you did very well." I chuckle as I stroke the boys hair. "Morren was right, you show promise lad."
Turning more serious, I look back to my spymaster. "I wish I could give you more time to rest but I have an urgent assignment for you. Are you familiar with the plague in Liam?"
"Of course, my men speak of hundreds of refugees fleeing towards the capitol. They should arrive in 2-3 days."
I nod solemnly. "I want you to take whatever funds from my treasury as necessary to see they are provided for. However, make sure the aid comes from the church. Not from me." A church which is loved by the people but still vehemently supports my divine right to rule. After all, I do have a reputation to keep.
The spymaster and his apprentice see to my demands as I look back down on upon my city. A city which fears me as a tyrant but I love as a father.
| "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | Green grass cropped short wiggled in the summer wind. Rosy children in a ring sang a rhyme of a ruler, "just and wise, or just wide". An optimistic din brightened every note, every breath.
As cheers erupted in the distance, their parents appeared, scooping up their children and carrying them to the source of commotion. Colorful and noisy, parade marched down cobbled streets, celebrating all bits of their life. The people cheered at their folk heroes, their entertainers, their musicians, their ancient battle dress. They cheered the most, however, at an effigy. Soon the whole crowd was screaming in delight, for as it passed the people they lit a strand leading to it, until the flames engulfed it: a fat king.
I jostled awake at the sound of wood breaking. "Well, that's new," I murmured as I finished off the goblet of wine resting on my throne. Their damned battering ram had been going for hours, and I actually was lulled to sleep slightly by the constant rhythm of it. I had been up for three days now watching the end of my kingdom, and hoped to catch a glimpse of sleep before the rioters took me. The bonfire I had my last loyal servants build, in the center of the hall, burned bright and strong. They had done a good job and so before they left, I gave them a few recipes and what coin I had left on me.
Even though I had planned this, I still felt a level of fear. While manipulating the social currents wasn't too difficult, I had no idea if the anger of the mob would get the better of them, if I would end up kneeling down with my head in a guillotine. It would all be worth it, either way. My gods have seen that I have stayed true, and promoted a better world for all. I would be rewarded in the afterlife. Not to mention, I still felt a level of pride for making this all work.
I started as a lowly priest charged with making the world a better place in the name of Bekhaim. He commands true justice and righteousness at all costs. As part of our training, we are required to travel, to see injustice manifest so that we might know what it is we truly fight against. And so, I came across these lands. The local lord was cruel to his people, but they accepted it. He was angry at the world, the gods, his land, his people, everything. But in his situation, I saw a chance. His anger was due to being grey in the tooth and yet not having an heir. He did not even have siblings or cousins to take up the mantle of his lineage. And so, I began to offer my services to him, to help him bear a child.
At first, I believed him having a child would make him a better king, but over time the plan changed. He neared the end of his days, and I learned how to navigate the intrigue of his court. I gathered support for myself, and fostered a network of both spies and criers to help me. When the king died, I made a bid for power. My reputation was a shining one, and though some local lords resisted, a few quietly-murmured curses worked wonders for sabotaging their attempts. The lords went back to their strongholds, angry at being usurped. As I began to feel out my role and powers within government, I set to making the people's lives better.
Then the Lord's Revolt happened.
I had decided to start a grain dole, to feed the sick and hungry. This dole would have come from part of the extra grain each lord was allowed to keep to sell to our neighbors, and would have been a fraction of their totals. But the lords convinced the serfs and craftsmen that I was stealing it directly from their table, and so led by their lords, soon my entire kingdom came knocking on my door. In response, I came knocking on the lords' skulls. The people viewed it as a brutal act, and it may have been, but I gave myself divine protections and strength and drove a hammer into their brains. I took direct control of things, and instituted my grain dole.
But the people hated me. They abhorred and despised me, viewed me as a tyrant. They said the grain dole was made to give me an army of undesirables to fight against them. I didn't sleep well for weeks, frantically trying to come up with something I could do to win back their trust.
I never came up with that answer. But I did come up with a way to use this.
I never mistreated my subjects, but instead I turned my system of criers into a system of agitators, clamoring for positive change. They would claim that the people were overworked by their cruel king, that the forced tithe to the local church was unfair to those who did not believe, that certain groups were treated wholly unfairly. All of these were to correct policies of the former king, or were things I wanted to put in place but would be poisoned if it came from me. And so I used this system to agitate for reform, and would "reluctantly acquiesce" to the people's demands.
Forty years I did this. I became fat due to a lack of exercise, called myself a just and wise king so my agitators could call me "just wide." After spending the last five years setting up unions, coops and other methods of self-governance, it has come time for my rule to end. It moved a little faster than I thought I would, I believed I would have a chance to abdicate and flee, but this evening they amassed outside my halls and blocked any exit. They smack the door again, and the door gives a little bit. I see an arm as someone tries to slip through, but it's not nearly wide enough. I sigh. The door isn't even barricaded, it's just well-constructed. I considered unlocking it a few hours ago, but that would have ruined their fun.
I get up and walk to the pitcher of wine sitting at the banquet table. The pitcher is nearly empty, but with the last few drops it fills to just above halfway. I lower myself onto my throne as I watch the door buckle again against the battering ram. This time the metal latch bends, and the door is stick caving in. I see two small women slip in through the door and with a piece of metal given to them, throw open the latch. I finish my wine as the now-free people of my nation storm my halls brandishing hammer, sickle, pitchfork and torch alike. | "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | Ander stood shackled to a post in the middle of the courtroom, tuning his ears for the sentence that would decide his life.
It was hard to see, the walls made entirely of stone- ebonite, as dark as the night of a new moon- and was only lit by sparse torches burning a deep red. As such, Ander’s best bet was to just wait for the emperor to say his sentence rather than look for him to walk up to the podium.
Coughs echoed from the jury on either side of the room from the musty smoke smell that was abundant in the courtroom. Ander didn’t know which was truly worse, to be the judge and smell like this constantly or get the death sentence. Thinking about it, the latter sounded better.
“Mr. Ander,” A growl came from in front of him. He looked up to see the emperor, dressed in his formal black and red attire. The most prominent things were his eyes, the glowing red slits seething scorn and hatred. A chill ran down his spine, and it felt as if all the warmth ran away in panic from his body.
“E-Emperor, sir…”
“You have committed a very dire crime in the eyes of the empire, are you aware of what you are being accused of?”
“Uh,” his lips tremored. It was hard to keep it together, “I think, d-disobeying orders, my lord…”
“You think?”
“I- Uh… yes. Uh- Yes Emperor Sir!”
“Well I think you should know what you are being tried for, or else this will all seem nonsense to you.”
“Of course, S-sir.”
“You have been charged with disobeying the orders of your direct commanding officer. Do you have a defense prepared?”
“D-Defense? No, my Lord.”
“No Defense! Nothing! Tiberius gave you no one to help you prepare?!” The emperor screamed. Everyone winced back, the torches in the room exploding. With a gesture, all the torches came back, providing the same dim illumination as before.
“This court is adjourned. Ander, you are free to go.”
“My lord?!”
“You heard me. Free to go. I shall not have an unfair trial in my empire. You are a citizen of my country, you deserve equal rights and liberties under the law.”
Most of that sentence went over Ander’s head, but all he needed was the first part. He deeply bowed as the guard-chimeras unshackled him, “Thank you my lord!”
Ander was escorted out of the room, grinning madly. He wasn’t going to die! He wasn’t going to be executed! He could see his family! Maybe he could just lie low, live on the farm with the rest of his siblings. It was a simple life, no one would disturb him there.
“That fool Tiberius,” He heard the Emperor mutter from behind him, “If I hear about one more rigged trial it shall be him who goes to the guillotine!”
The warmth returned to Ander as he walked out of the evil building and into the fresh sunlight. The guard-chimeras handed him his things, and he was off into the world, as a free man once again.
| "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | I stared down at the men levelling their blades at me. I spied several of the palace guard amidst the swelling ranks in my throne room. I turned to my head guard for assistance and was met his sword leveled at me.
"Really Hector? A coup? How bold." I smiled blithely down the blade before turning back to the crowd. "And Doctor Leach too? I didn't know you had it in you. And is that old Captain Hulm? Well, blow me... Come on the, do tell... Who was the mastermind of all this?" A pause hung heavy between us. "Don't be shy... I'm *impressed*." A short runt of boy was pushed forth, the crowd closing behind him. Separated from his legion he looked weak and weedy, clutching his sickle like his life depended on it. He probably thought it did. Poor kid.
"Dark L-lord Azimuth of Duskbridge. W-w-we come, ah, before you, to... ummm."
"I'll wait." I grinned. This only flustered the poor whelp even further. He looks back at the stonefaced mob behind him. He sighed, before raising his sickle and proclaiming,
"Dark Lord Azimuth, We have come before you to defend our rights as citizens and put an end to your tyranny."
"That's a noble sentient. I'd probably have been more worried if you *weren't* shaking like a leaf. A+ for effort though." I stand to gave him a round of applause. Everyone in the room tightened their grip on their weapons. "Oh, for godsake, lower your weapons. You'll have someone's eye out."
"We will not be mock, Azimuth." A voice boomed from the crowd.
"Me? Mocking? *Wouldn't dream of it*." I raised an eyebrow, "Now... what was it you wanted?"
"Your head on a spike and your tyranny gone from this land!" The same voice bellowed.
"My good sir, I do believe you're drunk. Now, anyone sober, what do you hope to gain from deposing me?"
I walked up to the head of the crowd. I leaned in closer. Long black robe trailing behind, I paced. "Anyone?"
"War."
I spun. It was Hector. "War, Hector? Why? To what end? Because you of all people know it's never war for the sake of war." I rolled my eyes. "It's because people *want* something. So I'll ask again. What *exactly* do you people want?"
"Freedom." It was the boy, his sickle hung limply at his side as he shrugged, almost like he wasn't sure of his motivation himself.
"Ok, freedom. Good. But freedom from what, exactly? What oppression do you know in your day to day lives?" I returned to my throne.
"Freedom from your evil tyranny."
"See, you keep using that word... Tyranny. You think me a *tyrant*? I am no such thing. A tyrant is one who rules with an Iron Fist over a domain he has no claim to. I do Neither. I have not been harsh on my people. I have been a merciful, dare I say kind, ruler. And as to claim, I inherited the crown from my father, he from his, he from his and he won it in a poker game from a man who inherited it from his. The crown and land are mine, because their previous owner said so. Look it up, I have a legal claim to all this land. I own all your homes, all your businesses, all your livelihoods and I could evict you if I so chose. But I don't. I don't even demand excessive taxes. I offer social welfare and state subsidised education. Does that sound tyrannical to you? What about the justice system? A fair trial to be judged by an impartial judge and a jury of your peers. I'd like to say that sounds just and fair, right? We don't even demand military service in exchange for your rights. Dear Gods, I'm almost *too* generous."
"You are an evil and wicked man!" The boy's voice wavered.
"Am I? Sorry, must have missed a memo. But what exactly do I do, or fail to do, that gives you justification to call me that?"
"You levelled three whole streets on Riverside just last week." He cried out.
"The housing was no longer up to standard and a drake infestation made the entire area a fire hazard. The citizens have been relocated."
"To the bone orchard." One of them muttered.
"No, to a community housing area in the northern quarter." I sighed.
"You allow, no, *welcome* Alchemists and Necromancers into your court."
"*Scientists* and *Medics*." I corrected.
"They're experimenting on corpses!"
"How else are they to study anatomy? I couldn't very well condone letting inexperienced medical students loose on *living* citizens, could I?"
"What about the way you dabble with black magic?" Yelled the drunkard from the back of the crowd.
"Not magic. Science."
"Your jester made a joke at your expense a few days ago, no one's heard from him since." Another called out.
"He came down with a nasty flu. Doctor Leach can back me up here. He's recovering, which is just as well. Things have been so very dull without him."
"You introduce yourself as Dark Lord Azimuth of Duskbridge, Dreadmaster of the Midknight Guard. Come on, admit it, you are Evil."
"The Title came with the crown. There are seven Dark Lords under the High King, and not one of them is tyrannical. Each of the seven darklands has a democratic consil, a social safety net and free health care. That's why its a *Dark* Lord, by the way, because I rule a Darkland. I can't just change name of my position."
"You... you..." they struggled for a justification.
Finally, "You, uh, wear... an awful lot of skulls for a, ummm, not-evil Dark Lord? All the crown jewls are skull shaped too. Your throne is decorated with them."
"That," I said, nodding sagely, "Is becase Skulls look *Awesome*." | "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | The door crashed opened as the frame around it disintegrated into kindling. The fur-clad boot that had kicked it open landed with a meaty thud on the stone floors inside the chamber. The wild-eyed warrior held his knicked and scarred blade in front of him as he strode into the room high atop the tallest tower.
"It wasn't locked," the slight man dressed in black said from across the room. The warrior stopped.
"What?" the warrior said.
"The door. It wasn't locked. All you had to do was turn the little handle," the slight man said, miming turning a door handle, "and gently push it open. Now I've got to get Maintenance up here and see about a new door with frame. This room'll be drafty for weeks."
The warrior stared at the slight man sitting in hid highbacked chair of deep red fabrics and dark solid wood. "That, uh, that will be no concern of yours wizard!" The warrior took another step into the room.
"Well of course it is. This is my office and you just knocked the door clean out of the wall."
"No, I, uh, I mean you'll be dead foul demon!"
"Why's that?"
"Sorry?" The warrior had stopped his advance still several paces from the man in the chair.
"Why will I be dead?"
The warrior looked at the yard of gleaming steel in his hand then back to the slight man. "Because I'm going to slay you."
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Let me guess, you're some hero from the moutains or the great plains or some other equally gods-forsaken place and you travel the lands seeking fame and fortune. You wandered into one of my neighbors' territories and heard about the 'evil wizard' controlling Dekara? Is that about the shape of it?"
The warrior paused. "... Yes. How come you to this knowledge? Consorting with demons, no doubt. Your very tongue convicts you!"
"You're the fifth one since the Winter Festival. What is it about Spring that makes all you farmboys with delusions of grandeur come storming in? Can't get a date?"
"Enough with your attempts to ensorcel me, tyrant! I shall -"
"Wait," the slight man said, shifting forward in the chair, "how about a deal?"
"I care not for what you might tempt me with for my heart is pure and I seek -"
"Slow down there blondie. Here's the deal. We talk. For ten minutes. I've even got a timer over on the desk. At the end of the ten minutes, if you still want to run me through with that overgrown cheese slicer, I won't fight. Won't even argue."
"What trick is this?"
"No trick. Just ten minutes. Surely you can spare that for a 'condemned man.'"
The warrior stared at the slight man then nodded.
"Excellent!" the slight man said as he stood from his chair and crossed to the balcony. "Come over here, I'll show you something."
The warrior, wary for traps and tricks, trod slowly and softly to the balcony. The wizard was standing on the balcony with his palms down on the railing. The warrior stayed nearer to the relative safety of the door.
Below the balcony, in the courtyard, were at least two dozen people staring up at the two men.
"Good morning all!" the wizard shouted. "We have another hero come to save you all from my evil tyranny!" The crowd laughed.
"So," the wizard continued, "I thought before he does me in that he would like to meet some of you. The Chamberlain summoned you here to talk with this young man. Let's see ... Ah, Tom the Miller, isn't it?"
"Yes guv!" shouted back a dusty man in the middle of the crowd.
"Well, Tom, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell the hero what happened last month after the terrible floods destroyed your mill?"
"It was like this, see? His Highness dere, gave me a very reasonable repair loan at a minimal interest rate. I got me mill up an' runnin' again in no time. He barely even asked for collateral, knowin' 'ow important me mill was."
"You there," the wizard shouted, "Anne the Baker, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yesssir!" a young woman answered.
"Could you tell the hero how you were able to start your own business after the untimely passing of your beloved husband?"
"I couldn't very well get me bakery up and runnin' with all me kids underfoot, could I? So the Highness there, he made the whatchacallit- Child Care Tax Credit. So I 'ired out me cousin Brenda to watch the little ones and now I've just opened me fifth franchise in Kreun. They love me stickybuns in Kreun!"
The crowd mumbled an assent.
"But surely," the hero said, "you cannot stand to be so oppressed? This black-hearted magician consorts with demons!"
"Son," a white-hair stooped-back old man said, "we don't much care who he consorts with. We haven't had a war in this land since I was a lad. There's nary a kingdom in a hundred days' ride can make the same boast. When the plague came through six winters back, ours was the only kingdom that was laid low. King Reltir - him as before the wizard - had us at war and starving more years than not. Far as we're concerned, the wizard can consort with all the Lords of Hell so long as he keeps treatin' us fair and protectin' our lands!"
A cheer ran up through the crowd. The wizard turned to the hero and smiled.
"You've cast some kind of spell across this land." But the hero's voice wavered as he spoke.
"No, just basic economics. Do you know why we haven't been at war in at least a generation? It's the same reason one of my neighbors sent you here. They have no idea how to run their coutries and their people are getting tired of it. Did you know we have upwards of ten thousand people a year immigrating to our fair land? That's in spite of the rumors about me. If any one of those kingdoms started a war, their people would revolt. Not to mention the fact that I'd call in all the debts they owe us, which would bankrupt any one of them. So it's easier to find some - pardon the term - backwoods lummox to try to kill me. Keeps their hands clean and gets rid of me. Sorry my boy, but you've been duped."
The hero stumbled backwards until he flopped into a chair. His head was shaking "no" and his eyes were unfocused. "So ... So what happens now?" the hero asked.
Six months later, another hero wandered the dirt road leading to the wizard's kingdom.
"HOLD THERE!" a shout rose from the small shack at the edge of the forest to the side of the road. A young man strode out to meet the traveler. "What brings you to our fair land, traveler?"
"I come to slay the evil wizard who has for too long -"
"Hold there traveler. Before you invade, I'd like to tell you a story of another headstrong young hero. He invaded six months ago, had a conversation with the wizard, and then decided to stay on. He found work as a border guard, specializing in heroes."
| "This is my property, so I should be able to do with it whatever I want!" The idiot shouted.
"Fuck personnel property if it can justify this." I replied. "You are subject to the same rules as everybody else, no matter who you are. And the rules in this case are simple: no killing. Send him of to the judiciary." The man had killed a slave, or rather, a slave to its condition. The monotheistic religion of most people condoned and promoted slavery, and I have been trying to end the practice ever since I got here from the future. The religious idiots were calling me an evil wizard, but the general public, especially the less religious farmers, had stopped listening, as all they saw was what I had done for them.
The first part of building a better society was building a better baseline, and the farmers had gotten a few greenhouses as a common so they could produce foreign, tropical fruit aswell as cirtain technological products and a few of my men who were building a working small scale solar powered electricity project in one of the villages, to see how this could work out.
"Sir, an embassary from king Bathe has arrived." A guard said. King Bathe was treating me like a vassal.
"First, don't call me sir, I am neither a knight nor a lord the way you think of it. But let him in." I said.
The man came in and bowed to the throne.
"My lord, I am glad to meet you."
"You do not have to bow, and I am not a lord. Just call me Glenn." This still annoyed me way too much, for now I was the first umong equals, not some king, but this was also benificial, as much of my populous didn't know I would not bother if they seceeded, I would bother though if some dictator were established and shoot that guy.
"The mighty king Bathe wishes that you stop your god defying deeds in your kingdom, he fears that this might doom us all." The ambassador said, the kings rhetoric had changed to a more respectfull tone after demanding a lot and being crushed when invading the land the people I had sworn to protect inhabited. I wished he would shove his god up his ass.
"As I already said, this is not a kingdom. Furthermore, what god defying deeds is the king referring to?" I asked.
"The crossing between the classes, for one, the... I think your grace called it 'emanzipation' of the slaves and women." He said.
"Oh, I forgot to ask for your name." I said, wanting to adress him by name.
"Juan, my lord."
"So, Juan, what did you see in this country?" I asked.
"People working in glass houses was the most extreme difference I saw to my own country, sir."
"OK, but how were the people?"
"I stayed in a monestary, the monks didn't like your leadership." He said.
"Were they criticising me on a theological basis or on the basis of the well being of the people?" I enquired further.
"I am afraid I do not see the difference, my lord. God will make the people miserable if they are heritics and make them prosper if they are godly." He replied.
"If that were the case, why wouldn't he vanquish the ungodly men to the south and east your kingdom has been warring against for centurys. If god were all powerful and omnisciant, as religious sholars suggest, why wouldn't he grant you victory?" I asked.
"Because we are sinners." He replied.
"But on the basis of your religious texts, they would be sinners, and even more so than you, and unrepentive, so why wouldn't he favor you, at least over them?" I finished my enquri as he had no fitting response for more than a minute.
"So, it seems your religious code has nothing to do with a prosperous society." I extrapolated.
"Yes, it has, my master has also said that, if not brought to reason, he might have to go to war with your grace." There goes the softening of rhetoric.
"I stopped the last army that threatened the well being of my citicens with 15 men, does your master really belive this to be a good idea? I do not desire to needlessly sloughter king Bathes population, whether it be on the battlefield or otherwise." I responded.
"Glenn, the council meeting was sceduled now, what is taking so long?" Alicia shouted through a side door.
"Sorry, I am busy treating with an ambassador. I will be there shortly." I shouted back.
"Would you join me at the council? I belive you would benifit from seeing the inner working of our government in your position." I told Juan.
"Thank you, my lord, it will be an honor." He said.
"Juan, just call me Glenn." I replied.
There were 17 people in the council. One was reserved for the elected representatives of all towns under my controll. I only had controll over a small earldom. Than there was a chair for the armed forces, one for the infrastructure team, one for a religious representative and two for me and Alicia, who was my girlfriend.
I grabbed one more chair from a second room and put it next to mine for Juan.
"This is Juan, king Bathes new embassador." I told the council.
"Oh, have we scared the king into cooperation?" Drew, the commander of the armed forces, concisting of one tank unit, some gunmen, a few intelligence officers and a few castle guards.
"Not really, he is threatening another invasion. If you are not following his orders and our religious traditions." Juan told us openly.
"Finally a reasonable person." The representative of the faith said.
"You can tell your king that we have enough explosives to blow his castle up." Drew replied.
"Drew, this why I don't like you representing the armed forces." Alicia said.
"Second!" I shouted along with half the council.
"Sorry." Drew said.
"But that is actually true, though that would be bad strategy." Garin, a village representative, said.
"Second!" Half the council shouted.
"So, what are the current issues?" I asked.
"We have found a survivior of Bathes Army wounded in the woods. Some of the villagers want to kill him others propose to nurture him back to health, he is badly wounded." Garin told me.
"Drew, that is your job, get him to Inas 'hospital'." I said.
"As good as done."
"But he wanted to kill our population!" James, another village leader, objected.
"I highly doupt that, most of the soldiers we captured said they were in out of fear and personnel profit. Some others sighted religious reasons." Alicia responded.
"But when we do not punish him, how are we going to look towards Bathe?" James asked. "Like weak covards to fearfull to decapitate our captured enemys."
"We will be seen as acting in good will, and we don't want another invasion, because that is worse for everybody." I responded.
"God demands his death." The religious representative responded.
"Fuck god." Drew said.
| |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it. | Green grass cropped short wiggled in the summer wind. Rosy children in a ring sang a rhyme of a ruler, "just and wise, or just wide". An optimistic din brightened every note, every breath.
As cheers erupted in the distance, their parents appeared, scooping up their children and carrying them to the source of commotion. Colorful and noisy, parade marched down cobbled streets, celebrating all bits of their life. The people cheered at their folk heroes, their entertainers, their musicians, their ancient battle dress. They cheered the most, however, at an effigy. Soon the whole crowd was screaming in delight, for as it passed the people they lit a strand leading to it, until the flames engulfed it: a fat king.
I jostled awake at the sound of wood breaking. "Well, that's new," I murmured as I finished off the goblet of wine resting on my throne. Their damned battering ram had been going for hours, and I actually was lulled to sleep slightly by the constant rhythm of it. I had been up for three days now watching the end of my kingdom, and hoped to catch a glimpse of sleep before the rioters took me. The bonfire I had my last loyal servants build, in the center of the hall, burned bright and strong. They had done a good job and so before they left, I gave them a few recipes and what coin I had left on me.
Even though I had planned this, I still felt a level of fear. While manipulating the social currents wasn't too difficult, I had no idea if the anger of the mob would get the better of them, if I would end up kneeling down with my head in a guillotine. It would all be worth it, either way. My gods have seen that I have stayed true, and promoted a better world for all. I would be rewarded in the afterlife. Not to mention, I still felt a level of pride for making this all work.
I started as a lowly priest charged with making the world a better place in the name of Bekhaim. He commands true justice and righteousness at all costs. As part of our training, we are required to travel, to see injustice manifest so that we might know what it is we truly fight against. And so, I came across these lands. The local lord was cruel to his people, but they accepted it. He was angry at the world, the gods, his land, his people, everything. But in his situation, I saw a chance. His anger was due to being grey in the tooth and yet not having an heir. He did not even have siblings or cousins to take up the mantle of his lineage. And so, I began to offer my services to him, to help him bear a child.
At first, I believed him having a child would make him a better king, but over time the plan changed. He neared the end of his days, and I learned how to navigate the intrigue of his court. I gathered support for myself, and fostered a network of both spies and criers to help me. When the king died, I made a bid for power. My reputation was a shining one, and though some local lords resisted, a few quietly-murmured curses worked wonders for sabotaging their attempts. The lords went back to their strongholds, angry at being usurped. As I began to feel out my role and powers within government, I set to making the people's lives better.
Then the Lord's Revolt happened.
I had decided to start a grain dole, to feed the sick and hungry. This dole would have come from part of the extra grain each lord was allowed to keep to sell to our neighbors, and would have been a fraction of their totals. But the lords convinced the serfs and craftsmen that I was stealing it directly from their table, and so led by their lords, soon my entire kingdom came knocking on my door. In response, I came knocking on the lords' skulls. The people viewed it as a brutal act, and it may have been, but I gave myself divine protections and strength and drove a hammer into their brains. I took direct control of things, and instituted my grain dole.
But the people hated me. They abhorred and despised me, viewed me as a tyrant. They said the grain dole was made to give me an army of undesirables to fight against them. I didn't sleep well for weeks, frantically trying to come up with something I could do to win back their trust.
I never came up with that answer. But I did come up with a way to use this.
I never mistreated my subjects, but instead I turned my system of criers into a system of agitators, clamoring for positive change. They would claim that the people were overworked by their cruel king, that the forced tithe to the local church was unfair to those who did not believe, that certain groups were treated wholly unfairly. All of these were to correct policies of the former king, or were things I wanted to put in place but would be poisoned if it came from me. And so I used this system to agitate for reform, and would "reluctantly acquiesce" to the people's demands.
Forty years I did this. I became fat due to a lack of exercise, called myself a just and wise king so my agitators could call me "just wide." After spending the last five years setting up unions, coops and other methods of self-governance, it has come time for my rule to end. It moved a little faster than I thought I would, I believed I would have a chance to abdicate and flee, but this evening they amassed outside my halls and blocked any exit. They smack the door again, and the door gives a little bit. I see an arm as someone tries to slip through, but it's not nearly wide enough. I sigh. The door isn't even barricaded, it's just well-constructed. I considered unlocking it a few hours ago, but that would have ruined their fun.
I get up and walk to the pitcher of wine sitting at the banquet table. The pitcher is nearly empty, but with the last few drops it fills to just above halfway. I lower myself onto my throne as I watch the door buckle again against the battering ram. This time the metal latch bends, and the door is stick caving in. I see two small women slip in through the door and with a piece of metal given to them, throw open the latch. I finish my wine as the now-free people of my nation storm my halls brandishing hammer, sickle, pitchfork and torch alike. | Rupert had a tattoo, long hair, and seemingly permanent eye liner. This made him the 'Bad Prince' in a society that was much too nice for it's own good. Everyone had their opinion on the him but he never payed them any mind. He figured he would resurrect the art of heavy metal and had been working for a few years to get his band off the ground. That is until suddenly he was thrust into power. His father had decided to step down to start a potato farm. When Rupert asked him what he needed to know to run the kingdom his father replied, "Just stamp the papers on your desk in the morning. Everything kind of runs itself." "This was the problem with society," Rupert thought. Everyone was just too damn nice. There hasn't been war for centuries but if there were they would be wiped out. They were just sitting ducks. So he decided to start the military back up. People lined up in a hurry to be a part of this great plan. This was the proof Rupert needed that there was something people were longing for. The people that signed up though this was part of a play and that it was about time the government got into producing plays. Other nations saw his actions as trying to start up a war that no one was prepared to fight. They tried to convince him otherwise but Rupert stuck to his plan. After months of bootcamp and training they were ready for deployment. They had one of the most stellar war reenactments anyone could ever hope for. From all the readings of the history books Rupert had the force he had dreamed of. And the play was a success. It wouldn't be long before other countries started their own armies and put on plays of their own. |
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